The California Files

Yes, We Have no Computer!

So here a few weeks back against my better judgment I struggle out of bed of an early morning. While waiting for my turn in the shower, I stumble in here to check e-mail, stock prices, world news.

Wait, that’s not what I did first. First, I made my way out to the kitchen and poured myself that essential first cup of coffee, cream, no suger, courtesy a coffeemaker that turns itself on and brews coffee so that it is available to us as soon as we arise each morning.

So coffee in hand, I come in here, sit down – and spill the entire cup into my computer. This computer. This very one.

It does not take kindly to this kind of anointment. You may not know this – computers don’t like liquids. Not even single-malt Scotch.

It says, in response, “Bzzzt! Bzt!” Plume of smoke arises. Screen goes blank. Odd, too-hot odor fills room. Well, maybe not quite, a bit of hyperbole there; but you get the idea.

Shit. Well, good thing I’ve got everything backed up, right?

Wrong. Can’t seem to figure out how to make the backup drive do its thing, much less determine whether the thing even has my data – many years worth of photos, priceless, unrepeatable information about my ’65 Ducati, recipes, stuff like that – on it.

So I go buy another computer. Bad mistake. I went too cheap. Man, what a piece of crap this thing is. I hate the mousepad, I hate the fact that MSOutlook won’t run properly on it, and I hate – oh, so much else. Grr!

So in frustation I took my old computer down to a technician and told him my sad story. He sez, “Sure, I can fix that.” Revelation! The day looks better.

And he did. For $200 and a new motherboard, it’s working great. I’m a happy camper. My photos are where they’re supposed to be, and so is everything else. Mousepad works great, Outlook works great so I’m back in the e-mail business; keyboard is great, the Cloud connection with my iPhone runs fine, it’s all good.

What to do with the new replacement computer (it's an HP, by the way)? I may just take it out to the driveway, bathe it in lighter fluid and set it on fire.

Maybe that’s too extreme. Or maybe not.

-JFT  

Me, the Devil and Lunch

Today is the one day of the week I work a semi-normal day. I hit the office at 10, take a lunch break – I don’t usually – and go home at 6:30.

Usually I start later and bring a lunch, which I scarf at my desk while polishing copy and crafting headlines. But I’d been thinking that today, since I came in a bit early, I might leave the building, take a book and enjoy lunch away from the flurry of the newsroom.

It just so happens that just across the alley behind is a Glendale standard: Billy’s Deli.

Deli sandwiches, sure. Lox. Bagels. Pastrami and corned beef. And much more. Including pretty good burgers.

But for some reason, I’ve been thinking in terms of a chili size. You know, a hamburger bun and patty, served open-face, covered with chili and topped with melted cheese and onions?

 Yum! My dad used to love these. I do too.

And today, as I contemplated a lunch venue, I found that a devil was perched on my left shoulder, whispering into my ear: “Billy’s! Chili size! Billy’s! Chili size!”

 This was more than a little persuasive. I began conjuring images of a steaming, gloriously caloric chili size, began thinking of adding just the right amount of salt and pepper and Tabasco to it. Began thinking about how badly that would need to be accompanied by a beer….

 But in the wake of the recent tune-up to my knee, I find that I’ve lost a bit of weight. Weight loss never is easy, and it sure as hell doesn’t get easier as one ages. So I’ve been trying to be careful about my intake, all the better to preserve whatever small loss I've experienced.

 Still, there was that devil on my shoulder, whispering lovingly into my ear, “Chili size!”

 Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. I yelled, “Shut up!" You have to be forceful with these voices.

 I went just past Billy’s to Kozy Korner, an always reliable Thai place. Ordered yellow curry. Better deal all the way around.

 Laura, of course – you all know Laura, right, the former Registered Dietician and all-around Very Smart Person? - would beat me if she was to learn that I’d contemplated, much less consumed, a chili size. But she’d sign off on curry, I think.

I can still hear that chili size’s siren song. But fortunately, I will not be suffering its effects for the rest of the afternoon.

So this was a winner all the way around.

-JFT

 

 

Dinner is Served!

We’re lucky enough to be part of a social circle that involves couples spending time with each other over dinner. OK, so far, so good – a lot of people do that, right?

So Laura asked our friend Derek Dickinson, and his partner, Mike, over for dinner this past Sunday evening. Derek said, “Great! I’ll cook. Let’s plan on a dinner for eight.”

We figured that meant he’d grill steaks, do a salad, bake some potatoes or something, and that would be that.

But no.

Derek, a former restaurateur, showed up at this house a few moments ago, 3 p.m. sharp. With a chef. And a sous chef. This bunch is creating, in our tiny kitchen, in our tiny house, a four-course experience in fine dining. Laura is a great chef. But we’ve never, ever, done anything like this. Hell, we never would have thought of it – it’s just so over the top.

