News Briefs

December 27, 2006-January 2, 2007

This toll’s for you

North Bay residents whose travels take them over Bay Area bridges need to tote along a little extra cash starting New Year’s Day. Except for the Golden Gate Bridge, which already costs $5 for car crossings, beginning Jan. 1 all tolls will be $4 instead of the current $3 charge. About $1 of each toll goes for operations and maintenance; the rest covers construction projects approved by voters in 1988 and 2002, and seismic updates approved by the state legislature. The seismic projects include the $6 billion reconstruction of the east span of the Bay Bridge. Motorists who want to save money, at least temporarily, should consider paying their tolls electronically with the FasTrak tag. Throughout January, FasTrak drivers will get a $1 discount, paying only $3 per crossing. “We want to thank FasTrak customers by offering a discount, and to encourage others to sign up,” says Marin County Supervisor Steve Kinsey, chairman of the Metropolitan Transportation Commission’s Bay Area Toll Authority. For details, visit www.bayareafastrak.org. Bridges charging the new toll rate in 2007 include Antioch, Benicia-Martinez, Carquinez, Dunbarton, Richmond-San Rafael, San Mateo-Hayward and San Francisco-Oakland Bay.

Fewer new jobs?

North Bay employers might not be hiring a lot of new staff early next year, according to a survey by Manpower Inc. The company contacted 14,000 U.S. employers, asking if they expect to hire more employees in the next three months, maintain current levels or reduce payrolls. For first quarter 2007, Santa Rosa had a net gain of zero: 15 percent say they’ll increase their payroll, 15 percent plan cuts and 70 percent foresee no changes. In Napa and Solano counties, 23 percent will add workers, 50 percent expect no changes and 27 percent plan to cut their staff, for a net loss of -4 percent. Things are brighter in San Rafael, where 67 percent intend to hire more people, 16 percent say no change and 17 percent plan to downsize, for a 50 percent gain. Throughout Northern California, 28 percent of employers say they’ll increase staffing, 47 percent say no change and 15 percent predicted fewer employees, for a 21 percent increase. Statewide, 30 percent say they’ll be hiring, 13 percent will be cutting and 46 percent will stick with the employees they have, pushing the predicted number of jobs up 17 percent overall.


Top 10 Torn Tickets

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the arts | stage |

Post-Modern Potty: Matthew Lazzarini revels in his own filth in ‘Urinetown.’

By David Templeton

The cardboard cigar box in which I keep my torn theater tickets is overflowing this =year, a sign that, in quantity at least, 2006 has been a very good year. From January to the present, I have seen exactly 83 shows, including eight plays in Ashland, a handful in San Francisco and 11 in Los Angeles during the two weeks I spent there as part of a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship on theater and musical theater. The rest were all shows produced in the North Bay, which seems to be adding new theater companies the way mushrooms sprout in unexpected corners.

Choosing my top 10 shows, those I am most glad to have seen, is especially tricky since I know that a few of the year’s best shows are not represented in my little box of bisected ticket stubs; I have been unable to see everything I’d have liked to. Another reason the task is daunting, thankfully, is that there have been so many good shows to choose from, especially within the last two months or so, when the North Bay theater community seems to have hit some sort of creative mother lode. Here, then, are my top 10 torn tickets of 2006.

1. AlterTHEATER, ‘After the Fall’ Arthur Miller’s autobiographical memory play is hard for any company to stage. San Rafael’s experimental After the Fall featured the tightest team of actors I’ve seen all year, with creative direction by Jessica Heidt and solidly anchored with a stunner of a performance by Karen Aldridge. The immediacy of the staging, with the actors working on the carpet right in front of the audience with no stage and only a minimal set, was high-powered theater that took a troubled, disjointed play and turned it into far more than the sum of its parts. AlterTheater’s After the Fall is without hesitation my favorite theater experience of 2006.

2. Actors Theatre, ‘Smell of the Kill’ In Michele Lowe’s viciously brilliant, tightly constructed thriller Smell of the Kill, three women discover that their boorish husbands have stupidly locked themselves in the basement meat locker during a not-so-festive dinner party. The question is whether or not to let them out. The play walks a fine line between comedy and tragedy, and it takes a sure directorial hand and a more than capable cast to make it all work. Actors Theatre’s production of Smell befitted from the sensitive direction of David Lear and three spot-on actresses (Kimberly Kalember, Mary Gannon Graham and Sheila Groves) all working at the top of their (dangerous) game.

3. Pacific Alliance Stage Company, ‘Sylvia’ The main problem with A. R. Gurney’s clever play about a man and his dog (and the man’s dog-hating wife) is that too many companies try it because it’s fun and the cast is small, but few succeed at it. To pull off Sylvia requires more than a physically committed actress in the title role; it also requires a strong set of actors as the husband and wife, actors who can root the thing in the emotional ground it requires. Without that, it’s just a goofy show about a woman with funny hair wiggling her butt in the air. Under Hector Correa’s knowing direction, PASCO’s sold-out and then reprised production of Sylvia was both artistically and financially successful, breaking records at Rohnert Park’s Spreckels Center for the Performing Arts. A powerfully open-hearted performance by Stephen Klum as Sylvia’s devoted human, and a fully committed Alexandra Matthew as Sylvia herself, brought a kennel’s worth of power to this previously worn-out show.

