The California Files

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

Who Are All These People and Why Are They In Our Way?

We drove up to the family ranch for Christmas, as usual. The trip up was relatively painless, probably because we traveled on Christmas day. Ah, but the trip home was a different story.

Usually, the 315 miles from ranch to home takes us four hours, 15 minutes: set the cruise control for 75 mph – that’s a safe five-over, mind you – and let the miles roll past. This time the trip took us a little more than six hours.

The ranch is 10, maybe 15 miles east of Interstate 5. As soon as we left the local ranch roads and hit I-5, we encountered mile upon mile of stop-and-go Boxing Day traffic - an endless and flow of cars as thick as something flowing from a faucet. Traffic would come to a complete stop, and it would stay stopped. Then it would move slowly for awhile. Then stop again. Faucet on, faucet off.

We figured there must be one hell of a wreck somewhere up on front of us. Carnage. Mayhem.

But no. It was just an excess of vehicles, far more than the freeway could handle.

It was worse than traffic here in Lost Angeles. It took us about 90 minutes to reach a spot called Santa Nella, which we usually reach in about 30 minutes.

So just south of Santa Nella we jumped off of I-5 and took route 152 east to Highway 99. This was quite busy, but at least it flowed well.

 Traffic got heavy again when 99 and 5 joined, just north of the Grapevine, and got really heavy through Valencia and over the Newhall Pass. We were able to dodge around some of this by using the truck lanes.

Finally we were home. And damned glad to be there. The cats, however, were indifferent, reminding me of my eldest son.

 I think we’ll think twice before we again try to drive anywhere on any holiday weekend.

 -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

"You Are Now Free to Move About the World."

Yes, we're now in the travel business. We've done this as an adjunct to Laura's company, Your Great Event. The name of this division is, naturally, Travels by Your Great Event.

We formed the company to supply cruise destinations to institutional clients. But here's the good part: We're also able to book travel for individuals - friends and family, in other words.

We're affiliated with one of the country's leading travel firms and what that means is that we have access to the very best prices for a wide range of cruises, hotels and other travel needs.

We've got an expert travel agent - some of you that date back to our mutual college years will remember Paul Aragon, a wonderful guy and a dear friend for all these years. Our agent is Ginger, Paul's high-powered and very organized wife, an experienced agent and also a dear friend.

So if you're thinking about taking a trip and want the best service at the best prices, just click on the link at the top of the page there at the right and check us out.

- JFT

Laid Off!

Friday, Jan. 30, was my last day at Toyota, my last day as editor of the corporate blog, “Open Road.” I’d known this was coming since November. Now that it’s finally here, it’s still a bit of a shock. I’m not alone, however, not even close – Toyota is cutting/has cut its entire contingent of "business partners," or non-FTE workers, among whom I numbered. I’ve been told that that is up to half of the total population of the main campus in Torrance – a couple thousand folks, I gather.

To say that this is a bad time for me to be looking for work is an understatement. I’ve spent the last 37 years, since I first went to work as a cub reporter for the South Bay Daily Breeze in Torrance, working in print media, an industry that has completely tanked. I’ve spent much of that time writing about automobiles, another industry that has completely tanked.  So, you're seeing a pattern here, right?

While I’m looking for my next adventure, I’m going to expend some time and energy helping to market Laura’s company, Your Great Event, and its various activities. I’ve done that all along, mind you, but it’s probably time for a rethink and a refresh.

Phase Five – Ackergill Tower to Killdrummy Castle, Monday and Tuesday

After looking forward to Ackergill Tower for a year, the weekend at this wonderful place ended all too soon, and Monday found us reluctantly loading up our car for the trip down through Aberdeen to a wonderful old country hotel I’d found near the ruins of Killdrummy Castle. In the single bit of navigational challenge we had during these two weeks, we got pretty confused while trying to navigate our way through Aberdeen, but eventually found ourselves on a nice four-lane highway heading south.

Highways like that are rare in Scotland, though, and we spent most of this day on the two-laners. One of them led us to what easily was the worst lunch of the trip, which we found in a pub in a town called Arbroath. I think the best thing I can say is that food seems not to be as important there as it is here.

With that experience behind us, we pulled finally, after another seemingly endless drive over impossible roads, into the Killdrummy Castle Hotel, a sumptuous, wood-paneled former hunting lodge built by a 19-century Aberdeen soap magnate, at about 4 that afternoon.

