Listen, America

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07.30.08

Traditionally, the [Democratic Party] platform is written by paid professionals and then presented to the American people. This year, that’s going to change.

—Barack Obama

 Thirty-three-year-old Sky Nelson is a high school physics teacher turned full-time singer-songwriter. This past weekend, Nelson shared chores with three other activists moderating a Democratic Party platform meeting in Santa Rosa. Theirs was one in a multitude of such gatherings organized by thousands of volunteers, which were held across the country over the past two weeks.

Political platforms articulate the shared vision of a given party by describing what values its members share, along with what specific actions they intend to take following that year’s election. Constructing and composing these platforms has always been assigned to a high-level platform committee. It’s their job to suss out how the political winds are blowing, especially in regards to partisan constituents. Considerable toil likewise gets expended on wording the platform so as to attract independents and undecideds into the fold.

What’s apparently different this year is an invitation from the Democratic National Committee at presumptive presidential nominee Barack Obama’s behest to include previously unheard voices in the platform-building process. Here in the North Bay, this first grassroots step appeared, for the most part, to have succeeded.

The Santa Rosa platform meeting was hosted by the Yulupa Cohousing Community. Forty Sonoma County residents shared political likes, dislikes and visions. By the end of the two-hour session, they’d hammered out more than two dozen consensus platform planks. Issues involving the economy, foreign policy, the environment, protecting the Constitution, media control and Net neutrality got proposed, rejected or agreed upon. Some thirty agreed-to platform suggestions were then emailed to unnamed national Democratic Party apparatchiks later that evening for consideration and possible inclusion in the party’s ’08 platform. The final platform draft will be presented for delegate approval late this August at the Democratic National Convention in Denver.

“We did a good job of finding common ground and letting everyone speak,” Nelson says of the Santa Rosa gathering. “That was one of our main goals: making sure everyone felt lik they’d been heard and had a chance to express their views.”

While folks were having at it up north in Santa Rosa, a second platform meeting gathered steam out on the sun-dappled patio of North Light Books in Cotati. Sonoma State University psych lecturer Skip Robinson led this conclave. It was attended by 25 persons, most of whom were middle-aged or older and of the Caucasian persuasion. But homogenous or not, Robinson put to good use his skills as a conflict-resolution professional. Lively, engaging and brisk debate led to eight proposed platform planks, each of which garnered at least 16 of the 25 possible votes, with over a dozen other planks endorsed by majority support.

Top issues for those attending the Cotati confab were war, torture, supporting the United Nations, nuclear disarmament, single-payer healthcare, the environment, the nation’s growing wealth disparity and inequitable foreign trade agreements. On the corner of the whiteboard up front was scribbled, “No nuclear nuthin!”

A third platform meeting was held later that same day, at Coffee Catz in Sebastopol. This group’s final document mirrors issues hashed out by the two previous groups, but this assemblage did have its heated moments, the 90-plus stifling degrees inside notwithstanding.

The Obama ’08 website includes a “local platform process sample agenda.” But volunteer hosts were encouraged to design meetings as each personally saw fit. Simply by walking in, it was obvious that the Sebastopol meeting organizer, library arts researcher Richie Partington, had put earnest prep time into constructing his session. But the best-laid plans can collide with reality. Much of the two allotted hours was given over to the host reading and sometimes defending his own 17 paragraph-length platform planks. Grassroots democracy, however, can be messy as mud, and those assembled did voice their displeasure. But objections aside, Partington ultimately sent a far-reaching 25-point list of platform suggestions to the Obama camp later that evening.

The Obama ’08 website states, “Supporters like you have opened up the political process like never before. But now you can do even more. You can write the next chapter in the history of the Democratic Party.”

Really? Sky Nelson believes so. “My personal opinion is that they’re trying to get the public more involved, and my strong feeling is that from all the correspondence from people in the Obama campaign and all of the follow-up over the last eight months is it’s a lot to be doing. This is a chance for the people to get involved, but it’s not neccesarily going to be run perfectly the first time. Their intention is genuine, that they want to get public opinion and they want this to be the peoples’ platform.”

 

Groups across the land have led to chapters submitted for platform consideration. The question now becomes: who’s reading these chapters, what considerations will they be given—and precisely how’s all this hard work being compiled? Is the DNC truly listening to America, or is it barking up a feel-good carnival attraction filled with smoke, mirrors and empty rhetoric? Only time, and Mr. Obama, will tell.