4. Santa Rosa Players, ‘Urinetown’ A musical about public toilets and backed-up sewers might seem unlikely to become a hit, especially given that the show’s stalwart hero is dropped to his death off a 20-story building long before the climax of the show (can you do that in a musical comedy?). The Santa Rosa Players’ high-spirited production of Urinetown became an instant word-of-mouth hit, and packed the house with folks eager for something with a bit of edge to it. Director Argo Thompson pulled together a fantastic cast who got the show’s postmodern anti-musical joke and took it all the way to the urinal. You’ve also got to give them extra chutzpah kudos for amiably charging people to pee during intermission, raising a couple of extra hundred dollars that ended up buying the cool umbrella stand now being well-used in the Sixth Street Playhouse lobby.

5. Theatre Arts at SRJC, ‘Last Days of Judas Iscariot’ Stephen Adly Guirgis’ entertainingly chaotic ramble tells of a trial in Purgatory that could end up clearing the name of the world’s most notorious traitor. Alternately profane and profound, the project captured the sizable enthusiasm of the JC’s theater department, from director Laura Downing Lee to the smallest ensemble part in a vast cast of historical characters. The onstage commitment and intensity of purpose was nothing short of mesmerizing.

6. Cinnabar Theater, ‘Girl of the Golden West’ Cowboys! Gamblers! Armed highwaymen! Rifle-toting female saloon keepers! High-stakes poker games! Incompetent posses! Wells Fargo agents! All wrapped up in Puccini’s operatic, knock-down, Wild West package! Performed with engaging gusto by the Cinnabar Theater, this rarely staged opera was more fun than a handful of aces.

7. Marin Theater Company, ‘Killer Joe’ Lee Sankowich’s direction of Tracy Lett’s blood-drenched gothic thriller was simultaneously mean-spirited and lyrical, hard to watch but impossible to look away from. Crammed with frank sexuality, full-frontal male and female nudity, ugly people, ugly deeds and a violent, visceral climax that leaves the stage splattered with blood and the audience shaken, this look at low-life trailer-dwellers trying to make a killing by killing off Mom for her insurance money was not the most uplifting moment of theater this year, but it was certainly among the most unforgettable.

8. Tie between ‘The Sunshine Boys’ (PASCO) and ‘I Am My Own Wife’ (Sonoma County Rep) Sometimes the success of a show comes down to nothing more than one great performance. Three of the year’s best performances came in two shows that had notable script weaknesses. Will Marchetti and Bob Parnell starred as aging vaudevillians in The Sunshine Boys and Stephen Abbott played dozens of roles in the daring one-man, one-woman show I Am My Own Wife (which is due to be reprised Jan. 6). As thrilling as an Olympic skater landing a triple Lutz, these performances demonstrated acting at it most exciting–both dangerously difficult and confidently well-done.

9. SRJC’s Summer Repertory Theater, ‘Seussical’ A cast of great voices and some cartoonishly apt performers brought this Dr. Seuss extravaganza to bright, silly, wonderful life. The set and costumes sealed the deal. This was one fun summertime show, and I still find myself humming the tunes.

10. Marin Shakespeare Company, ‘Comedy of Errors’ The MSC has done well with its annual addition of a Shakespeare play directed by James Dunn. Last year’s Fellini-esque Two Gentlemen of Verona was clever enough, but the borscht-belt classic-comedy approach he brought to the summer’s rim-shot staging of the Bard’s Comedy of Errors was inspired. Like a Marx Brothers movie as directed by Mel Brooks, the show was a comedy textbook sprung to life. It actually made the play funny, and if you’ve ever read the Comedy of Errors, you’ll know what a miraculous feat that was. Can’t wait to see what Dunn and the MSC come up with next year.



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Reviews of new book releases.


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Three-Ring Year

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music & nightlife |

The Thread: Camille’s newest album has been compared to Björk’s ‘Medulla,’ but perhaps with more droning.

By Gabe Meline

It was a year in which, by some unanswerable lapse of public taste, Justin Timberlake was allowed to make another album, but it was also the year that people finally forgot about Eminem. Bruce Springsteen made sure that people didn’t forget Pete Seeger, and Bob Dylan hoped that they’d forget Muddy Waters long enough to accept “Rollin’ and Tumblin'” as his own song, a note-for-note recreation credited to B. Dylan. (“Best songwriting of his career,” gushed the reviews.) Norah Jones seems to have been forgotten–did she really leave us much to remember her by?

The Academy Awards finally realized that hip-hop exists and immediately picked the dumbest group in the genre to honor. Our own E-40 blew up nationwide, “hyphy” became a household word and an obsessed fan stole Mac Dre’s tombstone. Super Hyphy became the hottest ticket in town; dumb was good and retarded was even better; and best of all, grownups were completely confused. (“You mean you jump out of the car–while it’s still moving?!”)

Two guys from Ohio, both in their 20s, made the year’s best blues album in the shadow of the late Junior Kimbrough. A 19-year-old kid from New Mexico made the best Eastern European brass album, not that there was much competition. And a French girl who sings lounge versions of New Order songs made an amazingly listenable experimental a cappella album, a series of themes based around one droning note which became my unlikely top pick of the year.

Tony Bennett turned 80 and celebrated by staying out on the road and performing almost every night, just like he always has. Jay-Z turned 37 and came back from his lamely executed retirement to announce a new season of his clothing line. Fellow wannabe designer Gwen Stefani continued to torment us with her caterwauling obsession of fifth-rate Broadway musicals from the ’60s, painfully banking on the hope that dressing like a coke whore and yodeling will somehow, somewhere, become cool.

A former punk rock singer wrote a hilarious, award-winning young adult novel. A fake Hasidic Jew made a fake reggae album that some people paid attention to for a couple seconds. Neil Young tried his stab at the urgency of politics, while the wallets of his largely leftie demographic were opened by the plight of three girls from Texas, helping propel them to the top of the Billboard charts. “I don’t even like the music,” everyone said, “but I just feel like I have to support them.”