Again, this was a two-nighter, so that meant we had the next day to explore the area. We started by spending several hours in the hotel gardens,  some of the most gorgeous and interesting we’ve seen. Then we headed out for a tour of the Glenlivet distillery outside Tomintoul, about 40 miles away over the Grampian mountains, past a ski area that was a bit of a surprise to find. This was a trip recommended to Laura by the hotel’s gardener, a friendly woman who kept the place looking great. Her advice was good.

In addition to a really nice and varied drive, the Glenlivet tour - what you see here is one of the distillary's original buildings that now houses the visitor's center - provided a nice overview of how single-malt Scotch whisky is made, and the opportunity to taste-test 12, 15- and 18-year old product. A fun experience that added to our understanding of this place and its traditions.

- JFT

Scotland Phase Four – Ackergill Tower, Friday, Saturday and Sunday

Finally, the day we’d all planned, and paid so dearly for – time to arrive at Ackergill Tower. It’s about five miles north of Wick and not visible from the road. There is, however, a very long drive marked by tall hedgerows on both sides, and a discrete sign, which we found with no problem.

At the end of the drive there’s a meadow filled with sheep – this doubles as the Tower’s driving range – and across that, the Tower itself, perched right on the edge of the North Sea on Sinclair Bay.

We just stopped and drank in the view before completing the loop around the meadow to the Tower. They’d obviously seen us coming – when we pulled up to the door, the staff was all lined up in the entry to greet us, and we were handed “a wee dram” of Old Pulteny to consider while our stuff was carted up to our rooms.

We were on the first floor in a room called Daffodil – this for its mostly light-yellow paint/wallpaper scheme, I think. A large, airy, gorgeous room with a fireplace and a corner cupola window from which we could see the nearby lighthouse,  Sinclair Bay and the ruins of Sinclair Castle. Just heavenly. Neither Laura nor I ever got enough of just sitting in that window and looking at that view. Interestingly, the rooms have names, but no name plaques. And doors are never locked. Ever.

The Ackergill Tower people had a full weekend’s worth of activities laid on for their “house party,” including games, golf, clay shooting and a wonderful archaeological hike across the moors to visit prehistoric habitations and crypts. And we did it all, up late every night with much partying and laughing with a very, very interesting cast of characters. A few, like us, were first-timers. One couple, however, had made 15 house party visits, a prodigious and impressive total, given the financial and logistic challenges Ackergill Tower presents. Obviously, it’s worth it. We all had a blast.

This was Laura’s chance to play golf here in Scotland, the home of golf, and while she did that, I’d planned to shoot some clays. As it turned out, we all shot, and Laura knocked quite of few of them down. John, it turns out, is a great shot.

I’ll not go into excruciating detail about these three days, but two things do seem worth dealing with – the Mey Games on Saturday, and the cèilidh, a kind of wild Scottish party with singing and dancing and a certain amount of lubrication, on Saturday night.

We talked to some folks who said the weather during the Mey Games on Saturday – this was an August weekend way up at the very northern tip of Scotland, keep in mind – was the worst they’d ever seen. The wind howled and the rain fell. We all pretty much were cold and miserable and so stayed inside the tent that Ackergill Tower had laid on for us – close to the food and drink, naturally. So we didn’t pay too much attention to the hammer throw or the caber toss, or to the other elements of these Highland Games. But we paid attention when Prince Charles and Camilla showed up driving an Audi Allroad. It was quite low key, and spoke to the relaxed nature that seems to pervade northern Scotland.

We had a team prepared for the rope pull, a tradition, apparently, at these games, and everyone was dreading having to go out into the weather to participate. Then came news that the man charged with actually bringing the rope hadn’t shown up. A cheer went up and we headed for the parking lot for the ride back to Ackergill Tower.

That night we all attended the cèilidh, which was a dress occasion. Gents were asked either to bring a tuxedo, or to allow the folks at Ackergill Tower to organize a Scottish dress outfit for us. This involves a kilt. Not wanting to haul a tux around, I did this and was glad I did.   I thought it looked pretty good - though as always, Laura looked better, and it was actually quite a bit of fun to find myself dressed in such a nutty manner.

The party began with a very nice meal that included, of course, an appetizer of haggis, which neither of us much cared for, then more traditional courses. Dinner over, we moved to a larger room where a band and dancers entertained us all for a while – and then the dancing started. Dancing   was one thing I definitely was not supposed to be doing on a knee that was just five weeks old, so we did one round and then went to our rooms. Others who shall remain unnamed stayed until the last dog was hung – 2:30 am. Really a lot of fun.

