Not to sound all whiny and self-indulgent, but there needs to be a certain attention given to the fact that goods and services are purchased by people called customers and that they may be the great unwashed, the hoi polloi but they are still the focus of the business, the purpose of its very existence and instead of seeing them as an obstacle to  a smooth-running evening, they ought to be seen as a resource, a cornucopia of potential for the future that will need some hand-holding, some education, some little bit of love and yes, some sense of deference.

Sorry. I mean that, it seems to offend the sensibilities of so many these days. I’m not talking obsequious servility, I’m simply talking about an understanding that there is a mine of money sitting there, standing there, whatever, and that you have to develop and cultivate that mine if you want to be working it for a while.

Now that I’ve offended nearly everybody let me tell you why this came to mind.

The service last night at El Coqui was stupendous. I mean, the food was all that and a bag of chips, but the service was worth going over to Tina and letting her know how impressed I was.

No meaningless sucking up, no hovering irritation, just concern for the experience we were about to embark upon, and a passion for making of it all that it could possibly be.

When it was expected, you got it, now that we expect service to be bad, there is nothing to live up to.

Demand more. Kudo’s to the staff at el Coqui and bravo to the owners for their dedication to passionate service.

Not really all that prepossessing, is it?

So there are places that just stick in your head. They make a little nest behind your eyes and they burrow in and stay there forever. Sometimes this is a good thing, sometimes not, but as far as Club Paris is concerned, it is a very good thing.

It is for me the paradigmatic steak place. It has not much ambiance; if you come in the middle of the day, for lunch, say, and it may take ten minutes for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the bar in front. The tables are nice but not sumptuous. The decor is Alaskan and forgettable.

It is all about the meat. The filet is butter-tender, the hamburgers are mad of filet trimmings, the gravy is there because it has to be, the potatoes are not some kin of en masse preparation, but are done perfectly. Attention is paid to what is important and the rest is just not in the picture.

I have two meals in mind. Dinner one time with Debbie; lunch one time with Debbie. They occurred in that order so that’s the order they’ll appear. I am not a complicated man.

Even though it is dark in the restaurant they know right where to find you. They glide up and take your order, giving advice and assistance. The waitress we had that evening, I think her name was Jill, knew what bin the wine we asked for was in without looking, she kept the water glass full, she was wonderful. Like I said, there was attention paid to those things that were important.

Honestly, the plate dressing is an afterthought. The garnish and sides will not wow the crowd because the meat is the star. Debbie and I have always favored the Petit Filet with Bleu Cheese stuffing. Explosive richness, tender beef, cooked the way you ask, not the way they think is the way you ask. I like mine bloody, Debbie likes medium, pink without blood. And that is how they arrive.

I haven’t seen the wine list since moving to wine country so I cannot comment. They had several nice Côte Du Rhone choices, which we have favored with rich beef.

With it having been so long since I’ve posted, I’m going to try and catch up a little with these, maybe putting out a couple a day for a while. Sorry for the delay (oh, yeah, like you’ve been pining away for my words), I’ll try and do better.

TFG

p.s. check out Club Paris here.

Anyway, we’ve got SIFT, the Cotati cupcakery moved in next door so we’re fixed pretty well for downtown sweets now so we’ll leave off lamenting the previous tenants and start in on the new ones. First of all, it is a small space and it is really quite popular. I think that one of the reasons that we haven’t gone so far is the tendency for it to look crowded.

But after a completely reasonable (and accurately judged by the waiter) 15 minutes at 6:00 on a Friday we decided to sit at the bar and order there.  We looked the menu over and thought we’d each order something, and then let the little girl eat off of our plates.

This is when we met one of the owners, though we didn’t know it at the time. Christina “Tina” Jackson. She tended to us at the bar, explained what each item was in more detail than was available on the menu and suffered through my crude attempts at pronouncing the items on offer. The menu is unsurprisingly heavy on plantain, in various states of ripeness and styles of preparation. Ground beef and chicken are the bulk of the protein with shrimp giving the menu the slightest inkling that it might originate on an island.

We ordered Empanadillas de Res for our appetizer (we weren’t that hungry to begin with). It arrived as a crescent of crisp crust stuffed with savory ground beef and onion and spice which was juicy enough to require a napkin but not at all greasy and didn’t dampen the crust in the least. It was wholly satisfying and served its purpose, we were “appetized” for more.