Modest Mouse scored big by teaming up with the world’s most brilliant rock guitarist. Cee-Lo scored big by teaming up with the producer-of-the-month for what turned out to be a hit of incomprehensible proportions. The city of Oakland tried unsuccessfully to get teenagers to turn in their guns by offering free tickets to see Guns N’ Roses, and Oklahoma City honored its hometown heroes on the return from their most bombastic tour yet by renaming an alley after the Flaming Lips.

Computers, of course, played their role. Home recording flourished as thousands of armchair ProTools engineers discovered that technology is no substitute for an experienced ear. An old Velvet Underground record bought at a street sale for 75 cents sold for an astronomical amount on eBay. Every band in the world put a video on YouTube and linked it to their MySpace page. Every band in the known universe had a MySpace page. MySpace was still a dirty word in most circles.

One of America’s best bands, Sleater Kinney, broke up. So did Tower Records. So did CBGB, destined for a soulless reopening in Las Vegas. So did the conversations on a million cell phones, only to be resumed later by the inevitable blaring of a cheap ringtone–our new musical tattoo, declared to the world a few seconds at a time.

One of jazz’s true originals, Anita O’Day, passed away. On the same day, so did Betty Comden. The man behind the rhyme, J. Dilla, worked on beats from his hospital bed. Dewey Redman and György Ligeti, both unsung visionaries, both performed until the end. So, too, Logan Whitehurst, so full of life and yet so unfairly stolen away by cancer, tirelessly completing what he knew would be his last album, making sure it would be completely clever and heartwarming and life-affirming.

Speaking of life-affirming, how about 74-year-old Ornette Coleman, who released the year’s best jazz album, or Kris Kristofferson, who, at 70, wrote a captivating album rife with honesty and conviction? Daniel Johnston and the Minutemen both featured in incredible documentaries befitting their respective gifts. Johnny Cash got the Hollywood treatment, which would have been annoying except that more people than ever fell in love with the music of Johnny Cash.

Of course, some things never change. The Grammy nominations remain a total joke. Willie Nelson and Snoop Dogg both got busted for reefer–again. Former heroes continue to embarrass themselves (Common in a Gap commercial, Green Day onstage with U2) while new surprises, both new and old, continue to inspire (My Morning Jacket, Chivo Borraro, the Highlands, Lucy Ann Polk).

Through it all, we cannot–not one of us–imagine a world without music. Here’s to another year of too many records, too many shows and, as always, cramming too much into one column.




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Morsels

December 27, 2006-January 2, 2007

Want good luck in the New Year? Maybe eating just the right food will usher in 12 months of health, happiness and prosperity. It’s worth a shot, it could be fun and it might even be delicious.

  • Good-luck customs in the southern United States provide several options. Chowing down on black-eyed peas (considered to look like little coins) on New Year’s Eve is believed to bring good fortune. Eating cabbage, collard greens, mustard greens, kale or spinach is supposed to bring money in the New Year; including cornbread in the meal also reportedly brings wealth. These are all inexpensive foods–a southern saying is “Eat poor on New Year’s, eat fat for the rest of the year.”
  • Boiled cod is a must on New Year’s Eve, at least that’s the story from Denmark.
  • In the Philippines, it’s important to have the food on the table at the stroke of midnight for an abundance of food in the coming year.
  • Try eating 12 grapes at midnight. That’s from Cuba; the grapes signify the 12 months of the year gone by. And in Spain, the 12 grapes apparently represent lucky years of the past and the hope for more of the same.
  • Both Polish and German traditions call for herring. German folklore requires eating herring exactly at midnight to ensure a lucky New Year; the Poles simply say pickled herring must be your first bite on New Year’s Day.
  • Folks in Bosnia and Croatia bring health and wealth by eating sarma, beef wrapped tightly in cabbage.
  • In Japan, where three days of celebrations start on Jan. 1 with everyone having a good rest, auspicious New Year foods include sticky rice pressed into cakes and broiled or put in soup, as well as especially long noodles which must be sucked up and eaten without breaking.
  • The Greeks eat a cake baked with a coin inside; the person who bites into a slice and finds the prize is guaranteed good luck in the coming year.
  • In Holland, the custom on New Year’s Day is to eat a doughnutlike fritter called an olie bollen.
  • Happy New Year, Boas Festas e Feliz Ano Novo (Brazilian), Feliz Ano Nov (Portuguese), Scastny Novy Rok (Czechoslavakian), Gullukkig Niuw Jaar (Dutch), Onnellista Uutta Vuotta (Finnish), Eftecheezmaenos o Kaenooryos Hronos (Greek), Niya Saa Moobaarak (Hindu), Blian Nua Fe Mhaise Dhuit (Gaelic), Buon Capodanno (Italian), Szczesliwego Nowego Roku (Polish), S Novim Godom (Russian), Feliz Ano Nuevo (Spanish), Yeni Yiliniz Kutlu Olsun (Turkish) and Cung-Chuc Tan-Xuan (Vietnamese).

    And peace to everyone, everywhere.

    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.

    Letters to the Editor

    December 27, 2006-January 2, 2007

    Tax Talk Rages On

    Michael Shapiro was wrong about some aspects of selling books on the Internet, and (Letters, “Local Dialogue,” Dec. 20).

    Shapiro seems unaware that his example, the local Copperfield’s chain, sells books on the Net. Indeed, when Santa Rosa’s Fourth Street Copperfield’s closed in 2004, the Santa Rosa Press Democrat reported that “Copperfield’s plans to expand its online sales of used and rare books and will be opening a warehouse for inventory. . . . Copperfield’s already sells through online sites such as abe.com.”

