Sense of Self

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12.19.07

Self-portraiture is such a difficult task that few artists regularly undertake it. After all, how to disconnect the id and release any sort of unguarded truth when the subject matter is one’s very own complicated self?

The challenge has got to be tougher for teens, young people who are still wrassling out the particulars of who they are now and who they might be some day. But teens are resilient, and, in the case of the wonder kids who are in Santa Rosa High School’s ArtQuest program, they’re also terrifically honest, terrifically smart and terrifically plain old talented.

This is our second year working with ArtQuest, under the direction of Tanya Braunstein and Glen Graves. This year, we asked the students to explore the self-portrait from three angles: their physical self, the person they are at home and their public persona. Drawing from the results of these three revealing chapters, we chose one shot from each artist to reproduce in these pages.

I am personally amazed at the honesty expressed by these young artists. I jokingly suggested that if I had to take a self-portrait, I’d just shoot the contents of my purse. Would I actually dare to print an image depicting my slovenly habits and insane need for extra lipsticks? No way. These kids are far braver than I’ll ever be.

All of the shots taken and approved, plus the ones reprinted here, will be on exhibition at the Santa Rosa High School multipurpose room through Dec. 20. A free artist’s reception kicks off on Wednesday, Dec. 19, from 3pm to 5pm. 1235 Mendocino Ave., Santa Rosa.

We applaud the artistry and hard work of this year’s crop of ArtQuest kids. Bravo!

Hannah Bowen: Hannah took this unvarnished shot of herself just after waking up one morning.

Ashley Franklin: Ashley’s shot from the inside of her car reveals roads traveled and roads yet to take.

Abby Campbell: To us, Abhy’s shot evokes the poems of Sylvia Plath. No, there is no concrete reason why. This was a cover contender.

Joseph Zappelli: Joseph calls this his ‘Italian GQ’ shot. It’s irresistible, but so is the moody, refracted image he took through the doorway into his bedroom that we wish we had room to also print. This was another cover contender.

Melanie Hede: Melanie took on a gothic mood for ‘Storm,’ which depicts her favorite abandoned water tower.

Elizabeth Randol: Put a favorite Belgian waffle iron in a white cast iron sink, and voila!

Claire Sloan: Claire elegantly juxtaposes her grown-up size with the baby chair given to her as a child.

Alex Molinari: Alex is a ‘Boho’ photo veteran, having been part of our first annual. He is also one of a trio of celebrated kids who would have made $53k in the stock market this fall had they been using real dosh.

Connor Lawson: Connor caught the light and the reflection of the landscape while having the composure to pose with enormous thought.

Chloe Minervini: Chloe calls this ‘Closer’ and it was a difficult pick. She also produced stunning shots of her parents, her cosmetic basket and herself playing the piano.


First Bite

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12.19.07

E ditor’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 .

My mom is picking at something beige on her plate. She holds a forkful aloft, inspecting it, then offers it to me for analysis. “Might be toast,” she muses. I take a bite, feeling the dry graininess on my tongue, the starchy crust and the blandness that tastes only of butter. It’s poorly done polenta. She gives me a chunk of the gray meat that sits atop. It’s overcooked fish—mahi mahi, we suppose, as our waitress had recited it as the catch of the day ($17)—that hunkers in a puddle of white wine sauce under a fistful of dry parsley flakes.

Now it’s my turn. “Bacon grease for sure,” I vote, pushing my plate of meatloaf ($16) in her direction. “Maple syrup, maybe. Microwaved hamburger.” She identifies ketchup, and nibbles at a scoop of stiff mashed potatoes alongside. We both agree that the side dish is spinach, rather than the promised Brussels sprouts. She sighs. I cough. We both put down our forks. This little game we’ve been playing at Sky Lounge Steakhouse & Raw Bar isn’t fun anymore.

When we first sat down at the restaurant on a recent Saturday night, we’d been amused. There’s a retro charm to the place, tucked as it is inside the Sonoma County Airport, overlooking the tarmac with its walk-up plane ladders and looking like a throwback to the ’50s.

But this Sky Lounge wasn’t at all what we had expected. It opened in August to a fair bit of publicity. It’s newsworthy because the North Bay’s only commercial airport reopened last spring after a long hiatus. As such, Sky Lounge is a gateway to wine and food country, an important first and/or last impression for visitors. Appropriately, it promises “top grade” beef and seafood from local farmers and fishermen, in a “first class restaurant with a creative menu emphasizing freshness and quality.”