While we ordered and waited, we sipped Sangria (no, not the little girl) which was crisp and refreshing in a way that tropical cultures seem able to accomplish while the rest of us struggle along. I remarked that a pitcher of this on TFG’s back porch would be welcome on most hot days in Santa Rosa.

I ordered Palomilla Encebollado (Thinly sliced top sirloin angus steak with sautéed onions. yes, I have cribbed these from their website, cut me some slack) while Debbie had Pollo al Horno (Baked chicken thighs marinated with special seasoning, bell peppers and cilantro (so tender it falls apart!)). The little girl shared with her parents.

We could have, and in many places would have been left to our own devices insofar as how one ate the meal but Tina leaned across the bar and gave us tips for maximizing the delight in each bite. “Take a little of the sweet plantain and some onions with each bite of the meat” she’d offer, commenting that the sweet plantains acted like cranberries did at a thanksgiving meal, offering sweet counterpoint to the savory meat. “The ripe plantains are starchy, like biscuits” she say, offering the vinegar-based “hot sauce” (peppers steeped in vinegar) and encouraging us to swab up juices and other flavor elements with them.

One thing to say, take her advice! The food was delicious as individual elements but the meat harmonized with the plantain in unexpected ways and the rice softened the shock just enough, absorbing the juices without dampening their effect.

Debbie’s Chicken was, as advertised, tender enough to fall apart and was as well complimented by the sides as was the steak.

Each entrée came with beans and rice (your choice of red or black beans, Spanish or white rice) Sweet fried or green fried plantains and an avocado salad which can also be ordered as a side dish. All of them were worthy components in the meal and TFG found himself mixing and matching, sometimes opting from the fatty sweetness of Avocado to go with the meat, sometimes the sweet plantain, sometimes enjoying the mat with rice and a little plantain “biscuit;” the whole plate harmonized very well.

It wouldn’t be Ask the Fat Guy if there were no dessert and so I opted for the coconut flan, though I was thinking about the rice pudding but alas, it was not available this evening. I thought it had the same velvety texture you expect from homemade flan, the surface being firm enough to contain the insides, and the syrup was toasted-caramel perfection. Even Debbie liked it and she is no fan of coconut.

On the whole, I think that the seating process on busy nights could stand to be streamlined a little (pulling out a strip of tape from the register and beginning a list (which seemed to be a mystery to many of the staff and had to be pointed out to them a number of times) and perhaps offering the bar earlier as a place to sit and dine (we’re usually happy there). But the friendly atmosphere, the excellent food, the new vistas of flavor and joy, the possibilities of Salsa dancing in the future, live music (hopefully on less-busy days) all of this makes El Coqui a place we’ll return to, perhaps frequently.

As we were leaving, Tina introduced us to Jacqueline Roman, her partner and the source for the recipes. She was also warm and gracious, as food folks often are. I’d take the time to speak to the owners when you visit, it is an enhancement to the meal, and and uplifting experience for the soul. TFG sez go and try it!

Perhaps the penultimate expressions of honest, real food; the raw bar served the 13 oyster dozen and the seafood restaurant was noisy and crowded with regulars as well as tourists.  The food was mediocre but it occupied that special place in my heart reserved for good greasy spoons and the rest stop restaurants (like the old Restover in Washington) where America actually eats. The mayor was a regular, food writers were regulars it was just a place you went to. You could go to the dancing crab if you wanted the huge-basket-of-crab-on-a-butcher-paper-table experience, but if you wanted fish someplace where you could actually smell the sea (at least that’s what I hope it was), then it was Connolly’s.

Apparently it’s been demolished for about 17 years now.

I wonder if there are any places like that left? Are there any in your town? Let me know.

TFG

So this place has been the Annadeli for as long as I have lived here in Santa Rosa and I’ve not managed to make it inside the doors for the simple reason that I am not a big ol’ fan of Boar’s Head meats.  Start off with ingredients I don’t like and it is hard for me to imagine you are going to end up with a result that will please.

Imagine how pleased I was that the line was too long at the taqueria, forcing me to seek my dinner elsewhere and ending up in this latest little wonder (for me at least) in town.