Now I Know How Many Holes It Takes To Fill The Albert Hall

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London.
A city so terrifically entrenched in the past and yet so ahead of us in a million little ways. Music in London, especially, is such a silly thing. Robotic techno songs dominate the Top of the Pops and yet they use Ernie K. Doe’s New Orleans funk classic “Here Come The Girls” to sell shampoo on BBC 2. There’s no less than 26 different subgenres of House in every record store (Post-House, Funky House, Classic House, Post-New-York-Jazzy-House, ad nauseum) but then they sell De La Soul’s 3 Ft. High and Rising on vinyl for, like, four bucks. Primal Scream is still popular.
I walked over to Cargo, a club I went to eight years ago to see Coldcut and the Herbaliser, to stop in and see Ratatat. Sold out. I don’t like ’em that much anyway, but I lingered in the bar area and listened through the curtain for a while, reading the club’s little newsletter. Just when I couldn’t fathom why Ratatat was so huge in England, there it was on the flyer: “Daft Punk fancied them to open on their recent tour!” So I wandered back to our hotel, passing Favela, a club blaring Brazilian Baile funk, a pub with Vampire Weekend on the stereo, and numerous multimedia street murals. Banksy’s influence is everywhere, even though Banksy himself is passé. Everyone I talk to hates his guts.
Stopped in at Rough Trade to visit my old friend Sean Forbes, who incidentally is one of the funniest people I have ever known. We record store types tend to stick together, providing crucial information like which shop in town might have a copy of Thatcher on Acid’s The Illusion of Being Together 12″, or how many copies of the A Touch of Hysteria LP might still be left. He filled me in on the goings-on of London friends, like my old pal Ben Corrigan, who had the Black Keys, Joanna Newsom and the Kills all play at his deliciously debaucherous wedding last month, and Jamie, who I miraculously hadn’t noticed from the glut of free tabloids everywhere in London is now dating Kate Moss.
Because most of my European travels thus far have involved being on tour with bands, I haven’t seen a lot of things that one “should” see over here. I’ve been to Rome twice and have never seen the Colosseum. Likewise, I’ve been to London a number of times but had never been to the Royal Albert Hall. Ever since Sgt. Pepper’s, when I was 10, and on up to The Man Who Knew Too Much and even into The Odd Couple Sings, I’ve had a longstanding back-burner fascination with the Royal Albert Hall. So it was with a great deal of excitement that I bought tickets, way up in the nosebleeds, for just 6 pounds each, to the BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall last Wednesday.
90-year-olds tailgate the Royal Albert Hall. Seriously. There was a gang of them in the parking lot, silver haired, diamond festooned and pouring champagne for each other before the show, against a fence.
Inside, the place is unbelievable. No photo could do it justice. We were in the very last row, with a full view of the building. I was pleased to see that the large floor was full of people standing up. Apparently the Albert Hall keeps the Globe Theatre tradition alive, where the standing-room cheap seats are closest to the stage—which is the way it should be, in my book. The program opened with the William Tell Overture and ended with Elgar’s first symphony, sandwiched with Haydn’s Cello Concerto No. 1, and I couldn’t have been more juiced. Check it off the list, Jeeves.
—–
Avoid: Basshunter – “All I Ever Wanted.”
Pursue: The Ting Tings – “That’s Not My Name.”
Next Stop: Dublin via Bras-d’Asse.
Borrowed laptop battery: nearly dead.

Cranky Pants

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07.23.08

Splitting his time between Guerneville and Manhattan, acclaimed consultant Clark Wolf graces these pages with the occasional diatribe from the periodic local.

OK, I’ve had it. I’m totally sick and tired of people commenting on what I eat and drink, like they know something I don’t, and like it’s OK to have a public opinion about something as intimate as what I put in my mouth. Especially when they’re so deeply wrong.

I’m talking about you, Starbucks. It’s really swell that you stopped everything for an hour or two (and delightfully eerie to walk by a locked-up gaggle of baristas revisiting the basics) to attempt to refresh your commitment to coffee mania, but can you please teach your team a few basic facts? And some manners?

Simple fact: There’s less caffeine in espresso than in regular drip coffee. A six-ounce cup of brewed coffee has about 100 to 115 milligrams of caffeine; a double espresso, about 50. OK, so I like a Quad (that’s four tight shots). And a Venti coffee (a trademarked term for a huge amount—20 to 24 ounces depending on the drink) is 400 to 450 milligrams of buzz. So whose eyebrows should be raised?

More complex fact: Espresso has less caffeine for two separate but relevant reasons. First, it’s most usually made from better beans—they’re called Arabica and just naturally have less caffeine while having more, deep flavor. Second, the push-through of water means less time on the bean, so again the less caffeine you get into your cup. (The cheaper brews use a bean called Robusta, which is, uh, pushy but somehow less refined.)

Big fat fact: A whole lotta stuff Starbucks and other nuevo barista bars sell is huge-calorie/empty-calorie confectionary. I mean, 600 calories for an Iced Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha Venti crap-o-chino?! And they cross their eyes at my quad?

And you really don’t need to know my name. I’ve not yet had my coffee this morning, so your corporate attempt at commercial bonding with me is really rather invasive. If I’d wanted to have coffee with you instead of from you, I’d have invited you over. Just sell me the damn quad.

Clark Wolf

Clark Wolf is the president of the Clark Wolf Company, specializing in food, restaurant and hospitality consulting.

River Brews

Clark actually does like the coffee at these places:

Coffee Bazaar14045 Armstrong Redwoods Road, Guerneville. 707.869.9706.

Gold Coast Coffee 25101 Steelhead Blvd., Duncan’s Mills. 707.865.1441.

Kaya Organic Espresso, 16626 Hwy. 116, Guerneville. 707.869.2230.

Mama Java 19420 Hwy. 116, Monte Rio. 707.865.0800.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

Radical Chic

07.23.08

Illustrations by Michael Houghton
Story by Gretchen Giles

Spinach. Tomatoes. A lone Texan jalapeño. Global warming. The 2008 Farm Bill. Gasoline. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Sure, bad news is made every day, but the sort of bad news we’re reeling from currently is bad news that we’ve brought exactly upon ourselves.

Not much more than a century ago, the United States was largely a rural place. And then we got very good at producing lots of things very quickly. Rapidly, that which we created ourselves in small lots or grew ourselves on small acreage went out of vogue, and prepackaged readymades came into rabid national fashion.