    I live in Santa Rosa and have more than 2,700 books for sale at Amazon–some of them in competition with Copperfield’s listings. I sell to buyers all over the United States and spend the proceeds of my tiny business right here. It is true that buyers don’t pay sales tax at Amazon, but Copperfield’s and I have to pay the tax on all our retail sales to California addresses.

    Geoff Johnson, Santa Rosa

    Hallinan as Hero

    Peter Byrne is off-base about (“Kayo of the North,” Dec. 13). He is indeed a hero to many of us who believe that there is a better way of dealing with drugs and prostitution in society than locking everyone up. Thank God there is someone out there who will defend, in a court of law, the Constitution, our civil liberties and the people from the destructiveness of arrests and incarcerations for victimless or consensual crime. Byrne seems intent on criminalizing many good people, continuing the overflow of prisons and trying to tarnish the good name of this stalwart of freedom and justice.

    MIkki Norris, El Cerrito

    Wrongdoer’s buffet

    All I wanted for Christmas was reasonable security at the local YMCA. You would think that the facility located on College Avenue would be safe for our babies, women, children and families. Unfortunately, there is trouble brewing in wonderland. Recently, according to the Santa Rosa Police Department, there has been increased criminal activity in the area, and the back parking lot is a wrongdoer’s buffet. The back lot is an accident waiting to happen, and the front parking lot is not much safer.

    The rear lot is very isolated, without proper lighting and little if any security. The front lot, although not so isolated, is without lighting and no security. I checked my list and checked it twice, and I know that the vandals, muggers and wrongdoers have been naughty and not very nice. Not even Dancer and Prancer would travel at night to the Y. I’m sorry that Santa couldn’t provide us with a security system so that locals can feel less loco while going to and from their vehicles.

    Gene Colombini, Santa Rosa

    Dept. of arrrgggh

    Geoff Johnson is a polite man who recently found himself in Novato needing to buy a birthday present for his sweetie. Having a Boho at hand, he foolishly relied on information provided by our very own editor and headed over to Le Belge Chocolatier ( Dec. 13). That’s when Geoff discovered quite a few little nasty surprises:

    Le Belge hasn’t been at the address we listed for at least two years; is better found in Napa than Marin; and never had the telephone number we ascribed to it.

    But wait, there’s more! It turns out that Le Belge is a wholesaler and Geoff couldn’t have walked in and purchased chocs on the spot for his sweetie, anyway. He’d have had to call ahead (707.258.9200), which–absolutely!–we encourage anyone with a yen for chocolate who happens to yes find themselves in Napa to do.

    Apologies to Geoff, apologies to every single reader who isn’t Geoff and apologies to Le Belge. And–man oh man–three cheers for the end of this year’s mistakes!

    The Ed., doghouse digs


    Born to It

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    December 27, 2006-January 2, 2007

    ‘This business is insanely hard,” chef Rick Vargas says matter-of-factly. “It’ll suck you dry if you’re not committed.”

    Ironically, it’s a very wet, rainy gray Monday afternoon as Vargas chats, snatching a few moments for an interview in between the lunch and dinner service at his Bistro V restaurant in Sebastopol.

    As if on cue, a soggy customer walks in and heads straight to the foyer bar for a steaming hot latte.

    “I like rain,” Vargas announces, nodding at the downpour splattering the small garden flanking the patio entry. “It’s great soup weather. Comfort food. I love picking mushrooms in the rain.”

    The telephone is ringing–more reservations being made, Vargas says thoughtfully–and that reminds him: he’s got to finish putting together the menu for his New Years’ Eve celebration. He leans back in his chair, sitting at one of the two-dozen white-clothed tables in his front dining room but clearly antsy to get moving again.

    “I’ve been picking mushrooms since I was a kid. I’m with the Mushroom Society. I pick in the Santa Cruz mountains and all around here. I stay away from the deadly genus,” he says with just a hint of a smile. “Customers don’t like that.”

    Then he stands up. He’s got to check on the dough that’s almost ready to be put in the oven for that night’s meal. There are French and walnut breads, both crafted from a sour “mother” (starter) of organic grapes, water and flour. He made the mother when he opened Bistro V almost two years ago, he says, after purchasing the former Chez Payo space that had tantalized West County diners with its lovely country French cuisine for 27 years.

    “It’s crazy. But what am I going to do?” he asks, as much of himself as anyone as he heads toward his kitchen. “I was born into it–cursed into it, maybe.”

    And thus begins a conversation with chef Vargas. Or just “Rick,” as he prefers. None of that stuffy “yes, chef” pretension, please. Because while he is indeed chef-owner of one of the North Bay’s best-hidden-treasure restaurants, he’s well aware that the reality of running a successful eatery is more Herculean than Hollywood.

    To do it his way as he does at Bistro V, with everything from pasta to pastries and even pancetta homemade, takes endless energy. It takes such ability to multitask that his intensity might be confused with ADD. Besides lunch and dinner six days a week, Vargas and his kitchen host Sunday brunch, winemaker dinners, charity dinners like a recent benefit for AIDS victims in Namibia, nightly tasting feasts plus special-request vegan or vegetarian menus and private parties.

    A few moments later, Vargas returns to the table, wiping semolina from his hands.

    The insanity is in his blood, he explains. Pointing to a portrait of his father, Miguel, hanging on the wall of the elegant, rustically decorated bistro, Vargas says that at the age of four, he was put to work “standing on a chair, cutting mushrooms” in his parent’s San Francisco restaurant, West Portal Joe’s. It’s difficult to tell if he’s kidding when he murmurs that he might have been conceived in the kitchen there.