A centerpiece, deliciously showcased in marketing materials, is the raw/sushi bar. It sounds like a nifty proposition even for folks not trapped waiting for a plane: Hog Island oysters in truffle-ponzu mignonette, kona kampachi spiked with spicy mayo and jalapeño wafer or a soft shell crab BLT.

Yet tonight, there’s no sushi or raw display at the tiny wheeled-in sushi stand off the kitchen. There’s apparently no real food either; our waitress tells us the chef is off. So instead, our dinner is just coffee-shop clam chowder ($6) that’s been so beat-up by reheating that there’s yellowish skin across the top, a caesar ($11) drowned in mayonnaise and a few marinated anchovies and Asian lettuce cups ($9) buried under flabby pork clumps.

Outside, it’s so densely foggy that the PA system alerts us an incoming flight is being diverted to Oakland, and its passengers will be bused back here. A pack of people settle in at the bar to wait, arming themselves with cocktails. Don’t they know that the first rule of going to the airport is to check and make sure the plane is on schedule? The second rule, apparently, is to find out if the chef has arrived.

Sky Lounge Steakhouse & Raw Bar, 2200 Airport Blvd. (in Sonoma County Airport), Santa Rosa. Open for breakfast and lunch daily; dinner, Wednesday&–Sunday. 707.542.9400.


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

Wine Tasting Room of the Week

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O ur journey to this historic house of sparkling wine began in Larkspur. Out of six French Champagnes, Italian Proseccos and domestic sparkling that the Tam Cellars wine shop offered at a recent tasting, one impressed me. Schramsberg’s 2003 Blanc de Noirs had the rich aroma of the ghosts of yeast past, a light note somewhere between pear fruit and perspiration, the sensuality of a great Champagne. Realizing that I have been woefully remiss in my tasting duties in this category, I made an appointment at the next opportunity.

Every venerable Napa estate has its founding graybeard and namesake. Jacob Schram was a German immigrant who took up barbering in the 1850s. Being frugal, the story goes, he saved up and bought a 200 acre parcel in the Napa Valley. (Ah, if only you could frugally skip your daily $3 latté for a few years, and consequently close on a few hundred North Bay acres.) Despite the popularity of Champagne in post-Gold Rush California, Schram made still wines. He did, however, employ Chinese laborers to hand-dig extensive caves. The winery first gained recognition for hosting Robert Louis Stevenson, who wrote about it in Silverado Squatters .

After the disruptions of Prohibition and changes in ownership, enter Jack and Jamie Davies in 1965. They rehabilitated the Victorian house and dilapidated caves, and, keeping Schram’s name, began a family-run Champagne house. When their Blanc de Blancs was featured front and center at the “Toast to Peace” during Nixon’s 1972 China trip, they were vaulted to the preeminent status the estate enjoys today. Incredibly, it was the first domestic sparkling wine served at a U.S. state function.

Schramsberg is tucked into a quiet, forested hillside, and because it’s open for tours by appointment only, there are no crowds. Dark, diaphanous lichen floats on the hand-chipped rock walls of the caves. The lichen, which doesn’t grow in modern, concrete-walled caves, serves to cleanse the air in the subterranean microclimate, as well as lending spooky atmosphere. With golden-hued bottles stacked floor to ceiling in the background, our guide explains the méthode champenoise and relates various colorful anecdotes before moving on to tasting.

The “tasting room” is a branch of the cave illuminated with standing candelabras. After a demonstration that in uncorking Champagne “the ear’s gain is the palate’s loss,” we toast with a round of the 2004 Blanc de Blancs ($34.50). Even Queen Elizabeth II is said to be fond of its clean pear and apple cider flavors. Forget strawberries with the Brut Rosé ($39.50); our guide suggests it pairs particularly well with popcorn. That Blanc de Noirs was not on the table; however, the 2001 Reserve ($90) is a premium selection of that cuveé. (Holiday budget tip: Schramsberg sparkling can be bought at Trader Joe’s at a significant discount.)

After the third glass, concerned that all this fine quaff might produce sufficient euphoria to contraindicate piloting an automobile, a few of us stepped up to the dump bucket. The majority of folks darn well got their money’s worth.

Schramsberg Vineyards, 1400 Schramsberg Road, Calistoga. Four tours a day by appointment only, $25 per person. 707.942.4558.