In considering this year’s Arcadia issue, our annual salute to food and wine, we began to warm to the idea of the Victory Garden. Originated by the government during WW II, Victory Gardens provided Americans with some 40 percent of their food during the so-called Good War; Golden Gate Park alone had over 800 plots, and the land across from San Francisco’s Civic Center was a full-blown farm.

Today, the land across from the Civic Center is once again planted with food, as S.F. gears up for the Slow Food Nation convivia over Labor Day weekend, and the wave of vogue is slowly turning back to that which is small, that which is fresh, that which is carefully made with intent.

When something as inoffensive as a tomato, a head of spinach or a little green pepper cannot be trusted as being healthy and safe in our modern-day food supply, it is time to rely once again upon oneself. With such reliance comes other growth. Being able to provide your own transportation and provide your own food, being canny enough to create a true sense of freedom in your life is uniquely patriotic—and essentially American.

With a growing sense of glee, it occurred to us that doing it for yourself is in fact the best way to stick it to the Man. Planting a Victory Garden is a strangely radical act. Something so old-fashioned and innocuous is actually a wild stride toward liberation. Don’t trust that tomato? Grow one in a windowsill, on the porch, in the yard. Worried about systemic poisons in that strawberry? Eat them only in season, buy them only from a farmer, grow them yourself. Don’t like the war in Iraq? Ride a bike and get off the petrochemical death-spiral. Self-sufficiency is a hallmark of American culture—at least it sure used to be.

And from the looks of things, it is once again.

On the following pages, we profile people who follow the radical trajectory of self-sufficiency, giving to others, finding joy in eternal pleasures and creating victory in their own lives and those surrounding them through small, good acts that, when taken together, mount a gorgeous bloom.

 

Salmonella poisoning, global warming, peak oil, senseless wars and even the 2008 Farm Bill aside, the North Bay in the 21st century is at an exciting point, where the people who are paying attention aren’t just the older generation who shook it all up in the ’60s. It’s also the hipsters, the young marrieds, the tastemakers. Digging in the ground, making it yourself and doing for your own is hip again. To borrow a very old expression: Hallelujah to that.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

First Bite

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07.23.08

Editor’s note: First Bite is a new concept in restaurant writing. This is not a go-three-times, try-everything-on-the-menu report; rather, this is a quick snapshot of a single experience. We invite you to come along with our writers as they—informed, intelligent eaters like yourselves—have a simple meal at an area restaurant, just like you do.

Restaurants come and go as fast as the seasons. The best are, to borrow a punch line from Monty Python, like a jam donut: Their arrival brings us pleasure, and their departure merely leaves us hungry for more. The space formerly occupied by the beloved Cafe St. Rose has sprouted an eclectic eatery that’s been as eagerly anticipated as the former is pined for. The only raw-food fine dining north of San Rafael, Seed is part of the latest resurgence of a regime that’s been touted for over a hundred years. Raw-food partisans come in many stripes, from raw-meat-scarfing Paleolithics to gentle fruitarians. Vegan’s the word here, both in conventional raw foods like salad and creative mimicry of traditional cooked dishes. Seed delivers artfully arranged plates that are, more often than not, as flavorful as they are interesting.

The window box of a dining room is light and airy but comfortable. Seed’s style is lower-case-letter modern/urban, not what some may expect going on stereotype. Our chipper server gets a break being brand-new on the job; the personable owner and chef circulate to explain their menu and solicit our reactions.

With a permit pending for serving vegan wine (yes, there is), there’s something to look forward to—with this caveat: If my experience at Berkeley’s Cafe Gratitude is any guide, one bottle shared over raw food makes for a tipsy time.

The chef’s tasting plate ($11) offers a broad, bite-sized overview of the appetizer selection. The “live” carrot ginger soup was served cool in a glass, like a savory smoothie spiked with ginger and allspice. Live chips, dehydrated vegetable crisps drizzled with hummus-like jalapeño “crème” were a big hit at the table. Sea salad was a nest of thin, crisp seaweed and carrot, and live caesar was topped with piquant pine nut Parmesan. The shrunken tapenade-stuffed crimini mushrooms looked as if they’re cooked—finished with little fragrant sprigs of fennel, a scrumptious if tiny treat.

The barbecue burger ($12.50) was the closest thing to the image of old-school, earnest veganism on the menu. The side caesar was fresh and tasty, and I approached with an open mind the dark, compressed live nut burger and its earthy bouquet. But the live barbecue sauce ruined it for me. Although my dining companions did not pick it up, the vinegar aroma triggered a remarkable and unfortunate memory of . . . a winery at the end of harvest. I say it nicely—I mean the drains.

I didn’t get near feeling full until a tasty cup of French green lentil soup in spicy cumin broth ($3.50), one of a few cooked items on the menu, arrived. The hands-down most creative and satisfying entrée were the ravioli flowers ($13). Creamy macadamia nut filling is folded into thinly sliced rutabaga “pillows” to approximate ravioli—really several times better than this description sounds.

With room for dessert, we found the brownie (all desserts, $6.50), too dry, but the Cheezcake is the new wave of New York style. Cool and creamy with hazelnut crust, drizzled with live strawberry sauce, each bite was better than the last. Our departure only left us hungry for more.

Seed, 463 Sebastopol Ave., Santa Rosa. Open for lunch and dinner, Wednesday&–Saturday; brunch, Sunday. 707.546.7333.


Quick-and-dirty dashes through North Bay restaurants. These aren’t your standard “bring five friends and order everything on the menu” dining reviews.