    The love of cooking led him to the Le Pot au Feu culinary school in Paris and five years apprenticing at restaurants across France, including the Michelin three-star Au Crocodile. There he learned the importance of “minutiae,” like always hand-chopping vegetables for “textural integrity” (he blanches when asked if he would ever use a Cuisinart to speed along the brunoise garnishing a lamb shank, or even when rough cutting veggies for stock), and laboriously roasting chicken bones for brown jus.

    When he returned to San Francisco, it was to work in the top restaurants Masa’s and Aqua. Great experiences, but bad situations in the end.

    “I’m creative, a lunatic,” the spiky-haired, piercing-eyed chef muses. “I’m not a very good employee. But whatever, I don’t conform. I’m not easily controlled. I’m very good at what I do, but I hated the business side.”

    Vargas’ next stop was opening Stoa in Palo Alto, an upscale Mediterranean cafe that prompted two dramatic changes in the chef’s life. First, the cuisine was strictly vegetarian/vegan, a challenge for someone who delights in the classic French cornerstones of meat, cream and butter. Second, Stoa cemented his permanent partnership with a Stoa chef who is now his wife, Meekk Vargas. In addition to acting as a pastry chef for Bistro V, the diminutive dynamo Meekk gets credit for keeping wild-child Vargas centered on the demands of Bistro V ownership.

    “I am the luckiest guy in the world,” he says sincerely. “That lovely, sweet person keeps me in line. She makes smart people jump through hoops. I don’t know how she does it, but without her, I’d be roasting chestnuts over an open fire–out on the streets.”

    Meekk’s influence and Israeli heritage show on Bistro V’s menu, which, though labeled “Wine Country Kitchen,” is more an intriguing whirl of classic French, Italian and Californian, with Peruvian and Mediterranean accents. A stuffed kabocha squash and wild mushroom duxelle tamale is vegan Southwestern, while chile-spiked organic chicken skewers come with hummus, tzatziki and caramelized eggplant. Juniper-crusted pork tenderloin glistens with Peruvian aji pan juices, and Vargas relies on his Peruvian-born father’s recipe for his classic Spanish flan dessert. A drop-dead gorgeous French onion soup, meanwhile, is pure Gallic glory, savory-rich with intensely beefy broth, caramelized onions and a gooey coverlet of Emmental.

    And Meekk, like Vargas, is compelled to focus on the details. She hand-pulls the strudel dough for her signature apple dessert, makes the puff pastry from scratch for an appetizer of crisp pear and Point Reyes bleu tartlettes with port syrup, and even makes her own pot sticker dough.

    “It’s a phenomenal amount of work,” Vargas admits. “We can buy a packet of a hundred [pot sticker] wrappers for 99 cents. We’re crazy. But the more machines interfere, the less it’s food.”

    Upon leaving Stoa, Vargas heard the call of Sonoma. The area had been a favorite retreat as a child, a vortex of sorts for creative, earthy people like himself. Every weekend for a year, he and Meekk toured across northern California until they found Bistro V, which lured them with its turn-key, top-notch French chef’s kitchen, its herb and vegetable garden in the back and what Vargas says are its “straight-out nice people.” Much of the staff remains from Chez Payo, including a line cook of 15 years, Manuel Padilla.

    When he’s not in his kitchen, Vargas is out patrolling the many organic farms in the area, visiting cheese makers, fishermen, vintners and beekeepers. They make up the backbone of his cuisine, with Laguna Farms produce, Joe Matos St. George cheese, fresh local mussels, Liberty Farms duck and Fulton Valley organic chicken.

    He makes a point to avoid the owners at such places, he says with a smile, instead talking to guys in the field, the hands-on experts who can lead him to the perfect butternut squash, in the exact size and ripeness he seeks.

    He could easily have set up shop in Napa, he knows, drawing more attention for such innovative recipes as a divine salad of roasted mixed beets, roasted red peppers, melted onions, borscht vinaigrette and sour cream with dill, tarragon and chives. But he found the valley too “frou-frou.”

    “I don’t care about the competition, but I don’t care for the attitude.”

    Bistro V, tucked off Sebastopol’s main drag on Gravenstein Highway South between a massive flea market and an adult toy store, has yet to garner critical acclaim, but with virtually every seat filled day and night, Vargas isn’t itching for a bigger spotlight.

    “Hollywood only finds one out of many thousands,” he says of the glamorous kitchens he’s left behind for this fledgling, small-town operation. “But that’s more ego-driven than from the heart. Our customers are well-traveled. They appreciate nostalgic nuances and respect traditional preparations. They understand real food and passion.”

    And suddenly, Vargas has had enough of this interview. Politely, but with no mistake that he means it, he’s heading back to his kitchen. He’s got herbs and vegetables to pluck from his organic garden, garlic to roast and that bread to put in the oven.

    Oh, and he’s got soup to make. Tonight’s special will be a vegetarian quinoa packed with perfect, luscious, fresh-picked wild mushrooms.

    Bistro V, 2295 Gravenstein Hwy. South, Sebastopol. Open for lunch and dinner, Wednesday through Monday; brunch, Sunday from 10am to 2pm. 707.823.1262.

    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.

    Bless the Child

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    December 27, 2006-January 2, 2007

    Showcasing his own versatility and range comes naturally to writer and director Alfonso Cuarón. In his 11 years as a mainstream filmmaking success, the Mexico native has helmed one of the most diverse list of films in recent memory: A Little Princess, Great Expectations, Y Tu Mamá También and, most recently, the über-blockbuster Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. For his latest engaging and assured tale, Cuarón has made yet another stylistic left turn by adapting The Children of Men, novelist P. D. James’ bleak, sci-fi-tinged vision of a future world gone infertile.