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Craving Fresh Blood

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12.19.07

The story is somewhat legendary: My Bloody Valentine, led by Kevin Shields, formed in Ireland in 1984, relocated several times and plugged away without much notice until their album, Isn’t Anything , a juxtaposition of distorted guitars and ethereal vocals, garnered critical acclaim. Their follow-up, Loveless , excavated even further into a mix of fragile beauty and fabricated chaos—diamonds muted in felt. Loveless is sculpted rather than arranged, a studio album if there ever was one. Shields’ primary interest was crafting moments that never sonically existed in real time, a process that was painstaking enough to require what was rumored to be Loveless’ $500,000 recording cost, a substantial sum for an unproved band on an indie label in 1991.

After Loveless , My Bloody Valentine signed with Island records, disappeared into Shields’ home studio and never came out. By 1997, their membership was down to Shields and co-vocalist and guitarist Bilinda Butcher, with no new albums on the horizon.

Until now.

Shields has announced the band is reforming to play a handful of shows in Britain and to finish that damn lost record already. Loveless was the touchstone of the shoegaze era; it left listeners hungry for more, and now they can finally exhale. But based on prior performance, it is perhaps a shrewd move to assume that My Bloody Valentine won’t deliver the promised album within the new year, or even the ones after that.

In the meantime, there’s a whole universe of music to listen to out there, a fair share of it My Bloody Valentine&–derived. Here’s the cream of the lesser-known crop.

The Athens, Ga., instrumental band Japancakes recently released a start-to-finish cover album of Loveless , and—surprise!—it’s neither a novelty nor a goggle-eyed homage. Japancakes’ interpretation replaces the vocals (something My Bloody Valentine happily blurred deep in the mix) with instruments such as slide guitar, cello and Farfisa organ, resulting in more straightforward, less atmospheric songs. And by bringing those heretofore buried melodies to the forefront, Japancakes transform some of Loveless’ mellower transitional tracks into lovely standouts, such as “Touched,” which seeps with unvarnished melancholy.

Japancakes strip away the diaphanous haze that My Bloody Valentine liberally applied to their recordings, revealing the rock-solid songwriting that’s not immediately apparent when listening to the original versions. Their Loveless cover makes a fine complement to the original, but still shines in its own right.

Shortly after imports of Loveless hit our American shores, a number of bands took to the distortion pedal. One such band, Philadelphia’s Lilys , put out a somewhat maudlin but still enjoyable copycat album, In the Presence of Nothing , in 1992. Listen to the gorgeous metallic wreckage of “Tone Bender” (whose chugga-chugga guitar paired with whisper-soft vocals follows My Bloody Valentine’s “Only Shallow” template to a T), and dare to say imitation isn’t the sincerest form of flattery. Lilys’ productivity has far outstripped My Bloody Valentine’s; the band has recorded nine albums and counting, covering a stripped-down ’60s garage-rock phase up to the psychedelic art-pop they continue to perform to this day.

Also still very much active are Seattle’s Voyager One , who take more musical cues from early, ultradruggy Verve (they’re more percussive and vocal-driven), but share My Bloody Valentine’s devotion to studio-crafted musical environments. Particularly of note is their 2002 album Monster Zero , which hints at what happens when a band takes a dance-centric track like Loveless’ “Soon” and runs with it. Voyager One, who are a super-tight live act with or without My Bloody Valentine comparisons, have a new album on deck for February 2008, and if precedent serves, it should be a good one.

And, of course, there’s no way to write a list of My Bloody Valentine supplements without mentioning the Sacramento power trio Electro Group , whose fiercely eloquent songs are the ultimate distillation of My Bloody Valentine’s punkier side. Both A New Pacifica and their latest, the succulent Good Technology , don’t skip on the fuzz, the volume or the blissful catchiness.


Letters to the Editor

12.19.07

Apropos of nothing

In speaking of American heroes, do you know which hero was born in my home country of New Zealand? If you guessed Russell Crowe, that would be right. He is a man of dashing looks, stylish smiles and untouched greatness. The man rose from being one of the most respected persons of the tiny island nation and made his way through to the top of the world. He was born with a passion for animals, mainly goats and horses. A man of principle and a sense of being. He is what we call in my native land “tu meke,” meaning great.

I love his presence. I once had the privilege of meeting him in person, and the only thing he told me after I said hello was, “Aoh, you will go to far places, I can see it.” If you didn’t know yet, some of those words are of Maori dialect, which are the native people of New Zealand, and Russell Crowe is directly related through his great-great-great grandmother. My father’s side has also lived there as far back as we can trace.

