Not according to Christina DiEdoardo. The San Francisco-based lawyer doesn’t just sport a friendly emoticon on her LinkedIn page, she’s also defending your right to be naked in San Francisco before a federal judge.
Arrested Development
Nude, or nevernude?
According to an article published yesterday by the Chronicle, the case challenges an ordinance scheduled to go into effect on Feb. 1. If publicly shedding your drawers is an important part of your life, you can still do so at events permitted for nakedness, like the Folsom Street Fair and Bay to Breakers. This court case raises many questions like the one above, only hinted at in the Chronicle’s coverage. Is public nakedness a form of political expression? Is it a form of artistic expression? Should we revisit the idea of a naked mayor? What about a naked city council? Would their hands need to be visible at all times? You can read more about the history of balls-out…um…ness in SF here.
Pop-up dinners are awesome. 1) Prix Fixe meals are awesome. 2) Artisan meat producers are awesome. 3) Sitting at a table with people excited about food is awesome. 4) Wine pairing by people who know their stuff is awesome. 5) I am still full.
This was my list of notes after Sonoma’s Epicurean Connection Wednesday night Victorian Farmstead/chef John Lyle pop-up dinner. Tickets were $75, including wine pairing, tax and tip. Really, that’s like a three-course dinner for $35, because this wine pairing would be at least $15 and tax and gratuity would run about $25. This is how meals in many European restaurants are priced, and it just feels like this structure respects the food more. It’s not trying to trick a diner into not realizing the total cost of an experience, it’s offering the meal at a price that’s fair for the quality (1).
To start, chicken and dumplings were good, but not as great as what was to come. The dumplings lacked a bit of flavor for my taste, but the chicken and broth made up for it. The flesh tasted so pure, an unfortunately rare trait in commercial meat (2). The dish was surprisingly light, easing my fears of carrying a lead stomach by the end of the evening.
The star, porchetta, was impeccable. Hands down wins my vote for best main dish of the year. I don’t need to eat any more, folks. We’ve already found a winner. Pork belly, laid out flat, rolled over onto itself and cooked so the skin gets crispy, the fat gets juicy and the meat gets so, so tender but not in the “cut it with your fork” way, which I always felt to just be another way to say “mushy.” The meat had so much flavor with such little seasoning, basically just salt and pepper. “The food comes perfect right out of the ground,” says Lyle. “It’s my job not to mess it up.”
John Lyle
Indeed, it came to him near perfection in its raw form. I could probably eat it as sashimi. This pork is so pure, I could taste its diet, which I imagine consisted much of wild grasses and shrubs. Sitting next to Victorian Farmstead farmer Adam Parks, I discovered he gets his pork from Marin County, though it’s one of the few meats he doesn’t raise on his own (3). His high standards are obvious, though, with the chicken and pork both surpassing already high expectations.
The pork sat atop red buttery red potatoes, cooked whole and cut in half on the plate, as well as a mixture of greens from Bloomfield Farms. The greens were on everyone’s lips during dinner. I wanted to talk about the pork, but no, everyone was so taken with the damn side dish that I didn’t even get to my Porky Pig impression (a dinner party favorite). To be fair, they were really good greens, which Lyle said was just a simple mix of kale, spinach and chard. Again, he doesn’t do much to them here, but the mixture of flavors took away from the natural bitterness that usually turns me away from greens, especially kale. Yeah, I said it. Kale sucks. But this kale, mixed with other goodies, didn’t suck. Maybe I’m beginning to see the light. Maybe I was just high on pig juice. (Wouldn’t be the first time).
Fig tart
Dessert, spelled with two esses because you always want seconds, did in fact make me want seconds (5). The fig tart was sliced like a pie, served with vanilla ice cream and a carmel sauce that stole the show and took home the award for best supporting condiment. Served with two cheeses that “literally just came in hours ago,” it was a nice comedown after the pork. The crust was king of this dessert; Lyle is a master of this craft. “It’s a gateway pastry,” he says of pie crust. It leads to nefarious debauchery such as croissants, puff pastry and other sinful doughs. If the Body of Christ were made of Lyle’s pie crust, communion would have lines out the door.