Free Tools

07.23.08


Six years ago, Dustin Zuckerman was working a routine landscape job. The client wanted a stone pathway that required a tool called a tamper, and, not owning one, Zuckerman went to the hardware store with a familiar quandary. “It was about $35 for a tool that I was going to use once,” he says, sitting at his kitchen table. “So I went online to see if anyone loans tools, and I ran into the Oakland Tool Library and the Berkeley Tool Library. And I said, ‘This just makes too much sense.'”

Zuckerman, 37, who has worked in book libraries for eight years but calls reading “not my favorite thing to do,” has founded the Santa Rosa Tool Lending Library, and in the past two months alone, with only word-of-mouth directing people to the library, he has loaned out tools from his shed to over 50 patrons.

The idea is simple: Just like a book-lending library, patrons can check out tools at Zuckerman’s library for an agreed-upon length of time. When they’re done, they return it. If a tool is returned late or damaged, a fee will be charged, but otherwise the library is completely free.

So far, community support has been unanimous in the form of donations—cash, tools and services—and Zuckerman currently has his mind set on filing official nonprofit status and expanding the library to serve the community at large. As anyone in need of a $35 tool that they’ll use just once can attest, his efforts could result in one of the greatest things to happen to Sonoma County.

There are only about 20 tool libraries in the United States, and many of them are electric-tool-only libraries operated by utility companies. Using Oakland, West Philadelphia, Portland, Ore., and Columbus, Ohio, as models, Zuckerman, even in the library’s infancy stage, has amassed an inventory of over 200 tools. He also has received supportive offers of free legal help, free tool audit and maintenance and free advisory services from plumbers and construction workers.

Aside from covering costs—the largest being insurance—making money seems to be the last thing on Zuckerman’s mind. This is in stark contrast to his Beverly Hills upbringing in the family pawnbroking business. Tools at the family pawn shop were always coming and going, but the practice didn’t align with Zuckerman’s vision. “Everyone’s wheeling and dealing,” he says, “and you have to be clever. This is in some ways a reaction to that. It’s very simple and honest.”

After setting out on a bicycle trip in 1998 from Eugene to Los Angeles (“I was pulling a Forrest Gump,” he says), Zuckerman stopped off in downtown Santa Rosa where he was offered a job, on the spot, at Sawyer’s News. Since then, he’s worked at both the Sonoma County Library and the SRJC Library. Between his pawnbroking knowledge and his library experience, there’s no reason to predict his tool-lending library will be anything but wildly successful.

More than anything, Zuckerman loves offering people the ability to perform their own tasks, such as changing their own oil or unclogging their plumbing line, both of which, he says without hesitation, are within anyone’s grasp. “There’s just something so grounding about self-sustainability and self-reliance, especially when you’re always depending on people,” he says. “To be able to do anything on your own—even something as simple as unscrewing something—is pretty empowering.”

The library’s most popular tools right now are the power washer and the rototiller, although the tree pruner and high-pole saw are commonly requested as well. So far, no one has stolen a tool from the library or returned a tool late. Area hardware stores, in fact, have lent their support to the concept, operating under the notion that greater accessibility to home improvement is always good for business.

In fact, there’s only one person against the tool library. “My dad!” Zuckerman jokes. “My dad does not get this at all, ’cause my dad’s a money man.”

But when the library passes its development stage and starts expanding to serve the community, Zuckerman’s dad will have every reason to come around. “I told him that under ‘Founder,’ even if I have nothing to do with the library anymore, it will always say ‘Dustin Zuckerman,’ and this will be my legacy to the community. And when he heard that—’legacy’—he was OK, and started to get it.”

The Santa Rosa Tool Lending Library is online, with inventory, instructional videos and checkout procedures, at www.borrowtools.org.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

Dust to Devils

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07.23.08

I liked Mark McLay and the Dustdevils’ latest album, Love and Barbwire, immediately. For one, I’ve always thought “peace and love” was a bunch of horseshit—love and barbed wire being much more realistic. Two, the album opens with the cheerfully pessimistic, oddly upbeat song “25 Miles of Barbwire,” a fitting soundtrack addition for a decent postapocalyptic sci-fi movie with a sense of humor. It’s a postapocalypse of the world, or a once-promising but now imploded relationship.

Equal parts Americana, roots and straightforward pop-rock, McLay alternates mournful ballads with clever songs on the lighter side. “Standin’ in the Fire” is a standout track, with its minimal lyrics remaining open-ended enough to evoke both the inferno of bad love as well as the events of 9-11. The theme of the album, overall, is love, where it goes right and where it goes wrong. On the album’s closing track, “Help Me See,” McLay laments: “It’s been foggy, it’s been thick, real shady and slick . . . / I’ve been misused, blackened my heart, barbecue.” Jaded-sounding keyboards vibrate, female backing vocals echo and concur and lead guitar round out what are essentially late-night acoustic guitar songs composed when it’s quiet—and dark—enough to face oneself with complete honesty. McLay performs on July 26 at Studio E.

Drummer Dan Ransford and bassist Eric Straus provide a solid foundation from which to anchor songs about turbulence and storms. The album was recorded at Banquet Studios in Sebastopol, and McLay is known as an energetic live performer who once rocked himself right offstage onto the hard floor. “The Dustdevils have been doing this for 14 years,” McLay reports, “and I’m impressed how live music [in the North Bay] perseveres. Places close, but new places open and people keep trying to have live music in their clubs or houses—wherever they can cobble something together.”