So in a way, I would like to say, thank you, Russell Crowe for being a part of me, New Zealand and the rest of the world. As we might say in New Zealand you are my “whanau,” or family. You have changed so many lives, so greatly.

May the light of your passage be my words,

Rex Harigon

Santa Rosa

Mr. Harigon, your sweet letter, arriving out of the blue for no good reason we can fathom other than an irrepressible love for Russell Crowe, tickles us immensely. Thanks for the smiles.

Gold Worthy

I just read the Redacted review and commentary (“See No Evil,” Peter Byrne, Dec. 12). Brilliant! Byrne’s courage shines bright, a lonely light in Sonoma County, for sure. This journalist is worth gold, as are the courageous Bohemian and the Rialto Cinemas Lakeside in Santa Rosa.

Byrne’s hard look at what is going on on the ground south of Baghdad regarding the rape and murder of a 14-year-old and the butchering of her family should disgust the pro-Bush ostriches. Byrne really makes the point that war atrocities go hand in hand with the misguided right-wing war package, whose rules includes undying loyalty to the leader, George W. Bush, and the notion that bombing, raping and butchering the enemy are all OK.

Hooray! Someone lives who has the guts to put into words the real costs of war: slaughtering the enemy while creating brutal, twisted soldiers who will return and apply the neatly packaged rules of war here at home.

Johanna Lynch

Cazadero

Ms. Lynch, your letter was forwarded to Peter Byrne, prompting him to underscore the ‘gold’ aspect of your praise in ongoing professional correspondence with his editor. (We forgive you for this.)

More by Peter can be found in the December issue of ‘Scientific American’ and his eight-page spread on the late physicist Hugh Everett. We hear tell that ‘Sci Am’ is more ready with the gold. Perhaps it’s alchemy . . .

Mail-Order Husband

Richard Coshnear is a traitor to the United States of America (“ICE Raids,” Aug. 29). With 15,000 illegal aliens in Sonoma County, he is doing all he can to confuse the issue for those too dense or too corrupt to see the truth: illegal aliens don’t belong here. The Constitution was written to protect Americans from the government, not illegal aliens from being sent home. With your lies and made-up stories about “bigotry,” you help make us become the victims of illegal alien criminals.

You will always have your commie friends to believe your lies about racism, but it’s so sad that you suck the American sheeple into believing your lies as well. I am the husband and sponsor of a legal immigrant, a real immigrant. You phonies run from the truth so quickly because you are commies and because you exploit the very people you claim to want to help. If there is a hell for liars and hypocrites, you will be there.

Jeff Wilson

Via e-mail

Mr. Wilson, you lowly cur, we do direct your attention to this week’s news story (p9) on the continuing ICE raids and their effect on small children. Those little ones really ought to toughen up!

We also condemn you for stealing our photo of Richard Coshnear and for posting our personal correspondence with you on the Internet. Have a lousy holiday.


Some Place Like Home

12.19.07


A s Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) continues to target local illegal immigrants, some community members are trying to make Sonoma County a “county of refuge.” If it passes the Board of Supervisors, it would mean that although ICE could still conduct operations in Sonoma County, local law enforcement would not be able to help them unless required by federal law to do so.

Other cities in the Bay Area, including San Francisco, Oakland and Richmond, have already declared themselves places of refuge. Locally, the movement started because of concern that the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department is allowing ICE agents to ride along in patrol cars, as reported in these pages (“Caught Being Brown,” Aug. 29).

The sheriff’s department says ICE is helping with Santa Rosa’s growing gang problem. But the County of Refuge Campaign—which includes groups like Committee for Immigrant Rights, the ACLU and the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma County—believes that Latinos are being racially targeted. They say the police are stopping people for such minor infractions as broken taillights, and ICE is using it as an opportunity to question them about their immigration status.

The campaign is calling it a violation of the Fourth Amendment, which protects people from unlawful search and seizure. And that, coupled with ICE raids on immigrant homes in nearby towns like San Rafael, is pointing to a disturbing pattern of human rights violations.

“I keep hearing these stories about how people are afraid to let their kids outside to play because of ICE,” says Heidi Doughty, one of the organizers of an education forum on Sonoma County as a County of Refuge. “It’s crazy. People in this county are working their tails off, they are afraid to drive a car, and now they are afraid to leave their children to go to work. It reminds me of [how the Nazis treated the Jews during] World War II. You know, step by step by step.”