Sunday involved house party games, golf for Laura and a hike to archaeological sites for me – knee, or no knee. A ranger took us out across the moors to burial cairns he said dated back 7,000 years, and to the faint remains of a residence he said was about 5,000 years old. This was another cool, wet, gray day, and I continued to be impressed with the Scots, and especially how tough and hardy those prehistoric Scots would have been to thrive in this very northern environment.

-JFT

Scotland, Scots, Scotch Whisky and Us, Phase Two - Fort William to Portree, Skye, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday

We thought it would be good to visit one of Scotland’s islands, and Skye is easily accessible. It’s connected to the Scottish mainland by bridge, so you don’t have to use a ferry to get to it, though you can do that. The only problem was that I didn’t figure the miles - it was a lot further than I’d anticipated. But what did we care? We were on vacation!

We made a few stops along the way – at one viewing spot we found a lone piper, all done up in full clan regalia, piping away, his wife nearby selling copies of his CD recordings. Nancy, taken with the music, bought a CD, which she brought home, played, and, one gathers, tossed out after pronouncing it horrible. Ah, well.

It was on this drive that we found, and toured, an incredible home called Eilean Donan Castle. This is ancient in its origins but was rebuilt during this century by a wealthy family that lived in it and still uses it, but which has deeded it over to the local historical trust, the better to save money on taxes and maintenance. A worthwhile stop to see things you’d never, ever, see anywhere else, I don’t think.

Stopped again several times at such viewpoints to take photos, and then for lunch at a place called Kyle of Lochalsh, just before the bridge to Skye. This was a picturesque little fishing that offered, among other things, a comfortable hotel that served us all fish and chips.

That done, we made the 40-mile drive to the town of Portree, Skye’s largest town, and the Viewfield House, a B&B we’d selected from the trusty Karen Brown travel guides. This is a gorgeous old home, large and comfortable, with large lawns, high ceilings and lots of privacy. We liked it a lot. Except the foyer filled with hunting trophies. We didn’t like that much at all.

The afternoon we arrived was sunny and warm so we played a game of croquet out on the lawn, using “Nancy’s Rules” and John’s cunning. Laura won a game, and then John killed us all.

We ate two of the best meals of the trip at a pair of restaurants in Portree, which is a terrific little town. It was packed for its own version of the Highland Games – towns all over Scotland have these, apparently – so we enjoyed the Scots, their almost impenetrable brogues and the sight of locals dressed in kilts – about which, more later.

Again, two nights here meant a full day to explore, so we set off on an anticlockwise drive around the north end of the island, stopping to photograph waterfalls, sheep, gorges and other interesting features. We had lunch at a lovely old – and very isolated – seaside hotel way off in the countryside, and then found our way back to town - here's a shot of my sweetie overlooking Portree - for the second of those two great dinners.

Talisker, one of the great single-malt Scotch whiskys, is distilled here. Somehow we missed the sign for the distillery, so we didn’t manage a tour. We did manage a taste, however, as one of the faithful traveler’s duties is to sample the local product. Smokey – not as much as, say, Laphroig, but still very smokey, but also very smooth.

This was a special place – we rather hated to leave it. But coming up was the point of this trip, Ackergill Tower. So on Thursday morning, after yet another English cooked breakfast (two eggs, bacon or sausage and toast, no milk, no Mexican omlette), we loaded up and hit the road for what would be a very long day.

- JFT (Let's see, I've no place for this one, so I'll place it here below - it's a shot, which I was not supposed to take, of Laura in one of the incredible rooms in Eilean Donan Castle.)

A Weekend of Wining

That’s wining, not whining – as in fine wine.

At about this time every year for the past several years, we have driven with our pals John and Nancy Vogt up to the Santa Ynez wine region, just above Santa Barbara, for a weekend of fun and wine tasting.

Having pretty much exhausted the Foxen Canyon wine trail, this time we concentrated on the wineries around the Santa Rita hills, which are to the south and west of Buellton.

It’s a really pretty area, made even more so this day by heavy clouds and a bit of rain.

We all pretty much agree that we hit our limit at four wineries – after the five-or-so tastings that each joint provides, one’s palate becomes overwhelmed and much less discerning than it could be. At least mine does.