McLay hails from a farm in eastern Oregon, and his music reflects a rural sensibility, though “everything changed the day I went to a used record store in Boise, Idaho,” he says, “and came home with Rocket to Russia by the Ramones.” Though his music sounds little like the abrasive punk of the 1970s, there is an honesty and melancholy that still rings true, tinged with hopefulness for something better to come—if even only on a local, interpersonal level, where it indeed may matter most.

Mark McLay and the Dustdevils perform Saturday, July 26, at Studio E in rural Sebastopol. Directions provided with ticket reservation. 8pm. $20. See www.northbaylive.com for details. 707.542.7143.


Pine-Sol with a Licorice Linger

07.23.08

Ah! The Green Goddess! What is the fascination that makes her so adorable and so terrible?”

Thus pondered Aleister Crowley, British occultist and self-proclaimed wickedest man in the world, of his beloved and recently outlawed absinthe, “the Green Goddess,” in 1918.

Whether he ever found his answer isn’t known; when he died in 1947, it was still illegal to drink absinthe in America and parts of Europe. But it’s a question that bears repeating today.

The devil’s drink has come to the North Bay, and would-be homicidal maniacs are lapping it up. Apparently tossing aside worries of hallucinations, ignoring dark tales of madness and violence, and even risking the possible loss of an ear, sophisticates across Sonoma, Napa and Marin counties are downing drams of the vicious liquid.

Yes, absinthe, the desperado drink of choice for 19th-century painters, poets and writers. Suddenly, the highly alcoholic, fiendish concoction that allegedly bewitched Vincent van Gogh into carving off his fleshy flap is showing up in high-end restaurants like Cyrus in Healdsburg and Bouchon in Yountville.

Served in its classic water blend, it’s holding court at trendy eateries like Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen in St. Helena. Paired with odd partners like Red Bull, Champagne and gin, it’s making a splash in the bars of such hip spots as the Girl & the Fig in Sonoma. At Traverso’s Gourmet Foods and Liquors in Santa Rosa, co-owner Michael Traverso can barely keep his four brands on the shelves.

Indeed, the forbidden la fée verte, or the Green Fairy as it’s called, has landed hard here after a near-100-year prohibition was lifted in December.

And now, my head is pounding. Hard. In a quest to solve Crowley’s riddle, I’ve been doing shots of the stuff in bars, restaurants, private homes and, in one case, a dark alley (OK, an exclusive lounge with an alley entrance). I’ve sampled almost a dozen brands and cracked into private caches from collectors holding legal bottles, but also bootleg grog smuggled from Europe.

What I’ve learned: Absinthe, like fine wine, has many nuanced characteristics, capable of challenging even the most talented tasting  notes writer.

Alas, not all of these qualities are particularly nice. “Licorice” rolls off the tongue, but so does “battery acid.” Adorable? Not so much. Terrible? Pretty often.

Why the excitement, then, for a drink that is essentially harsh herbs and excruciatingly high levels of alcohol?

Think mind-altering buzz. Or, as Cyrus bar manager Scott Beattie quips, “We’ve been told we couldn’t have it. What’s not to love?”

Blame Lance Winters, owner of St. George Spirits in Alameda. Purported to have near-hallucinogenic properties, absinthe was banned in its native France in 1915, and had been illegal in America since 1912. But thanks to Winter’s perseverance, his domestic version was reintroduced in very limited quantities to the States this winter. The distillery, most famous for its Hangar One vodka, sold out of its inaugural 3,600 bottles in just six hours.

Immediately, the Swiss Kubler and French Lucid brands burst upon the American market, too, and the anise-flavored liquor that was once considered the bane of bohemian culture hit mainstream.

French-style absinthe is made by macerating herbs (including wormwood, star anise and fennel) in up to 90 percent alcohol (brandy is common) and then distilling it all into a green liqueur. The spirit is then infused with more herbs, like hyssop and lemon balm, resulting in a brew that contains nearly twice the alcohol content of most other spirits, reaching up to 144 proof (that’s 72 percent alcohol). Some bars maintain a two-drink maximum, particularly when blending it with energy drinks.

Besides the obvious draw of potency, there’s the undeniable allure of the mythology attached to it. Edgar Degas and Pablo Picasso painted portraits of it, celebrated French poet Paul Verlaine cursed it as he lay dying from its effects in 1896, and his protégé, the savage wordsmith Arthur Rimbaud, penned this romantic wail: “When the poet’s pain is soothed by a liquid jewel held in the sacred chalice, upon which rests the pierced spoon, the crystal sweetness, icy streams trickle down. The darkest forest melts into an open meadow. Waves of green seduce. Sanity surrendered, the soul spirals toward the murky depths, wherein lies the beautiful madness—absinthe.”

Then there’s the macabre legend of why the lunatic libation was originally banned in Switzerland. In 1905, after Jean Lanfray, a 31-year-old Swiss laborer, sampled some absinthe and then killed his pregnant wife and two children, the Swiss government blamed the liqueur.

Critics of the Lanfray tale point out, that Lanfray had consumed an entire bottle of absinthe before breakfast, and then moved on to crème de menthe, cognac and soda, at least six glasses of wine and a cup of coffee laced with brandy.

Despite the naughty notoriety, most of the threat turns out to be nonsense. The active ingredient of thujone is rumored to affect the brain. It’s true that wormwood (Artemisia absinthium) can cause paroxysms and paralysis, yet the amount needed to be consumed for this is astronomical. The only deadly ingredient in absinthe, actually, is alcohol.