On Dec. 4, the County of Refuge Campaign presented its case to the Sonoma County Board of Supervisors. Presenters brought with them 4,500 letters signed by members of the community supporting turning Sonoma County into a County of Refuge.

The letters were gathered on the Internet, in shopping centers and in churches. In fact, some faith-based institutions have taken an active role in informing the public about attempts to make Sonoma a County of Refuge. The synagogue Congregation Shomrei Torah and the Unitarian Universalist Congregation are sponsoring a series of educational forums on the issue. The next forum will be held at the beginning of 2008.

The forums are important because few people know the full extent of ICE’s actions in the North Bay, believes Larry Carlin, co-chair of the synagogue Shomrei Torah’s social action committee.

“We don’t know how pervasive the issue is,” he says. “We know it’s there, but a lot of it is anecdotal information. But one thing is clear: people are afraid to come out of their houses for fear of being arrested.”

Doughty, a fourth- and fifth-grade elementary school teacher, helped organize the forum because she wanted to give people a chance to speak out about this fear. She became concerned about ICE’s activities when she started seeing how it was affecting some of her students.

One little girl in particular started experiencing stomach pains so severe, she missed several weeks of school. After talking to her mother, Doughty learned that the girl was afraid to come to school because she thought her parents would be deported while she was gone.

“I thought, ‘Oh, she’s a kid, she doesn’t know what the reality is,'” says Doughty. “But then in September, she told me that ICE had come in the middle of the night to her aunt’s door and started pounding and screaming. The aunt had been here for 15 years, and they took her and dumped her in Tijuana. I thought, ‘Oh my God, this is true.'”

Faith-based institutions have a history of helping immigrants find refuge. During the Sanctuary Movement of the 1980s, Catholic, Protestant and Jewish congregations banded together to give Central American refugees pouring into the United States social services and advocacy support. For many, it is a moral issue about how human beings should be treated.

And that affects far more people than just believers, asserts Carlin.

“It’s much greater than a moral issue,” he says. “It’s about the rights of an individual. Our Constitution guarantees these kinds of rights, and to prevent a certain segment of the community from being protected by these rights, I think it’s unfair. I think it’s not right.”


Class War

12.22.07

L ike the original, the film version of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement takes place on two vastly different summer days. The first half unfolds in a British manor in 1935. It delves so far into the world of upper classes that I expected Jeeves to wander in. After all, the turning point of the plot is, essentially, a Bertie Wooster-style mistake.

During a heat wave on a weekend, young Robbie (James McAvoy) gets into a scrape. He’s the cook’s son who is practically a member of the wealthy Tallis family of Wiltshire. Recognizing his talent, the Tallises have sent him to school. Now he’s begun to notice young Cecilia Tallis (Keira Knightley), just back from college. They have a small disagreement; a precious vase gets broken. Cecilia strips and dives into the family’s fountain to taunt Robbie a little.

Later that day, Robbie writes a small note of apology, which he foolishly gives to Cecilia’s prying little sister, 13-year-old Briony (Saoirse Ronan). Worse, he accidentally gives Briony the first draft of the note, composed in midswoon after seeing Cecilia clad only in a wet slip. In a few candid sentences, he describes what he’d like to do to her if he could. This note leads to thorough disaster, implemented by Briony’s fervent imagination.

After the calamity, Atonement heads to World War II, where Robbie, now a wounded soldier, atones for his mistake the hard way. The trick in Atonement is that there are other apologies in the offering, and other punishments are handed out by fate. Maybe the worst is life as a nurse in a regimented, pitiless London hospital during the Blitz, a life as bad as that in any prison.

The success of the novel owes partially to the fact that we get it both ways. As in Brideshead Revisited , the twitty, lounging, English-upper-class types show their steel during the war. And yet they also commit unforgivable atrocities against those of us who drop our aitches. The success of the movie is due mostly to the unfussy way director Joe Wright portrays interwar manor life.

Wright is reunited with his star from Pride and Prejudice , the petulant, desirable Keira Knightley. Knightley’s body, as slender as any art deco icon, is draped in backless green silk. The color is hard to carry off, but the purpose of it is revealed when heat and desire redden Cecilia’s skin, or when the crimson lights from police cars turn her to cinnamon.