    The London of 2027 is chock-full of depression, violence, apathy and overarching decay. One thing this place is sorely lacking is babies; unfortunately, the same goes for the rest of the planet. The youngest human on earth, dubbed “Baby Diego,” has just died at the age of 18. Disturbing and depressing though the state of affairs may seem, it all has little bearing on activist-turned-bureaucrat Theo Faron (Clive Owen). When his own son died 20 years ago, Theo lost interest in most anything and everything. But when his ex-wife (Julianne Moore)–still an activist after all these years–kidnaps him for the important mission of transporting Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey), a miraculously pregnant young woman, away from the terror of the urban landscape and into the arms of the mysterious but scientifically inclined “Human Project,” Theo finds himself taking more and more of an interest in life, both his own and the continued existence of it on the planet.

    For all of the importance attached to the first pregnant woman in 18 years, Children of Men‘s story is ultimately an intimate one. Following one man’s perspective, Cuarón and James eschew trite grandstanding about how and why our world will soon go mad, instead choosing to make it a sad but obvious inevitability. Gradually, our interest in the story leans more toward the heroic awakening of Theo than to the salvation of all human existence. Every character save Owen’s really just floats in and out as a supporting player or glorified cameo–even Kee the pregnant girl–and Michael Caine’s few scenes as Jasper the heroic hippie stage him as little more than a stoned Gandalf who provides counsel for our hero at crucial points in his journey. And make no mistake, this is ultimately a solidly crafted hero’s journey–jaded, apolitical nobody though that hero may be.

    The stark look of the film harks back to the steady-paced classics of the 1970s filmmaking heyday. Children of Men is devoid of flashy editing and expensive effects, instead gaining visceral thrills from sheer unaffected experience. Cuarón and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki film the movie almost entirely with long, uninterrupted takes that give the film the feeling of an elaborately staged play, with the tension close to unbearable when it needs to be.

    But Children of Men is first and foremost a suspenseful and occasionally action-packed thriller (with a few effective plot twists not to be disclosed here), though a measure of near-pretentious sci-fi posturing does manage to make its way in. Like every filmmaker from Back to the Future to Minority Report, Cuarón and his crew cannot help but indulge in somewhat gratuitous glimpses of their innovative inventions of the future. Media and advertising (really, video screens in general) permeate this ultramodern world, perhaps giving a clue as to the distractions necessary to exist in a world without the possibility of a collective future.

    Indeed, those residents not engaged in bloody warfare and revolution seem as bored and defeated as the ravaged landscape. But all is not bleak and grim in Cuarón ‘s vision of the future. As people begin to encounter Kee and her unique situation, their actions and behavior confirm the innate decency of humanity, something many of the supposed “heroes” of the film largely underestimated. And it is upon this relatively uplifting message that Cuarón soars to his grandiose finale, pointedly demonstrating the goodness and hope that lie in us all–even in the face of a world gone to hell.

    ‘Children of Men’ enjoys a limited Bay Area engagement.


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    First Bite

    We were lured to the two-month-old Rocker Oysterfeller’s in the newly renovated Valley Ford Hotel by its $9.50-pulled-pork-sandwich-plus-a-beer special. Absolutely sure the place would be dead on a weeknight, especially with that name, we were surprised to find a steady stream of customers and a lively bar in this evocative little town.

    Inside, the walls are covered with local art for sale; the menu is thick with local, organic ingredients and the wine list is almost 100 percent from Sonoma County. We were greeted with a plate of warm, tender corn-jalapeño biscuits and promptly ordered the signature dish, Rockers Oysterfeller ($14 for six) with bacon, arugula, cream cheese and a cornbread crust. Unlike oysters Rockefeller, which often smothers the bivalves, in this version you could really taste the oysters–nice fresh ones too, served on a bed of rock salt. We had a green salad ($6), which was lightly dressed in a well-balanced vinaigrette with crunchy pink radishes and a sprinkle of little homemade croutons.

    Next we tried the Rosie organic fried chicken ($17) with mashed potatoes and Lagunitas Ale gravy. The fried chicken was juicy and not greasy, the crust very crisp. The potatoes, nice and lumpy, had a wonderful taste, thanks to Valley Ford’s own Oh! Tommy Boy potatoes. That pulled-pork sandwich (remember: $9.50 with a beer!) was served on a fresh ciabatta roll with fries. When you’ve had a sublime, falling-off-the-bone, melt-in-your-mouth roast-pork-shoulder experience as I have, it can turn you into someone who has no means to control ordering it whenever it appears. Because of this affliction, I have been sorely disappointed many times: too dry, too tough, too mushy, too greasy, not salty enough. But, no. This one was tender and luscious–not mushy–and delivered that sweet-savory one-two punch. The fries were crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, twice fried I’m pretty sure, salty as all get out and especially full-flavored–Oh, Tommy Boy! For dessert, we ordered a poached pear crisp ($7.00). It was simple and lovely with a light oat topping and a giant dollop of vanilla ice cream.

    In addition to all the other righteous, local-supporting ways found here, Rocker Oysterfeller’s corkage is a mere $10, and only $5 if you bring a Sonoma County wine. That doesn’t happen every day.

    The co-owners of the restaurant and inn, Shona Campbell and Brandon Gunther, moved here recently from Oakland where they ran a catering business. Campbell has been in the business for 15 years. Gunther has a long career as a chef and restaurant consultant. The Valley Ford Hotel houses the restaurant and rooms are reasonably priced, so you can stay the night if things get hairy. There’s a deck in the back under giant oaks, which the owners plan to open for events and weddings in spring and for a music series on weekends.