Some say the ban was a conspiracy by the wine industry and temperance fanatics to put the popular spirit out of business. And the veto has been likened to baseless hysteria, along the lines of Reefer Madness, the 1936 film shrieking about the horrific dangers of marijuana. In reality, the most likely repercussion of too much indulgence is one hellacious hangover.

Ben Aviram, head sommelier at Bouchon, doesn’t recommend even trying for the fairy trip. “I’m not a scientist, but my understanding is that the concentrations of wormwood are not enough to cause hallucinations no matter how much you drink. The effects are urban myth.”

Jesse Bennett, bartender at the Girl & the Fig, says the issue doesn’t really come up, anyway, with more people sampling than snorting the noxious blend. “It’s pretty popular, but it’s more because of curiosity,” he says of the seven to eight shots he pours each week.

True absinthe aficionados insist the real appeal is in the remarkable flavor. Liqueurs such as ouzo, Pernod, pastis and anisette may taste similar but are less complex, without the powerful botanical symphony.

Beattie, though, is one of the most rabid promoters of absinthe, stocking a private treasure chest of almost a dozen bottles in his home cabinet (without a licensed distributor for most of the exotic labels, he can’t serve them all at Cyrus).

Like most North Bay shops, his Cyrus absinthe is served drip style. The hooch is poured into a special glass and then water is slowly splashed in over chunk ice held above the glass in a slotted silver spoon—the water is necessary to dilute the single ounce of alcohol and “blossom” the herbs, while the ice slowly melts to tame the burn. As the water filters in, the drink turns milky opalescent, a process called louching.

Sometimes Beattie will put a sugar cube in the spoon for a sweet edge; what he will not do is light the sugar cube on fire, which while a popular Czech tradition, is only done to caramelize and mask the bitterness of low-quality absinthe. (It’s still a catchy gimmick—Bouchon will flame the cube on request.)

Good drama or no, don’t count me a convert.

The first selection I sampled in a private tasting with Beattie was called Roquette 1797. It smelled like an old closet, mud and cat pee. The silvery liquid barely louched, and tasted of mothball and medicine. I hated it.

Beattie’s feelings weren’t hurt. “Absinthe generally is too intense, too complex, not for mass consumption. People say they like anise, but they don’t.”

The Belle Amie was better. The gold-olive-toned brew imparted iodine, lemon and cleaning fluid. Pine-Sol with a licorice linger. My sinuses were open.

Verte Suisse unleashed menthol, lime and rancid cough syrup before ripping to the back of my throat with its harsh bite. My chest was warm and my skin itched. By the time I got to Absinthe Verte de Fougerolles, I was seeing tendrils of light, and tasting tea, spice and brake fluid.

Beattie wasn’t surprised to find that I liked St. George Absinthe Verte the best, swilling the murky green potion like lemonade. The brandy-based, herbaceous beverage is the top choice at the Girl & the Fig, too, for its smooth, mild, palatable personality and its endearing Good & Plenty perfume. Still, I was nauseous.

I decided a nibble would help. Yet another challenge to absinthe is what to pair it with (other than a designated driver). Beattie trotted out a couple of tests: assorted cheeses, Chex Mix and pickled ginger stained with beet juice. Pickled daikon smelled like feet, so in the end, it won. As Bouchon’s Aviram notes, however, absinthe has such an assertive flavor that it’s, er, “best” enjoyed on its own.

Then I tried the La Maîtresse Rouge. Packaged in a pretty silver screwcap bottle, it’s a rosé and it tastes pink, very floral, with a soft, delicate dance of anise and real flowers kissed with embalming fluid. My eyes were tingling, my stomach ached and my brain shrieked, “I know where you live—we’ll be discussing this later.” But it was still a surprisingly un-nasty sip.

In the long run, absinthe may be simply a novelty. A bartender at Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen says he’s still nursing the original bottle he ordered more than six months ago. And Traverso has already seen a dramatic slow down in the “frenzy” that followed the spirit’s December debut.

He’s not too surprised. “For the money, fifty to eighty dollars,” he says, “I’d rather have a good bottle of Scotch.”

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Where in the North Bay to find the green fairy in a bottle:

Beverages & More www.bevmo.com

Bouchon 6534 Washington St., Yountville. 707.944.8037.

Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen 1327 Railroad Ave., St. Helena. 707.963.1200.

Cyrus 29 North St., in the Hotel les Mars, Healdsburg. 707.433.3311.

The Girl & the Fig 110 W. Spain St., Sonoma. 707.938.3634.

JV Wine & Spirits 301 First St., Napa. 707.253.2624.

Ludwig Liquor & Smoke Shop 431 San Anselmo Ave., San Anselmo. 415.456.1820.

Plaza Liquors 19 W. Napa St., Sonoma. 707.996.2828.

St. Helena Wine Center 1321 Main St., St. Helena. 707.963.1313.

Traverso’s Market106 B St., Santa Rosa. 707.542.2530.

Vintage Wine & Spirits 67 Throckmorton Ave., Mill Valley. 415.388.1626.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

Pick a Pepper

07.23.08


The welcoming of homegrown produce into restaurant kitchens is fast becoming the preferred method of restaurateurs all over the state, as chefs opt out of cheaper, often questionable produce for fresh, guilt-free and flavorsome ingredients. And many are taking matters into their own hands by planting their own restaurant gardens.

“When you do have to go the farmers market, you see all of this great Swiss chard, and beautiful peaches and strawberries,” says executive chef David Kinch of the Michelin-starred Manresa in Los Gatos. “But then you’ll notice that all the chefs are all buying the same Swiss chard and peaches and strawberries! One of the great things about having your own garden is that it causes a separation, and it makes what you do unique.”