So we concentrated on a loop that took us on Santa Rosa Road almost out to Lompoc, and then back on highway 246, stopping at Lefond, Sanford (in an absolutely wonderful new building that’s constructed of adobe), Melville (They didn’t think that my suggestion of a "White Whale chardonnay was funny at all, and they also didn’t think much of my suggestion of a vineyard named Pequod…. Ah, well, not literature enthusiasts, apparently.) to Foley.

Here’s a picture of Nancy, left, and Laura at Foley Estates enjoying a taste  of some of the good chardonnays that the region seems to generate.

We found it interesting that tour buses bring in groups – a lot of younger folks, it seems – that treat wine tasting as an opportunity to drink their fill to the point of drunkenness. Interesting. This led to an ongoing discussion about decorum, and its apparent lack in some segments of the population. Maybe I’ll expound on that at some later date. Or maybe not. Probably I'm just getting old. No, not probably. Certainly.

Midway through our loop we stopped at the Mission La Purisima, my favorite of the old Spanish missions in California  and easily the least spoiled and the most authentic. Really a beautiful spot that’s worth the time of anyone interested in California history.

We overnighted Friday and Saturday in Los Olivos (where my old friend Harvey Duryee attended boarding school, a fact that led to my own boarding-school career, but let us not speak of those things), and we found a lack of decent grub. But at least it was expensive. Even at this time of year, it wasn’t possible to get into Mattei’s Tavern, an old stage stop turned into a really good restaurant, because the place was fully booked. So we considered ourselves fortunate enough to snag reservations at the Los Olivos Cafe. We did, that is, until we discovered that we didn't much care for the food there. Laura's risotto was more like al dente rice than risoto, and was overseasoned with sage. My pasta was - well, it was just odd. But at least this meal was better than the one the previous night at the restaurant in Fess Parker's Wine Country Inn. The fact that the place was absolutely empty should have been our first clue, and the scant, unimaginative menu should have been a second clue. Nice rooms there, though, and the town cat adopted us to the point of sleeping on our bed both nights we were there (I wonder if the fact that Laura fed her influenced this in any way), so we came away pretty happy.

One memorable highlight of the trip was Sunday brunch at the Four Seasons, on the beach at Santa Barbara. Thi$ i$ not inexpen$ive, but it’s surely one of the most beautiful locations on the California coast, and some of the best food. If you’ve never done this, you owe it to yourself to give it a try. For us, it's always the perfect way to end a weekend in the Santa Barbara area.

-JFT

Greece, Part Four

OK, where were we before we so rudely interrupted by the sound of banjo history?

Oh, right:

Santorini doesn’t sound like a Greek name, you’re maybe thinking. Well, if you’re thinking that, you’re right, it isn’t a Greek name. It’s an Italian name. And it exists because the island, originally settled by the Minoans, was conquered and colonized by the Venetians back in the 17th century. They named it for St. Irene. Hence Santorini.

Anyway, that’s where we were headed. We checked out of the hotel at that gorgeous Athens aeroport, crossed the street, hopped aboard an Aegean Air 737, and 35 minutes after takeoff, landed at sleepy little Santorini airport, which flat closes down when there are no flights – and at this time of the year, there are no flights. Well, OK, there a couple of commercial flights each day.

Santorini is actually at least three islands – one larger, two or three more much smaller – and is all that remains of a volcano that exploded with huge force some 3,500 years ago. The main island is a gorgeous crescent-shaped affair with its open area facing west, toward the sunset. The main city is called Fira,  and our hotel, the Homeric Poems Hotel, was in an adjacent town called Fira Stefani. Like so many of the hotels here, this one is built into the side of the caldera’s cliffs, with its exterior structure and roofs made of concert. The rooms, or suites, are actually caves that have been mined into the volcanic rock. Ours was very nice indeed, and the hotel featured one of those picturesque horizon pools that you perhaps have seen in travel brochures. Actually, the hotel's website featured a photo of this pool, and that was one of the reasons we selected it. Laura took one look at it and figured that it was her destiny. Really, it's her kind of deal. I sent this photo  around to a few pals, and I got several responses back that all said the same thing: "We know she's wonderful, but we didn't know she walked on water." 