To begin with, being welcomed as warmly and effusively as we were always primes me for a pleasant evening. If that hadn’t done it, the warm Franco American bread with floral olive oil and a fine tracing of balsamic vinegar. In the back of my mind I pined for some urchin roe but it was wonderful nonetheless.

TFG’s daughter, all of six, has a great and only slightly abnormal love of Gorgonzola cheese so the linguine with Gorgonzola sauce and balsamic glaze brought great enthusiasm. Unfortunately, warmed, it was a bit much for her but not for her mother who also ordered it and was delighted. Truth be told, my daughter loved it also, but later that same evening, once it had cooled. It had rich aroma and a creaminess difficult enough to achieve without breaking in a sauce like this one. It was really quite yummy.

Now TFG’s mother-in-law had the eggplant parmigiana. She remarked that she seldom ever ordered it anymore because of the tendency in more pedestrian preparations for the eggplant to either disappear into mush or to standout from that sauce with its characteristic bitterness. She was quite pleased.

You know how some people try and convince you to try things with some objectionable ingredient by promising you “You’ll never even know it contains eel livers!” which always makes me wonder why they bothered adding them in the first place. Well, the eggplant held its own, showing off its earthiness and texture, fitting in nicely with the slightly more acidic sauce. The Parmigiana was clearly not the dried-out too-old version found in the grocery stores, you could still perceive the nutty creaminess of fresh Parmesan.

TFG had the special of the day (I often order the special, if they think its special, then they are trying to show you something) which was linguini Vongole. I love the fresh taste of the sea and the cockles in my dish were crisp and tasted very fresh. The sauce was well balanced with the garlic sharpening the sweetness of the shellfish. I was delighted.

Need I mention the tiramisu? not too sweet, with the marscapone just smooth and lovely atop the just barely-soaked lady fingers. Delightful with a cup of post dinner coffee. Mes. FG had the creme brulee, also wonderful.

TFG thoroughly loved this place and our dinner.

TFG has bronchitis, and so is lying low so please excuse the absence. I’ve been eating out a little bit, we’ll talk later.

blessings, TFG

Cut the artichoke in half along the stem (leave a little stem for a handle)

Scoop out the smaller “flower” from the center by cutting along the top of the heart where the hair-like petals connect and then scoop them out with your finger, leaving mostly the petals that are large enough to eat in the traditional fashion.

Boil the artichoke for about 12-15 minutes for a large artichoke, a little less as they get smaller. Cook until almost done, until the outer petals resist just a little to being pulled off. Remove from pot and drain, open side down, for about 10 minutes.

Turn open side up and grind fresh pepper coarsely over the artichoke, spreading the petals a little to allow the pepper to slide between them. Repeat with medium coarse sea salt (preferably also from a grinder). Drizzle with olive oil and allow to sit an additional five minutes.

Grill over hot coals for about 4-6 minutes, open side down, until grill lines are evident. Do not allow to flare up (from the oil).

serve as usual, but with better results!

That being said, I had a great time one evening during a big meeting in Fresno eating freshly roasted peanuts and a hot dog as the Fresno Grizzlies game. Seriously, is there any better way to enjoy a baseball game than to have a sack of warm freshly roasted peanuts and a cold beer?

But on our way our of town we had time for lunch and we’d had George’s recommended.

I’ve long since lost the menu that I got from the very charming waitress but the variety and quality of the food served was superb. Armenian rather than “Mediterranean” as it is normally listed, it has apparently been a fixture in Fresno for some time, and relatively recently moved into the “galleria,”  a smallish mall downtown. Normally when people relocate and have the chance to design their space from scratch you end up with something that hides the prep from sight and makes the food the only thing served. At George’s there is still a show. The kitchen is open to the dining area and the occasional flare-ups from the grill when spiced meat hits the grill are all part of the ambiance.

Since I am writing this at some remove (having recently completed the purchase of a home, I’ve been distracted) I cannot remember the name of the spiced burger that I ate, but it was not a simple affair of spiced ground beef. The flavorings were unusual and unique, the preparation fantastic. My only regret was that I didn’t avail myself of the opportunity to have the tartare sandwich which is apparently only available on Saturdays and which the man at the counter says he’s been eating at George’s or decades, every Saturday.