Ubuntu, a restaurant and combined yoga studio in Napa, places a heavy emphasis on using organically farmed local produce to support its decidedly green outlook. A large part of the ingredients used in Ubuntu’s “garden fresh menu” is grown on its own land, designed by wine country favorite Jeff Dawson, who created gardens for both the Fetzer and Kendall-Jackson wineries.

At Ubuntu, where employees are encouraged to walk or ride to work if possible and all the furnishings are made from recycled wood, the staff are not only mindful of the energy they expend, but encourage a sustainable lifestyle through the food they serve.

“Because our farm is run biodynamically, we’re putting extra care into the produce,” says Ubuntu executive chef Jeremy Fox. “Plus, we can pick things as we like them, and it really puts the control back in our hands.”

It helps to have good friends with larger patches of dirt. Manresa’s exclusive partnership with Cynthia Sandberg’s Love Apple Farm in Ben Lomond began serendipitously. Kinch, who had always bought tomatoes from Sandberg, mentioned he was looking for land to farm. Sandberg wanted to begin to expand her land into a biodynamic farm, and the rest, as they say, is homegrown history.

“Our relationship is very unique, because everything that grows is solely for the restaurant,” Kinch says. “That way, she can concentrate on what she does best, rather than worry about selling certain ingredients or growing certain crops.”

It also ensures the best produce. For the most part, Manresa’s entire menu is supported by Love Apple Farm’s harvest, but sometimes, depending on weather or unforeseen consequences, the restaurant is forced to supplement with ingredients from farmers markets or commercial growers. But for about six to nine months of the year, every component of every dish is grown by Sandberg and the gardening staff.

And that’s another thing. Gardening staffs, employees whose sole purpose is tending to the farms and small restaurant gardens, are fast becoming commonplace for high-end establishments, which makes the overwhelming task of tending acres of farmland a joint effort.

“We know exactly where everything is coming from,” Fox says. “We know there are no pesticides, and the possibility of things like salmonella in the tomatoes is completely gone.”

Indeed, now that tomatoes have been causing concern at the market,  a brilliantly homegrown Roma can set the tone for a five-star meal, Kinch says. “The appeal of having a garden lies in the quality of the ingredients first and foremost,” he says. “It’s a great indicator of seasonality, it adds a wonderful sense of place and it really does bring out the personality of your restaurant and help create that right feeling.”

That feeling is sprouting. Northern California’s ideal climate and fertile soil has sparked somewhat of a gardening revolution as restaurants up and down the coast—like the French Laundry in Yountville, Sebastopol’s French Garden and the Station House Cafe in Pt. Reyes Station—have all made a commitment to serving the freshest produce from their own backyards.

“I think a lot of people are going to try it because it is a trend, but it really is an important new part of the food industry,” Kinch says. “An integrated working farm or garden is a rarity—the elements all play into it and make it difficult—but if people could find the time and money to do it long-term, they’d find it’s very rewarding.”

Fox agrees, adding that no matter the obstacle, personally growing the ingredients is undoubtedly worth it.

“The only problem is it’s not a money-making venture,” he says of deciding to go homegrown. “It’s more a personal choice. Unfortunately, sometimes you’ll plant something and wait for a few months, and it just doesn’t turn out the way you wanted it to. That’s just the way it goes.”

Farm-fresh produce is reappearing in big cities like Chicago and New York as well, with chefs traveling to farms just outside the city for produce or simply housing a rooftop garden or two. While it seems innovative and groundbreaking, personally growing produce goes way back to Delmonico’s, a Manhattan eatery that famously harvested its ingredients from a farm in Brooklyn some 100 years ago. What’s new this time around is the emphasis on the environmental impact of food. The focus on biodynamic farming and sustainable practices has changed the face of gardening itself, and although many restaurateurs simply love the quality of organic produce, the effort to maintain a greener garden is behind the movement.

Bay Area diners are sensing a shift as well, and judging by the success of homegrown restaurants, they seem to love every bite.

“Since day one people have noticed,” Kinch says. “Even when they had no idea we were growing our own stuff, they knew something was going on.”

Pay Dirt

Restaurants that grow their own

Dempsey’s Restaurant & Brewery Owners Peter and Bernadette Burrell also manage Red Rooster Ranch, an organic farm in West Petaluma. Ranch produce appears on the menu year-round, and they often harvest ingredients in the mornings and serve them the same evening. The adjoining brewery is run as biodynamically as possible, so there’s a sustainable something for the whole family. Dempsey’s, in the Golden Eagle Shopping Center, 50 E. Washington St., Petaluma. Open for lunch and dinner daily. 707.765.9694.

The French Garden Restaurant & Brasserie Owners Dan Smith and Joan Marler provide executive chef Didier Gerbi with all the freshest, best produce from their 30 acres of organic farmland located just west of Sebastopol. The French Garden takes green dining above and beyond, hosting films, dinner concerts, poetry readings and dance to complement the just-picked entrées. 8050 Bodega Ave., Sebastopol. Open for dinner, Wednesday&–Sunday; brunch, Sunday. 707.824.2030.

Mustard’s Grill This upscale grill house tucked in between vineyards and mustard fields plays home to a small garden where owner Cindy Pawlcyn draws inspiration for her dishes. Barbecue gets all gussied up as Pawlcyn and her team treat diners to locally farmed culinary dishes that range from the familiar to the bizarre. 7399 St. Helena Hwy., Yountville. Open for lunch and dinner daily. 707.944.2424.