    Have you been on your way home from the beach, hungry with no place to eat? Well, now you can stop here for a cocktail and a good, homey meal with local produce and wines. And when the owners open a market, offering local breads, cheeses, wines and more, you can stop there for picnic supplies heading out to the beach, too.

    Rocker Oysterfeller’s at the Valley Ford Hotel, 14415 Coast Hwy. 1, Valley Ford. Open for dinner Tuesday-Sunday. 707.876.1983



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

    Ask Sydney

    December 27, 2006-January 2, 2007

    The following is the second in the holiday Sydney special begun last week, an in-depth and personal look at the collective questions of the moment. It’s December, a time of great responsibility. Not only are many of us feeling swamped by the expectations of the holidays (a time when family dysfunction can become a living, breathing behemoth, there to swallow us whole), but the New Year looms before us. Enter stage left: the dreaded self-reflection and ensuing resolutions that must be grappled with for the remainder of January, if not beyond, depending on a combination of personal fortitude and commitment. Add to this the pressure of having something fun to do on Dec. 31, the obligation to suddenly come up with motivation and a social life (when before Dec. 31 it was not necessarily mandatory to have either) and the results can be emotionally crippling. How, then, are we to accommodate the New Year with grace and poise, is it even possible? Read on.

    Dear Sydney, how come I never keep my New Year’s resolutions? Every year I make them, and every year, I break them again. Should I just give up?–Vow Breaker

    Dear VB: New Year’s is an overrated event, located at the height of our most miserable time of year. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, January means long, dark and often bleak days that are cold. Very cold. What a ridiculous time to make vows or to swear abstinence from anything, be it personality foibles or external addictions.

    Why January? New Years should be June 1, right at the beginning of summer vacation. In June, I will eat less, I will exercise more, I will relax, I may even take a short vacation. This is a perfect time to shed my miserable behavior problems, and to finally, at long last, begin to work on becoming a better person. June is my month. I get a little tan, start to feel a little better about myself, like maybe I don’t look like such a staggering corpse.

    In fact, with the season in mind, it makes perfect sense to change the entire calendar. June 1 should become the new New Year. Sort of like 40 is the new 30. This would make January, originally the first month of the year, the sixth, which is just fine. What difference does it make? This could be nothing but a good change. What, ultimately, is the purpose of ending every year on the sour note of Dec. 31?

    Now that I have determined that New Year’s, due to no fault of my own, is located at precisely the wrong time of year, it makes much more sense why resolutions can be so difficult to keep. Observe some fairly typical New Year’s resolutions: Why can’t I stop being such a self-destructive asshole? Why can’t I just be a stronger person, better, with no bad habits? More functional. I just want to be more functional, more of the time. In fact, I’m going to start doing everything I need to do in order to achieve this goal. Not now. I don’t want to do it now. I’m going to do it in January. After Christmas, before the credit card bills start to come in. You know, during the rainy season.

    Come on, this isn’t the way to go about quitting anything. It’s not as if the early morning hours of Jan. 1 contain some magical salve to promote vigilance and commitment. Sure, it’s helpful to just take the time to think about “self.” Like, hey, if I behaved a little differently, then maybe my life wouldn’t be so fucked up. It’s good to consider these things. But there is only one time to quit, one time to make change. Right now. As in, right this second, I am resolving to not be such a self-destructive asshole. Right now. I quit. Throw the cigarettes in the garbage. Stop what you’re doing and go for a walk. Quit your job. Right now. Be nice to your lover. This second. Don’t yell at your kids, starting pronto. Pay your bills on time. Right now, pay them. Walk the dog more. Go, do it. Finally make a donation to KPFA, don’t even wait for the fund drive. Just donate. Quit drinking. There is no tomorrow. The point is, if you aren’t going to change today, then what makes you think you will next week?

    This is why I recommend the blanket approach. Instead of resolving to do a set of prescribed things, be a little vague. A nice way to encompass everything, without actually having to commit, is to say: “My resolution is just to do a little better this year. You know, in general.” Or: “I’m going to try and cut back on the bad stuff.” These sorts of resolutions are safe, and much more realistically achievable by mid-January. By February, when the true bleakness of winter has really begun to cut into your psyche, you can start simplifying things even further, based on your initial attempts at minimizing. Your resolution, while still remaining true to the original, can become a little more freeform: “Screw this resolution shit, I’ll be less of a self-destructive asshole later, maybe in the spring.” By leaving your resolutions open-ended, it’s possible to maintain self-confidence without actually having to accomplish your goals.

    My point, Vow Breaker, is this, just because you don’t succeed in improving your life based on a drunken, midnight, midwinter assertion, doesn’t mean that you should stop trying.

    Change happens in this moment, not in any other. And as for me, I’m staying up all night, May 31, 2007. First day of the New Year, and it’s just about summer time. I will be a better, more accomplished person in June. I just know it.

    No question too big, too small or too off-the-wall.


    Justice Warrior

    0

    Photograph by Michael Amsler
    Civil servant: Dr. James Coffee has spent his life fighting for civil rights for all peoples.

    By Lois Pearlman

    The Rev. James Coffee’s office at Santa Rosa’s Community Baptist Church is jammed with every manner of book, letter, file, souvenir, framed photograph, poster and writing implement. His desk is piled high with a jumble of paperwork and his bookshelves groan under the weight of keepsakes representing people, places and events that have punctuated the minister’s long and demanding career.

    “I preach here at the church, but I pastor the community. That’s why my desk is so crowded. I never get to do anything when I’m here,” he says, explaining that he performs most of his work at home where he can avoid the constant ringing of the telephone.