Friendly service, good prices, excellent food of a style seldom highlighted in American culture. Finally there is a reason for me to go back to Fresno!

Dark. This place specializes in dark and may well have captured the local market, dark tables, dark table dressings, wait staff dressed in black, ceilings high enough that the ruddy hue fades into the dark distance. I’m not usually one to remark on the floor in a restaurant, but I thought that the floor had just enough lighter elements in its grain to keep you from tripping over yourself as you crossed the room, and I found this an admirable choice.

Seating is efficient and the servers find their way to you quickly. I was pleased that they also seem to be conversant on what they are offering, both the specials (including a few unpublished) as well as the “flights” of three in wines, scotchs, bourbons, Armagnacs, tequilas and more that are on the drink menu. The wine flights are delivered by someone I never saw do anything else, and since he approached his task with a fair bit of style, I was pleased to have him there. Three scotch’s for TFG and three whites for my fair bride and we were off (and hungry!)

My wife found it amusing that the waiter mentioned that the bread was from the FrancoAmerican bakery right next door. My wife chuckled at this because she still remembers SpaghettiOs and RavioliOs from childhood.  What wasn’t amusing was how good the bread was. Bread is a little detail but an important one, liberally brushed with herbed Garlic Butter, this bread was pull-apart rolls in a loaf pan and was exactly what we were looking for at that moment, a little sweet, soft and warm.

We were both of a mind for some serious beef, after all, why go to a steakhouse and have chicken? Debbie had the angus Filet, medium and I had the dry aged bone-in New York, rare. We split an order of the creme fraiche mashed potatoes and an order of the rosemary yam fries. As an appetizer, we opted for the roasted artichoke.

I also asked for a coffee. Let me say that I drink a lot of coffee and tend to be more fussy than not about it. This coffee was spectacular. Pressed in an individual french-press with room for a cup and a warmer, it was rich and smoky and delicious. When I asked, I was told that it comes from Flying Goat coffees, also here in town.

The roasted artichoke was very good. Seasoned simply with pepper and salt, the split halves were perfectly cooked and the meyer lemon aioli was a nice complement. As has been mentioned in previous posts, since coming to the state of the blessed thistle, I have become quote a fan of artichokles, as has my six-year-old, which is a wonderful thing. I’d never had them roasted before, though and I was delighted.

The potatoes were rich and creamy, redolent of the aromas 0f home, assuming that you grew up in an apartment over a three-star restaurant. The single criticism I would level at the Yam fries was the somewhat overpowering dose of rosemary. Instead of sweetly floral, they came across as almost brutally flavored. On the other hand, they were perfectly cooked, shatteringly crisp crusts surrounding steaming yam sweetness.

I won’t wax rhapsodic about the meat. This is a steakhouse after all, and if they’ve survived, it hasn’t been on the virtues of their side dishes but instead on the quality of the beef. The aged steak had that delightful earthiness that has all but vanighed from the American palate since so few people have ever had a dry-aged piece of meat. It took me back to rural Washington State, and Stewart’s Meats, also known as a carnivore’s Nirvana where they’d age your meat for you upon request. As a matter of fact, they do pretty much whatever you wanted, upon request. Consumate professionals.

Tender and just bloody enough to be truly rare, my steak was wonderful. Debbie was also delighted. What else can you say? They did what we asked and it came out as we’d hoped. TFG will bring out of town guests here and that is high praise. It might break the bank if you go too often, but for special occasions, we will be back!

But WOW is it good!

Pork and onions and garlic boiled together, the addition of the “secret stuff” that makes it pozole and cooked with two large cans of hominy, pour it over shredded cabbage and chopped onion, serve with chiles and a squirt of lime and it is transcendent. At least it is around here. We’ve got a preschool up here on the hill and we’ve got two teachers, native daughters of Mexico, named Antonia and Sandy who conspire to enslave us with the deliciousness of their creation, to cloud our minds with rapture.

There are some dishes that communicate home and love and family, festival gathering in the evenings, fireworks and the smells of the family kitchen. Tom Yum is one of those for me, with its bouquet of lemongrass and lime leaf warming your nose before it passes your lips. Another is Thai pumpkin curry, the earthiness of the pumpkin chunks with the spicy creaminess of the curry. How can you describe the feling of comfort that overtakes you?

TFG would like to find out