Reversing the usual pattern, Wright uses a swift, hand-held camera in the manor and majestically composed scenes for the warfare. The early scenes have the darting camera as Briony deals with a gaggle of unwanted cousins; it’s there for the instant that Briony catches Cecilia in mid-coitus, splayed out like a starfish against the library wall.

The real art comes in the later scenes, with Robbie’s march to the English Channel with the fleeing British Expeditionary Force. During these scenes, McAvoy advances to the lead rank of English film stars. The revealing shot of the terminal beach at Dunkirk is a stunner. Clammy, smoky light floods in as the camera cranes up. We see the thousands of milling soldiers, junking their trucks and shooting the horses so that the Nazis won’t have them. Amid the destruction, the remains of hallucinatory beachfront attractions still stand. A brawl breaks out in a gutted cafe. A choir practices in a gazebo amid the lolling or marching wounded, with a tattered Ferris wheel in the background. The sequence is Atonement’s finest moment.

Whether the film transcends the formality of the book is another matter. Atonement starts with a clacking typewriter. It’s such a sinister mechanical sound to younger ears, and it becomes the drum track in the title music. This clacking is the emblem of a seriously engrossing but repeatedly overdetermined film. In Atonement , we can’t seem to get away from the idea that this is a story, just words on paper.

‘Atonement’ opens on Friday, Dec. 14, at Rialto Cinemas Lakeside, 551 Summerfield Road, Santa Rosa. 707.525.4840.


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First Bite

12.12.07

E ditor’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 .

Belly up to the long bar at Tres Hombres at 10pm on a Saturday and it’s like Acapulco at the height of the tourist season. But saunter in on a weekday afternoon and it’s more like a sleepy Mexican village. The upscale restaurant in Petaluma’s new Theater District complex has been open since the end of September, and though it has received mixed reviews from locals, it feels like it’s here to stay.

Granted, there are nuances to work out in the kitchen, in the dining room and on the menu. We performed our patriotic duty and mentioned our concerns to the chef. But the food looks great and tastes good, and it’s a fun place to hang out for an hour before or after a movie, or to eat, drink and revel. At the bar, there are more than 70 different tequilas to choose from, and on the menu there are salads, burgers, tacos, tostadas and fajitas. Chef Gray Rollin, who looks like a surfer and made the surfer scene in Maui for years, makes traditional Mexican food with an Asian twist. It’s colorful, spicy and it wants to explode with all kinds of flavors. Local Mexican food has rarely, if ever, been this exciting.

On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, a pal and I enjoyed a leisurely lunch while elderly ladies dined at a neighboring table. We started with pints of Lagunitas pale ale ($4.50) that came with chips and first-rate salsa. We ordered a small guacamole ($5.25) that was quite large, but was deemed too salty. We both had the “spicy tortilla soup” with strips of red and green tortillas that I loved but my pal found too spicy.

Then we shared an excellent caesar salad ($7.50), a large chile verde entrée with tender chunks of pork ($12.75) and a veggie burrito ($10.50) with bite-sized bits of zucchini, broccoli and carrots, along with delicious black beans and rice. It all came at once, which was too much at one time, and we couldn’t eat it all. For dessert, we tried the Baja banana ($5.25), deep-fried bananas with cold ice cream and rich chocolate sauce that would have fed four.

Soccer was on the TV screen behind the bar, and music on the sound system, but we were able to carry on a conversation about Petaluma’s restaurants. We agreed the more the merrier, and that Tres Hombres is the best Mexican restaurant in Petaluma, surely the best new Mexican restaurant in Sonoma County, and maybe just the best Mexican restaurant in the North Bay.

Chef Gray Rollin looks like he doesn’t have a Mexican bone in his body, but he knows how to cook Mexican dishes, and he’s training Mexicans to cook their own cuisine, which he says he enjoys but finds a bit loco. In fact, bona fide gringos are cooking some of the best Mexican food anywhere these days, from Petaluma to Puerto Vallarta, so don’t hold it against the men in the kitchen at Tres Hombres that they don’t all hail from the heart of Mexico.

Tres Hombres. 151 Petaluma Blvd. S., Petaluma. Open for lunch and dinner daily; brunch, Saturday&–Sunday. 707.773.4500.


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

Leisurely Listening

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12.22.07

B ox sets make great Christmas gifts—they’re impressively packaged, they come with fancy booklets to pore over and they can be listened to for hours on a leisurely holiday. But most importantly, loved ones often truly want a certain box set, yet often won’t justify buying it for themselves. That’s where you come in. This year has been especially generous in the box-set department; here are a few of the good ones to throw under the tree.