Sheana Davis
I didn’t mention the wine yet, but the pairings by Sheana Davis were unexpected and well chosen (4). Idell Vineyards chardonnay with the chicken didn’t overpower the lightness of the dish, and the winemaker sat across from me at the table. (It’s pretty amazing when people who made the raw ingredients for a dinner are at the table, it shows real confidence in their work, and with good reason.) The Korbin Kameron cab had about six years to mellow out, and it wasn’t really meaty or super bold. It was more like a zin, really, like a big zin, which paired so well with the pork I almost had another glass (but I’d have left the pork all alone, and I couldn’t do that). Forget pork and pinot, this is even better. And with dessert, the 2006 Parmelee Hill syrah was a great wine that went better with the cheese than fig tart. Depth makes this a good drinking wine, which makes it a smart choice for dessert. I’ve never been a fan of super sweet wines at dessert, because dessert is already sweet. Why add more sweet? This syrah was a good choice and left a wonderful lingering reminder of the evening after we left.
I always forget Sonoma is only half an hour from Santa Rosa and half an hour from Petaluma. Actually, it’s about the same to drive between SR and P-Town as it is from either city to Sonoma, and much more pleasant. The only tough thing is passing up the great, super cheap taco-portunities on the way to the Promised Land.
Twelve years old, possessed of a potent imagination, haunted by a childhood tragedy he considers the critical piece in his origin story, Bradley (played with elastic authenticity by New York actor Gabriel King) sees himself as the hero of an epic comic book adventure—though the real details of is life may be anything but comic. In Dan LeFranc’s colorful new youth-riot spectacle Troublemaker, or the Freakin’ Kick-A Adventures of Bradley Boatwright—running through Feb. 3 at Berkeley Repertory Theater—pre-teen angst is blended with unexpected insight. In three distinct acts, LeFranc heightens everything: the youthful dialogue is a gloriously stylized barrage of code words and slyly softened obscenities. Bullies behave like super-villains from a James Bond movie. Adults are seen as monsters, Nazis, zombies, or pirates. And though Bradley likes to treat his best friend Mickey Minkle (Chad Goodridge) as his sidekick, by the third act, even Bradley is forced to admit that maybe his troublemaking behavior is masking a monster-sized insecurity. Directed by Lila Neugebauer, the slightly stretched show is a whimsically awesome coming of age story, with an ending that is not exactly happy—but it is surprisingly, hopefully, painfully, real.
Biographies are a dime a dozen, but Pulitzer Prize—winning nonfiction writer Tracy Kidder’s Mountains Beyond Mountains—the story of renegade physician and Partners in Health cofounder Paul Farmer—stands out. Kidder is the type of writer that can teach the rest of us writers something real and, luckily, he’s written a new book, along with magazine and book editor Richard Todd, that does just that. Good Prose: The Art of Nonfiction distills the stories and advice that developed from years of practice. Tracy Kidder talks about good prose on Tuesday, Jan. 22, at Book Passage. 51 Tamal Vista Blvd., Corte Madera. 7pm. 415.927.0960.
My grandma was a big Merle Haggard fan. We spent many a summer night, sitting on the back porch of her house in Arizona, Grandma drinking Budweiser, me drinking 7-Up, Merle or Willie on the cassette player; I liked singing the chorus of “Okie from Muskogee” at the top of my lungs, whenever possible. Now in his mid-70s, Haggard’s been at this country music business for a mighty long stretch, but age ain’t nothing but a number for the poet of the common man’s voice, energy or sense of humor. After all, this is the guy who wrote, “Half of My Garden Is for Willie,” a song about growing tobacco, mushrooms and cannabis for his bandana-and-braided compadre. He plays Saturday, Jan. 19, at the Uptown Theatre. 1350 Third St., Napa. 8pm. $80—$90. 707.259.0123.