Station House Cafe This West Marin hideaway is treasured by locals and tourists alike for its strong service and sustainable take on American cuisine. Produce is grown onsite and procured through a partnership with Marin Organic. Chef Wayne Pratt not only has a knack for creating tasty and healthy dishes, he surfs in his spare time. 11180 State Route 1, Pt. Reyes Station. Open daily. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, Friday&–Monday; lunch and dinner, Tuesday&–Thursday. 415.663.1515.

Ubuntu In this self-described “vegetable restaurant,” customers can calm the soul through the accompanying yoga studios or the mouth-watering organically farmed dishes—or both! Green living is taken to a new level at this Napa Valley oasis, making a brighter outlook, as well as a satisfied stomach, a guarantee.

1140 Main St., Napa. Open for dinner, Monday&–Friday; lunch and dinner, Saturday&–Sunday. 707.251.5656.

Zazu Perhaps the sweetest little roadhouse there ever was, Zazu serves up Italian-infused Americana dishes with a local kick: it grows its own herbs and diverse produce in planter boxes behind the restaurant. Zazu employs a gardener to care for its produce, and crops include pears, pomegranates, squash and numerous lettuce varieties, to name a few. 3535 Guerneville Road, Santa Rosa. Open for dinner, Wednesday&–Sunday. 707.523.4814.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

I, WinePod

07.23.08

Forget soil. Forget irrigation. Forget weather. Forget purple hands in October. We’ve entered the 21st century, and we’ve hit the ground running. Just eight and a half years in, and already there’s a computer that can make wine year-round. Sort of. Developed in Silicon Valley, the WinePod allows human involvement—requires it, actually—but this gizmo’s got the digital brains to virtually eliminate all human error and the blunders that can ruin a batch of homemade bucket-wine.

The machine, invented in 2005 but only now going mainstream, is a 4-foot-tall R2-D2 look-alike with a 15-gallon capacity. It is clean-lined and quicksilver-sleek, and will add an industrial sex appeal to the modern dining room. And, unlike any human winemakers we know of, it can make 12 vintages of wine per year—winter, spring, fall or summer.

Here’s how it works. You buy a WinePod for a tad over $4,500, which includes a 15-gallon bundle of grapes from ProVina, WinePod’s founding father, which keeps about 50 tons of frozen Pinot, Cab and Syrah grapes in a cold-storage warehouse in Richmond. (Successive grape orders are around $700.) Remove the WinePod’s lid and dump the grapes into its steel-lined belly. Flip a switch to activate the automatic press, which squashes the grapes with 16 pounds of pressure per square inch. The skins and pulp are easily removed via the pomace basket.

Add dry yeast and the marvelous brix sensor. This complex, wireless gadget about the size of a Walkman (remember those?) soaks in the stewing wine and communicates with the winemaker via a PC application called WineCoach. This system provides breaking news updates from the belly of the WinePod; if there seems to be distress and unrest, the WinePod will suggest adding some yeast nutrient, another accessory.

Greg Snell, who initially conceived of the idea, says the WinePod is the first home-winemaking kit to bring commercial winemaking capabilities to the mini-batch level. Most home winemakers have only a plastic bucket with a spigot at the bottom to work with, making temperature control, for one, an almost unmanageable issue, but the brix sensor directs the WinePod in carefully controlling the temperature of the fermenting wine as needed, with no human input required.

But not every function of the WinePod is automated.

“The person is still the winemaker,” says Snell. “I was worried at first that people would think this is a winemaking machine, where you don’t have to do anything. That’s what a custom crush facility is, but the WinePod is the real deal. You’re making the wine. The software just serves as a crutch to keep you from making dumb mistakes.”

In Capitola at the north shore of Monterey Bay, just across the mountains from the WinePod’s Silicon Valley origins, Cava Wine Bar has integrated a WinePod into the cool, jazzy decor of the space. The staff and several customers have already made one batch of Napa Cabernet, now at rest in the eight-gallon oak barrel that comes with the WinePod.

As the wine ages, the winemakers will communally add oak chips, tannin powder and other optional elements from the WinePod accessory kit. Snell and his colleagues hope to interest other wine bars nationwide in having a WinePod on the premises, to expose wine enthusiasts to WinePod winemaking without having to make the immediate plunge of purchasing their own.

Snell has received a small amount of criticism from winemakers who claim that they learned to make wine the hard way, and that the WinePod allows one to bypass all the challenges. Cava Wine Bar co-owner Zach Worthington, who has seen the machine do its thing, disagrees and says there is nothing false about making wine in the WinePod.

“It teaches you winemaking exactly as it happens anywhere else, just on a small scale. You start with your fresh fruit and end with wine.”

Bad advice is prevalent in the home-winemaking community, says Snell, and a batch of wine gone south due to a simple error can easily turn a frustrated winemaker away from the hobby for good. With the WinePod, there’s no goofing up, as long as one regularly sits down at the computer to receive updates and advice. The WinePod, says Snell, will also bridge the intimidating gap that so often lies between a fine finished bottle of wine and the average Joe who once never could have imagined making such a product himself.

“We’re trying to demystify wine and winemaking, take the snobbery out of it and make it understandable,” Snell explains. “Even wine aficionados who haven’t made wine will not have the wine knowledge and appreciation of someone who makes it.”

Even if a robot does half the work.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

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