‘Love Is the Song We Sing: San Francisco Nuggets 1965&–1970’ An amazing four-CD set that digs ridiculously deep into the San Francisco ’60s underground, Love Is the Song We Sing comes complete with detailed liner notes and reminisces about the heart of the definitive cultural revolution. All the heavy hitters from the Summer of Love get their usual due, but it’s the utterly obscure groups (the Vejtables, Mourning Reign, the Harbinger Complex, to name a tiny few) that distinguish this set from a mere nostalgia piece. An essential pick for anyone who grew up in the Bay Area during the 1960s.

Miles Davis, ‘The Complete “On the Corner” Sessions’ I have to admit, it was the famous fat-booty artwork that originally lured me to On the Corner , and on an initial listen I didn’t feel anything click. But I tucked it in my memory as one of those albums I’d probably dig on down the line, and sure enough, over the years I’ve pulled it out to increasingly enjoyable results. This set showcases the uncut, unedited band, playing live and raw in the studio, crafting jams that were too heavy for the public to comprehend even 20 or 30 years into the future. A sticker on the outside talks about Davis going “beyond the outer limits of jazz, rock and funk”; in doing so, he rewrote the boundaries of all three.

‘Stax 50th Anniversary Celebration’ As with the San Francisco box set, it’s the obscure tracks on this affordable two-CD set that make it worth picking up, as with “Your Good Thing (Is About to End)” by Mable John. Who the hell is Mable John, and why did such an amazing singer nearly get lost to the cut-out bin? It turns out she was Little Willie John’s sister, and as for why she’s not a household name, who knows—all you have to know is she’s on this set, which, incidentally, is impeccably sequenced. The lineup of “Mr. Big Stuff” followed by “Never Can Say Goodbye” and then “Whatcha See Is Whatcha Get” is almost as good as the one-two-three punch of “Tramp,” “Soul Finger” and “Born Under a Bad Sign.”

‘People Take Warning! Murder Ballads and Disaster Songs 1913&–1938’ A stunning three-CD overview of early American blues and folk recordings that’s sure to sink Christmas merriment at the drop of a needle. The songs from these restored 78 rpm records chronicle disasters both large and small: the sinking of the Titanic, the Baltimore fire of 1904 and the Mississippi flood of 1927, to name but a few. If you’ve ever wondered what it was like to live in a world of train wrecks, explosions and fatal diseases, look no further; the brilliant liner notes by Tom Waits put it all in perspective. Incredible.

‘The Heavy Metal Box’ A mammoth set spanning 1968&–1991, from Iron Butterfly to Sepultura, with every screeching solo, chunky power chord and high-pitched wail in between. The best part is that no matter how old or dated this stuff gets, it’s still guaranteed to make parents totally miserable. Hell yeah! Most diehard metal fans could probably do without Great White or Poison, and including Spinal Tap almost seems like admitting defeat, but seriously, Hawkwind, Iron Maiden and Slayer in the same Marshall Amp-shaped container? Dayy-uumm.

Roy Haynes, ‘A Life in Time’ Three CDs plus a DVD that only scrapes the surface of Haynes’ vast discography as one of the most-recorded drummers in jazz. If you’ve got a loved one who recently went to see Haynes at Yoshi’s and couldn’t stop drooling afterward, this one’s a no-brainer. Every kind of combo is represented, including those led by Charlie Parker, Oliver Nelson, Bill Evans, Bud Powell and Eric Dolphy, up to Haynes’ own Fountain of Youth and Birds of a Feather groups. Thwack thack thack bmm boom bmm thwack!

‘The Brit Box: UK Indie, Shoegaze, and Brit-Pop Gems of the Last Millennium’ Even snobby Anglophobes who cringe whenever Catherine Wheel or the Stone Roses are mentioned will find it hard to argue with the Cure, the Smiths, Spacemen 3, Pulp, Supergrass, Elastica or Spiritualized. (I have a friend who is aghast at the glaring omission of Shellyann Orphan, but when you’ve got Thousand Yard Stare and Gay Dad, who needs Shellyann Orphan?) Grant yourself extra twee points for wrapping this up with a stringed tea bag as a ribbon and crumpets as a bow.