    Even for a man as busy as Coffee, this time of the year is unusually hectic. There’s been Christmas and all the events, civic and religious, leading up to it. The first week in December brought the annual James E. Coffee Human Rights Awards, named in his honor; a week later, Coffee participated in the holiday dinner his church hosts every year with the Rotary Club for patients at Sonoma Developmental Center. In mid-January, he will preside over the annual Martin Luther King Jr. birthday celebration.

    At 73, Coffee is a large, handsome man with an accent flavored by his Oklahoma childhood. Since 1960–when the southeastern part of the United States still had segregated schools and separate bathrooms for “colored” folks–he has served as the church’s pastor and Sonoma County’s most visible African-American leader. But he was initially reluctant.

    “This church called me to be its pastor,” he recalls. “I didn’t want to come. I didn’t see any need. I didn’t see any black folks. I refused for three years.”

    At that time, Coffee was living in the East Bay, “teaching and preaching around,” he says, after graduating from Golden Gate Seminary, now Mill Valley Bible College. The youngest of 13 children, he lost both his parents by 13 and moved to Alameda to live with relatives.

    He remembers Alameda as “a racist little town” where he was one of two blacks on his high school’s athletic teams. It was a drastic change from his close-knit early years in a large black community and his first experience with integration.

    “I started learning how to relate to a lot of people,” he said. “You put on the [athletic] uniform, and you become like one until you take it off.”

    Raised by a Methodist minister father and a Pentecostal mother, he has always had a deep religious faith, but at 18 he says that he “got really serious about God” and returned to the church.

    Santa Rosa’s Community Baptist Church was the denomination’s first black church, but it has changed with the times and now counts whites, Hispanics and Asian Americans among its members.

    “I get to preach to the United Nations every Sunday,” Coffee says. But preaching in the church is only a small part of his job. He also participates in a dizzying array of programs, including Race Equality Week, a celebration of the racial and ethnic diversity of Santa Rosa; “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner,” where everyone is invited to share a meal with people they might not otherwise meet; Cool Kids Camp, for children who have witnessed domestic violence; the Diversity Forum, a discussion group for racial and ethnic understanding; and Hate-Free Santa Rosa.

    He is also a long-standing and award-winning member of Kiwanis International, an honorary Rotarian for his work with that group, a participant with 100 Black Men of Sonoma County and a Paul Harris Fellow. Social Advocates for Youth in Santa Rosa named its teen shelter the Dr. James E. Coffee House in honor of his work with young people.

    And he is the one that law enforcement, judicial and government officials turn to when they find themselves facing racially charged issues. During the Rodney King trial, Coffee helped Santa Rosa officials organize a rally and speak out. It diffused the potentially violent response to the not-guilty verdict, he says.

    To illustrate his philosophy about serving the community, Coffee has adopted the symbol of the starfish. It comes from a story he tells about a bunch of beached starfish and a little boy who was trying to rescue them by throwing them back into the ocean as fast as he could, one at a time. A man comes along and asks the boy how he thinks he can save them that way. The little boy just throws another starfish into the water and says, “It makes a difference to that one.”

    “We can’t change the whole world, but we can make a difference where we are,” Coffee says.

    He also likes to make the point that change and the work that brings about change is not a 100-yard dash. “It’s a marathon,” he says. “It goes on and on because it’s handed down. Hate and prejudice is learned. Nobody is born a bigot. It is usually learned from someone we care about, so it’s generational. We are working on trying to stop the cycle.”

    Another of Coffee’s longtime friends and colleagues, Camp Meeker activist Mary Moore, doesn’t always agree with Coffee’s moderate approach, but she honors his even-handedness.

    “He has shown respect to the activist community, even when these issues weren’t popular or well-developed,” she says. “He gave us a place to meet, and he was open when we wanted to make coalition with him.”

    It was with Moore and her organization at that time, SONOMoreAtomics, that Coffee and the Community Baptist Church organized its first Martin Luther King Jr. birthday celebration in 1982. The church became the second one in the country to celebrate the slain Civil Rights leader’s birthday, years before it was declared a national holiday.

    Moore said Coffee has come through for her time and time again. When 12-year-old black girl Georgia Moses was killed in Petaluma not long after the much-publicized kidnapping and killing of middle-class white child Polly Klaas, Moore and others were appalled by the apparent lack of concern in the community. So Coffee helped to organize a memorial for the child at his church. A photograph of Moses, with an explanation of what happened to her, still hangs on a wall near the church’s social hall.

    “When any kind of milestone happened, where did we go? To the church. There would be no place else to go if that church wasn’t there,” Moore says.

    Coffee’s hallmark is his ability to engage with different kinds of people–everyone from elected officials to anarchists.

    “I don’t always agree with what people think or believe,” he says, “but I honor all people. I believe that God created all people equal. There is a difference between equality and sameness. I believe everyone should have equal rights to do or believe what they want.”

    Some say Coffee derives too much pleasure from the limelight and the hob-knobbing with politicians, but Moore concedes that he probably couldn’t accomplish all the things he does if he didn’t enjoy it.

    “He’s what I’d call a justice warrior,” Moore says. “It will definitely be the end of an era if and when he retires.”


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    First Bite

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    December 27, 2006-January 2, 2007 The following is the second in the holiday Sydney special begun last week, an in-depth and personal look at the collective questions of the moment. It's December, a time of great responsibility. Not only are many of us feeling swamped by the expectations of the holidays (a time when family dysfunction can become a living,...

    Justice Warrior

    Photograph by Michael Amsler Civil servant: Dr. James Coffee has...
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