The menu? I just happen to have it right here:

Four different pass-around hors ’d oeuvres, including bacon-wrapped dates, quail eggs and caviar, miniature Maryland crab cakes with papaya/basil relish, and foie gras on brioche toasts.

Next, shrimp and avocado cocktail martini.

Next, the entrée – rack of New Zealand lamb with scalloped potatoes, asparagus and Bordelais sauce.

Finally, Valrhona chocolate soufflé.

Wines? Oh, my, yes! Plus we have folks coming who like martinis, and at least one who likes single-malt Scotch. So add those, as well.

To accomplish this, Derek and company have hauled a whole lotta restaurant supplies and equipment into the kitchen. I will take photos as we go along, but mostly I’m going to stay out of the way.

Oh, the cats? I just checked on them. They’re stashed away in our bedroom, out of harm’s way. They don’t much care for company or for disruptions of their feline routines, so we’ve moved food, water and the ever-important cat box in there with them.

Guests, scheduled to arrive at 5 p.m. were right on time.  They included our pals and sometime traveling companions John and Nancy Vogt, and another set of pals, also a dedicated pair of foodies and killer chefs, Bob Baker and Charlene Chaloner.

The food was fabulous, the company was charming and interesting, the conversation was, to say the least, lively. We broke up at about 9:30 – and we found that the kitchen had been cleaned. I like the way this all works.

Left-overs?  You bet! The fridge has plenty of stuff still sitting there, just waiting for lunches. Life is good!

-JFT

Italian Chicken

Back in the early ‘90s, I was in Rome on a job, howling around Italy on an amazing trio of Bimotas.

Gig over, I stayed an extra couple of nights. I found myself in the worst hotel room I’ve ever seen, so small that I couldn’t open my suitcase on the floor and still get from the bed to the bathroom. What there was of it.

It was next to the Termini, so the hotel entry smelled of urine.

Didn’t matter. Hell, it cost just a hundred bucks a night.

I explored the Coliseum, the Roman Forum, the Palatine Hill and more, including the prison where both Peter and Paul were held. Shot some photos. Visited the Vatican. Got the pope’s blessing. No, really!

Then it was time to eat.

I asked the hotel deskman where to have dinner. He gave me a couple of tips, then said, “Whatever you do, don’t go to this place,” and he named a name.

So I went to that place, peered in the window, examined the menu. It looked terrific. (Hell no, I’m not a contrarian! Why would you think that?)

I ordered chicken. Fabulous. A little olive oil, a little garlic, a little rosemary, a little lemon juice, a little salt and pepper. Lovingly grilled.

Best I’ve ever had.

So I came home, duplicated the recipe.

That’s what I’m grilling tonight.

It’s one of my favorite recipes. Laura likes it too.

It’s a gorgeous almost-summer evening here, perfect for grilling.

Life is good.

-JFT

Real Hot! Real Good!

Last weekend Laura and I found ourselves in the little town of Murphys, a very well-preserved town from the years of California's Gold Rush. It's about  an hour east of Stockton and these days is pretty much the Gold Country equivalent of Carmel, with a nice selection of good restaurants and interesting shops, as befitting one of California's hot wine regions.

Here's a nice shot of us at the Ironstone Winery,  which makes some pretty good vino. Also grappa! There are 14 or 15 vineyards and wineries dotted  around the place. Needless to say, this will require a great deal of additional exploration on our part.

Anyway, in one of those shops we found this, Palo Alto Fighters' Pepper Sauce.

We found it in a really cool little shop called, I seem to recall, the Spice Shack. Anyway, I had a taste and bought a bottle.  It's really good! Hot, but not too hot, but with terrific and interesting flavor. When I run out, I plan to buy more. If you're interested, you can buy yourself a bottle by going here:

Palo Alto Firefighters' Pepper Sauce

-JFT

Ready to Rock! Or, at least, cook.

So it's Friday night, right? It's my night to cook. I mean, I often grill on Saturday and Sunday nights as well, but on Friday night, dinner is my responsibility.

Usually I ask Laura what she might like to have for dinner. When I did that yesterday, she waffled.

"Well, I dunno, whatever you want," she said. "Maybe pasta?"

"Pasta," I cried!"How about puttanesca?"

It just so happens that I have a puttanesca recipe that we both like a whole lot. So the deal was sealed.

Puttanesca is a simple pasta dish - it's the name of the sauce you use with the pasta of your choice - named after the women who supposedly invented it. If one believes the lore (which obviously rarely is safe to do), these were women of, er, easy virtue who cooked up meals befitting their humble stations and even more humble economic situations.

So they would have used ingredients that were inexpensive and easy to get hold of: pasta, tomatos, olive oil, anchovies, salt, pepper, olives (my recipe calls for Kalamatas, which suits us fine), capers, pepper seeds, garlic - a good dollop of garlic - and basil.

Easy-peasy. Add a baguette and a bottle of Chiante and you're in business.