Chris Botti is a hunk. If they made a “Sexy Men of Jazz” calendar, he would certainly be Mr. December. Just ask Katie Couric! But beyond his all-American looks, the jazz trumpeter actually possesses serious chops. Studying with Woody Shaw and Bill Adam at Indiana University before moving to New York in the ’80s, he then went the pop route, forming creative partnerships with Paul Simon, Sting and Joni Mitchell, snagging many Grammy nominations along the way. Though he’s able to hold his own at the Village Vanguard, on his latest album Botti continues to blend pop and jazz, performing “romantic melodies” with the likes of Vince Gill, Herbie Hancock, Mark Knopfler and Andrea Bocelli. He blows on Saturday, Jan. 19, and Sunday, Jan. 20, at the Napa Valley Opera House. 1030 Main St., Napa. 8pm and 7pm. $80—$90. 707.226.7372.
I spent years behind coffeehouse counters, steaming up foamy lattes with glum despair before learning how to make a proper coffee drink. It took training by a boss who viewed coffee as an art form to change my ways. Under her tutelage, I learned the exact temperature at which milk caramelizes, how to make a superb espresso shot (tiger stripes, people), and the way to pour freshly steamed milk so as to produce crema-licious rosettes. I’m now as obsessed with a well-made cappuccino as the 30 Oliver’s Market baristas who’ve trained with Taylor Maid Farms for the past three months in preparation for the ultimate challenge. Bask in their knowledge and skill at the Battle of the Baristas Final Showdown on Thursday, Jan. 17, at Taylor Maid Farms. 7190 Keating Ave., Sebastopol. 6pm. 707.634.7129.
Any musician doling out advice on how to get press coverage will, at one point, roll his eyes and sigh. “You could always make it a benefit for something,” the ever-broke musician will say, cognizant of the power of charity to attract do-gooder media outlets.
Though we believe in pure, honest charity that edifieth and does not puffeth up, it takes more than giving “a portion of the proceeds” (read: $10, possibly) to a good cause to perk up our ears. Which is why you’re reading about Winter Roots here; in addition to being serious about charity (the last event contributed $3,500 to bird rescue), the evening promises damn fine music.
Feel like dancing? Look no further: Arann Harris and the Farm Band raise the barn roof with odes to chickens and country doctors; the Church Marching Band birth a raucous lovechild of Sousa and klezmer; Tiny Television (pictured) inject absolute rave-up to “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” and the Dixie Giants have sousaphone solos. Serious.
Food for Thought, the Sonoma County AIDS food bank, benefits, while Lagunitas beer and homemade tamales fuel the fleet-footed. Be there on Saturday, Jan. 19, at the Sebastopol Community Center. 390 Morris St., Sebastopol. 7pm. $15–$20. 707.823.1511.
Despite being the one-time owners of Geyser Peak Winery, and well-connected in business generally, the Trione family had no leg up when they opened this shop in the inauspicious year of 2008, says sales director Denise Trione. For one thing, the mighty Trione name didn’t travel too far outside Sonoma County. She and winemaker Scot Covington have had to hand-sell their wine across the country, while wearing all the different hats that a small winery requires. “It’s a different kind of animal,” Covington explains.
It’s surely a different beast from the old Canyon Road Winery, this site’s former occupant, a sort of country cousin brand to Geyser Peak that has since been sent to pasture in Modesto. In a brand-new production facility that Covington designed to incorporate his experience at Pellegrini Family Vineyards and others, Trione operates on a “cream of the crop” model, in which Covington gets his pick from more than 600-plus acres of grapes that the Triones farm to make just 6,000 cases of wine.
Located along a well-liked cycling route, Trione is a popular stop. You’re likely to be greeted by Denise Trione with a free welcome glass of crisp, elegant 2010 Russian River Valley Sauvignon Blanc ($23), or, more likely, first by Bubba, a friendly American bulldog, and Scout, a Jack Russell terrier who’s given to worrying a well-chewed doorstop before placing it expectantly at one’s feet.