We got in in the early afternoon and used what remained of the day to explore Fira, a small town that caters mostly to the hoards of tourists who come here aboard the myriad cruise ships that drop anchor in the harbor, hundreds of feet below the town. They get up here either by a cable chair-lift deal, or by riding mules, or hiking, up the steep path that leads to town from the harbor – 589 steps.     The town is mostly narrow little pedestrian streets, upon which older gentlemen are known to pose for their spouses, that contain an interesting mix of stores selling a weird mix of high-end merch and typical tourist junk. But it’s incredibly photogenic, in spite of those older gentlemen, and this is one of the reasons that when I downloaded the cards from our three cameras onto our laptop, I found 490 images on one card, 400 on another, and 100 on a third. Yikes! In fact, any delay in posting this final episode is caused by the need to wade through this ocean of images to see what we have that’s postable. Well, that's not the only reason, but it's one of 'em.

While exploring here, we met one of those memorable characters who really make travels like this worth while. A little bit of a way up a narrow street, past the last of the tourist shops, we found the Handy Jewelry Studio. No display window, just an open door and, through it, a nicely decorated interior. Inside we found a wide variety of beautiful custom jewelry, made mostly of silver by a very interesting and talented artist named Prodromos Lipatetzoglou, whose workshop also is right off the display area. We hit it off with Prodromos, and on at least two trips into town, spent a good amount of time talking to him.

We learned, among other things, that Handy was the name of his dog, that the villagers keep close track of which cruise ships are docking, and when; and which cruise lines carry customers that spend. Princess and Carnival = not good, Crystal = good. Also, French tourists = not good. Or so Prodromos  told us. An interesting guy and a craftsman who produces really beautiful stuff. Laura bought some of it. And good for her. The necklace and pendant she bought, especially, is gorgeous, and on its long chain, the pendant hangs right there between – uh, never mind.

But forget Handy, the dog. Sure, there are dogs here. But this town is filled with cats. Gorgeous, contented, well-fed cats. Some of you know that Laura and I adore people of the feline persuasion. So we were very happy with this development.

We found the town’s "super-market," a tiny store that contained most every-thing you might need. So we bought (bad) wine, ouzo, cheese, bread, and we hauled that back to our hotel. We sat out on our patio with our dinner and watched the most gorgeous sunset either of us has seen in a long, long time. Yes, life is good.

The most picturesque town on the island is Oia (pronounced Eee-ya), and that’s where we headed the next morning. We hopped aboard the local bus and took the 7-kilometer ride there for a price of 1.20 Euros each. Oia is tiny, all white paint and blue rooftops, perched at the very tip of the island.

The bus drops you in a square at the edge of town and you’re on your own to explore on foot, walking from the south end of town to the north, where the path takes you out to the edge of the cliff. We found not only the blue-topped churches and windmills that are the subject of so many postcards that are on sale here, but also the ruins of what had been some fairly large buildings.  This island was hammered by a large earthquake about 50 years back, and though I don’t know for sure, I suspect that one reason these ruins exist is because nobody has had the money or desire to rebuild/restore them. I also suspect that, given the popularity of this island as a tourist destination, it’s only a matter of time before somebody turns them into the very expensive cliffside hotels that they’re begging to become.

In any case, we spent the morning walking and taking photos. Again, this place is incredibly photogenic. And then we returned to our room to spend the rest of the afternoon on our little patio  overlooking the caldera, watching the ferries and cruise ships arrive and depart, and reading our books.

For the next day, it was something entirely different. We wanted to explore the rest of the island, so we rented a motorscooter. Clad in shorts, T-shirts and the most disreputable helmets we’ve ever seen in a long and checkered two-wheeled career, we set out into a cold, blustery day.

Just south of Fira we found a development of some really pretty vacation homes. In fact, we found several such developments like this on the island. Like almost every building we saw in Greece, all these are built with foot-square reinforced structural concrete framework that’s filled in with concrete blocks. Not much wood in Greece, I guess, hence the heavy use of concrete.

Just a little south of town the look quickly devolves, however, from the picturesque to the grotesque. Indeed, what non-tourist Santorini reminded us both of was Baja California – hey, we found a Mexican restaurant, of all things, called Senor Zorba’s.

We rode all the way around to the lighthouse  at the far southern tip of the island and explored every little town we found along the way. This isn’t a big place, remember, so this took us about two hours, even with stops. After that amount of time, the wind and cold got the better of us, so we rode back to Fira, turned in our scoot, and retreated to our patio and our books – for the last time.

The next morning we caught a plane and flew back to the Athens airport to stay, once again, in the welcoming modern security of the airport’s Sofitel. Man, it was good to be home - or at least that's what it felt like. Great restaurant on the ninth floor, and a good selection of pretty good wine – a rarity, as I’ve noted.

The next morning, out of here, gone from Greece and on to London - the next and final phase of our trip.

-JFT