The Beatles, ‘Help!’ There’s a wonderful fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants feel to this movie, and the unwritten vibe clearly enshrines the absurd. Discovering marijuana in the early stages of the skyrocket ride to immortality was never more exciting. As has long been pointed out, this is also the dawn of the music video as we know it, with the ski-pole edits in “Ticket to Ride” predating Michel Gondry by a good 40 years. A deluxe version of the regular two-DVD set includes lobby cards, a poster, a book with unseen photographs from the film sets and a reproduction of Richard Lester’s original annotated script. How tempting is that?

Led Zeppelin, ‘The Song Remains the Same: Collector’s Edition’ The first time I saw this film, I fell asleep during “Dazed and Confused.” When I woke up, Jimmy Page was still playing the song’s violin-bow solo! Which means: the songs are crazy long. This is ’70s excess at its finest, and there’s bound to be someone in the family who’s been frothing at the mouth over Zep’s reunion show in London, so give ’em the next best thing.

Megadeth, ‘War Chest’ No one who sat through the Metallica documentary Some Kind of Monster can ever forget the crying, sniveling, whimpering Dave Mustaine scene where he talks about getting the boot from Metallica and how it ruined his life. Redemption is his, however, with this massive, avenging box set that chronicles Megadeth’s career and shows that Mustaine got heavier and heavier while James Hetfield and Kirk Hammett hella wussed out.

Emmylou Harris, ‘Songbird’ The beautiful voice of Emmylou Harris turns up in so many undiscovered corners of the recording world that it would be impossible to collect even a petri-dish sample of everything she’s done. This set focuses on some of her personal favorites from the last 35 years, eschewing radio hits and well-known concert staples. With a well-written book, a DVD of live performances, there’s even a home recording, thoughtfully included, of Harris singing “Immigrant Eyes” for Guy Clark on his birthday.


Jug-a-Lug

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12.22.07

C all me Ebenezer, but I don’t do Christmas. There are several reasons for this, beginning with the fact that my father worked in the greeting-card industry for 32 years. This meant that throughout school and beyond, I could make some extra bank every holiday season setting up Christmas displays. I have been in the bowels of every major shopping mall on the West Coast.

Christmas is best shared with the little ones. The hopeful spirit of the season seen on the face of an expectant kid pretty much sums it up for me, and without any ankle-biters around, I now skip the tree trimming.

There is, however, one North Bay tradition I look forward to: the annual gathering of musicians known as the Christmas Jug Band. Approaching the Yule with tongues firmly in cheek, the members of this loose collective have been bringing their own unique take on the season to North Bay venues for 30 years.

A weekly Mill Valley jam session was the beginning of the CJB. The players insisted on using instruments true to the jug-band tradition, favoring old arch-top guitars, washboards and kazoos; any axes deemed too “good sounding” were forbidden. Dan Hicks was hosting an open mic night at the now-defunct Old Mill Tavern, and the ragtag group, many from the Commander Cody band, would gather to celebrate jug-band music. In 1977, the Tavern’s owner suggested a Christmas Eve gig, and the ritual was born.

Initially known as “The Three Wise Men + Four = One Jug Band,” the band performs throughout the Bay Area every December, and giving back, they always include at least one charity gig, usually benefiting Mimi Farina’s Bread and Roses Foundation.

The fun has spread worldwide. The German indie label Trikont has included the CJB’s “That’s His Red Wagon” on its collection of wacky holiday tunes released this year. Also new for 2007: Christmas Jug Band mini-washboards.

Country Joe McDonald has been seen warbling with the jugheads, and past participants have included Norton Buffalo and Angela Strehli. Whether you sing along to “Santa Lost a Ho” or strum your newly purchased washboard to “Someone Stole My Santa Suit,” catching a CJB show is a Yuletide treat sure to relieve the stress-induced mania that can be the holidays. Ankle-biters generally welcome.

The Christmas Jug Band perform on Friday, Dec. 14, at the Mystic Theater (23 Petaluma Blvd. N., Petaluma. 8pm. $22; all ages. 707.765.2121), at the Berkeley’s Freight and Salvage Dec. 18; the Larkspur Cafe Theatre on Dec. 21 (500 Magnolia Ave., Larkspur. 8pm. $22; all ages. 415.924.6107), and for the big finale, Dan Hicks and the Lickettes will join the Jug Band at the Masonic Center on Dec. 22 (23 Corte Madera Ave., Mill Valley. 8:30pm. $25; 21 and over only. 415.388.2550).


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