Midway through the wine list, here’s a little mystery solved. What happened to Geyser Peak’s once-celebrated, post-Aussie winemaker invasion Shiraz? The new owners quietly dropped it. But one wine’s still coded Shiraz in Trione’s SKU system. With savory, rural aromas of olives, leather and horse blanket—all in a good way—the 2008 RRV Syrah ($32) won’t be mistaken for your more typical Shiraz. This vineyard was planted in French, not Australian clones, after all. A core of stony, cherry and plum fruit becomes more fleshy with time, blueberry syrup entering the scene late.
Not for everyone, but more sensuous than the technically polished Bordeaux blend. There’s a good Primitivo on hand, too, and a juicy, cranberry-and-cola flavored 2009 RRV Pinot Noir ($35), jazzy with Christmas spices of cinnamon and clove, like a mulled wine that’s been left out to cool. And how satisfactory when a tasting ends not with the thud of an overwrought Cab, but the engaging, lively and refined 2008 Alexander Valley Cabernet Sauvignon ($65), as irresistible as a soggy doorstop to a terrier.
Those familiar with Michael Haneke’s films realized that when he made a movie called Amour, it wouldn’t be an ordinary love story. What we see, in all of its horror, is the final stage of a successful love story, the end of the line. The film opens with doors thrown open on an apartment where an elderly woman’s flower-bedecked corpse is discovered in a gas-filled room by paramedics.
We flash back to the events leading up to this moment. Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) and Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant, in his first film in nine years) are an elderly couple with a great love of classical music, relaxing in an apartment furnished with books, paintings and a grand piano. They discuss some of the usual pressures—familiar unhappiness, mainly, since their daughter (Isabelle Huppert) is involved with a two-timing British husband.
One morning during coffee, Anne stops in her tracks, dumbstruck. She’s lost a minute of her life to a stroke; this incident is followed by complications from surgery to relieve the damage. Then comes another stroke, paralysis and irreversible decline.
Amour‘s perfection lies in its clinical refusal to euphemize. That’s visible in the way the camera is positioned right at the foot of Anne’s bed, as if standing in the place of someone who didn’t know the sick woman all that well, who can neither politely leave the room nor sit down close to her pillow like a daughter.
The film has the 3am clarity of a fantasy of downfall, unredeemed by false uplift and spiritual afflatus about the satisfaction of dying in your own bed. (They take your bed, anyway, and replace it with one of those hospital models.) The beauty that’s said to be waiting at the end of life may just be something else that keeps people pliable—all of it just mystification, which Haneke proposes to strip away.
‘Amour’ opens Friday, Jan. 18 at the Rafael Film Center.
Biographies are a dime a dozen, but Pulitzer Prize—winning nonfiction writer Tracy Kidder’s Mountains Beyond Mountains—the story of renegade physician and Partners in Health cofounder Paul Farmer—stands out. Kidder is the type of writer that can teach the rest of us writers something real and, luckily, he’s written a new book, along with magazine and book editor Richard Todd,...
My grandma was a big Merle Haggard fan. We spent many a summer night, sitting on the back porch of her house in Arizona, Grandma drinking Budweiser, me drinking 7-Up, Merle or Willie on the cassette player; I liked singing the chorus of “Okie from Muskogee” at the top of my lungs, whenever possible. Now in his mid-70s, Haggard’s...
Chris Botti is a hunk. If they made a “Sexy Men of Jazz” calendar, he would certainly be Mr. December. Just ask Katie Couric! But beyond his all-American looks, the jazz trumpeter actually possesses serious chops. Studying with Woody Shaw and Bill Adam at Indiana University before moving to New York in the ’80s, he then went the pop...
I spent years behind coffeehouse counters, steaming up foamy lattes with glum despair before learning how to make a proper coffee drink. It took training by a boss who viewed coffee as an art form to change my ways. Under her tutelage, I learned the exact temperature at which milk caramelizes, how to make a superb espresso shot (tiger...