And as I write this, it is ready to go. Well, at least the ingredients are. I've got them all measured out and waiting in containers on our kitchen counter. All that's required is a bit of heat, a bit of time, and my sweetie to get home to start the weekend.

Then, on with dinner! Wish you were here to share it with us.

-JFT

Dinner!

Getting late here in So Cal, season-wise; I'll grill on into the winter, but the times in which we can sit out in the back garden and enjoy our evenings are closer to the end than they are to the beginning. So I'm thinking about tomorrow night's meal.

I'm just back from Whole Foods, which equipped me with four wonderful filets, and some other stuff. Here's the plan for those puppies:

Soak a bunch of toothpicks in water for several hours. Use them to pin strips of bacon around the edges of the steaks. Coat the steaks with olive oil, season with salt and pepper, and, very carefully, grill those rascals.

Pals Jim and Sally are coming over. Don't know what else we'll all eat, that's Laura's department. My guess is that rice or potatoes and a salad are strong possibilities. But I have entre covered.

I first experienced this proper and traditional way of doing filet mignon at a place called the Fog Cutter, in Hollywood. Long-gone now, this was THE place to take your date when I was in college. I mean, in its day, even cooler than Musso and Frank's. It is a wonderful way to cook these steaks. Looking forward to it.

In fact, just thinking about all this makes me hungry! I'd better go see what's in the 'fridge.

-JFT

 

Dinner? You Choose!

Chef Jon, here. As you will have seen in a previous post (you're on your own to find it, but it's there), I'm cooking a good bit lately. Hey, this is a good thing. I'm good at it. Really!

And this is the time of the week when I begin pondering the menu for Friday night's meal. And I'm stumped. I mean, so many choices! Cook books are stacked ceiling-high in our kitchen.

So: This is your chance to determine what I cook for Laura for Friday dinner. Here are the rules:

1 - The choice has to be real.

2 - The choice has to be realistic.

3 - The choice has to be something I can, like, actually do.

4 - The choice can't be ridiculously expensive. I mean, New York steaks? Fine (if too easy). But anything that involves truffles, for instance, ain't happenin'. Neither is stuffed, deboned duck.

5 -The choice can involve grilling, but if it's cold and rainy on Friday, as it is here now, grillin' ain't happenin', never mind how much I adore my gorgeous new Weber grill. Go ahead, call me a wimp. Sticks and stones, and all that.

Prize? Ah, the prize! Winner gets a (virtual) invitation to dinner, at which I will (virtually) serve the suggested recipe. Or, maybe the winner will get a real, non-virtual, invitation. Time, and circumstances, will tell.

So: Let the games begin. But hurry. I'm still exploring recipes. ('Scuse me while I shrug into my chef's apron and begin my search for the cooking sherry.)

- JFT

Chef Juan. Er, Chef Jean. Er, Chef Jon

Look, I’m pretty comfortable out in the garage. Got my tools, my work bench, my stereo, my jack and jackstands, all that stuff. I know what to do.

The kitchen is a different deal. There, my comfort levels are significantly lower than they are in the garage. But I’m having to respond to a change of circumstances. I’m not working and Laura is. We don’t usually eat much in the evenings, but weekends, especially Fridays, are an exception. We’ve always celebrated the arrival of the weekend by cooking something wonderful.

Now that I’m home, I’ve taken over that job. And if I do say so myself, so far, so good. I’ve tried a number of recipes and so far, no clinkers.

So Far: An Update

OK, here’s what I’ve learned so far in this hiatus I’m taking:

1 – The days are long, here at home alone.

2 – When I’m at home alone, the house is bigger than it is when Laura’s here with me.

3 – At about 9 in the morning, that’s a good time to make a lap or two of the neighborhood on my bicycle.

4 – A lap on my bike is a pretty good break from the editing and writing work I’ve undertaken for Laura’s company – that starts over morning coffee and stops when it’s done.

5 – I’ve got the time to do things I’ve not done in ages – wax my car, for instance, which it desperately needed.

6 – There’s even less on TV during the day than there is at night. Scary.

7 – My fangers are way big and clumsy for this business of tying knots in fishing line (see preceding post). But I can do it, and will do it, more and better.

8- So far, since this started, I’ve not spent a dime (well, except for a stop at Sport Chalet Sunday, when I bought some sox and some fishing stuff - see preceding post). I think I probably keep this up for a good long time.

9 – There will be time to indulge my curiosity about the contents, exotic and otherwise, of the cookbooks back there in the pantry. I’m thinking that a killer chili would be a fun place to start. I’m also thinking maybe a quiche. I mean, how hard can it be?

10 – It’s gonna be pretty easy to find to time to shoot a round or two of trap on a weekly basis. This is a good thing!

11 – Judging from the lack of content on the journalism job sites, this may last a while. Time to find other things to do.

- JFT