“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.” ~ Roger Caras
“When I look into the eyes of an animal I do not see an animal. I see a living being. I see a friend. I feel a soul.” ~ A.D. Williams
January after the holidays and the dead of winter has settled in. Why do they call it the dead of winter? It seems to be alive and thriving. It’s not even on life support. Dead or not we’ve had a healthy amount of rainfall and there’s been a California chill in the air. It’s important to attach that note about California because what constitutes a chill here in the Bay Area is a balmy reprieve from the bite of a frigid nor’easter. To the hardy residents from the mountains to Maine we Californians are America’s weather wimps. Well someone has to fill that role so it might as well be us.
All the rain has turned much of the yard into a swamp until Spring, meaning the dogs, my Lexi and my daughter’s Chloe, are under strict restriction from playing in the yard. Chloe is older and is satisfied with a nice walk. Lexi is still a pup and needs some serious energy burn. The dog park in nearby Martinez dries out in a few days and Lexi gets some much needed running and jumping in the short windows between dry or tolerably muddy and a downright bog. Dog park days mean romps with her friends; the regular dogs who greet each other with the ritual butt sniffs (“Oh yeah, I recognize you. You’re cool”), wagging tails and excited twirls. On those days when they don’t get an excursion, cabin fever sets in. After a few straight days of rain the fever is runs high.
At the dog park Lexi gives chase after Boots one of her Gordon Setter friends
Mendocino is one of a string of quaint little seaside towns that dot California’s North Coast. Located a couple hours’ drive north of San Francisco, Mendocino was first settled by people from America’s northwest and as a result has something of a New England feel to it.
During the 19th century timber was king in Northern California. With the passing of the timber industry artists and craftspeople were drawn to the oceanside village. Today the town itself is a great place to shop, eat gourmet food and stay in a bed and breakfast. If you’re a wine sipper its the place for you. From November through April you can watch the gray whale migration. AND it’s pretty darn dog friendly. Continue reading
The shaggy rocker Rod Stewart told us in song that “every picture tells a story.” There are a myriad of stories to be found in Lafayette Cemetery but the pictures only tell a part of the story, just enough to wet the appetite. So, unlike the last post about Lafayette Cemetery which was mostly photos, we’re going to throw in a little taste of history and a travel tip or two.
Welcome to my first recipe post in the category Hot (or cold) Outta the Kitchen. We’ll see how this goes. If it doesn’t end well then this will be the first recipe post and the last recipe post.
And yes indeed, there is an actual recipe in this post but you have to work your way through the back story because any recipe worth its salt or any of the other ingredients should have a story to give it those extra notes of flavor.
Jack; what can I say about Jack? Howabout, Jack was one of the lights of the office; easy going, gregarious, a great sense of humor and never down, at least not that anyone could ever tell. Jack was the kind of person that every office needs. The one who lets you forget that you’re at work, speeds up the clock and binds the rabble together into a team.
Jack was a coworker of mine many, many years ago, and we’re talking 1980’s. I guess that he lasted a year or two with the company, a supplier of industrial equipment, and then he moved with his wife to her home country of Japan. I’ve searched for Jack through social media with no luck. We kept in touch for a brief time with postcards and letters and then the tie broke.
Jack had something of a kooky streak. An inside sales guy with a different approach. Being in supply I just listened with one ear and giggled as Jack plied his own singular offbeat trade. I’m not sure management was always comfortable with this chatty and eccentric salesman. From what I could tell, the customers seemed to love him.
Paul (no not this Paulie), the general manager was a young dweeby guy who finagled his management position through the time honored (?) route of cronyism. Straight out of college he found himself in the deep end of the corporate pool trying to hold his head above the waters that often had him slipping beneath the surface when sales figures took a dive. And so he pushed hard on the sales staff to come up with innovative ways to keep our customers engaged. Enter Jack and the recipes.
Jack, chin resting between thumb and forefinger put his unconventional mind to work and conjured up his grand strategy. “You want innovation, I’ll give you innovation.” And so he added recipes to his sales pitch, the first one being for guacamole. Because what says industrial equipment like a recipe for a Mexican dip? Right?
And so he typed, yes typed because there were no computers or word processors in our office in those bygone days, a recipe and then made scores of photocopies and then hand cut them down to size to mail and or fax to customers.
I can’t recall how that went over with Paul but the rest of us thought it was great; more in terms of amusement than as a viable sales tool. I also can’t recall how many different recipes Jack actually launched form the building but the one I am certain of is Jack’s Barbary Coast Guacamole. I’m certain of it because I have an original copy of Jacks Guac in my possession – a first edition if you will. Thirty something years old and stained by avocado and other ingredients it’s become something of a cherished document, sort of like having an original copy of the Constitution. Okay that was hyperbole.
I pulled out the recipe the other day to make guacamole for a party we had. It was, as it usually is, a big hit. I multiplied the recipe by three to be sure that we had plenty and before many of the guests arrived all that was left was just enough to stain the the edge of a chip. It’s good stuff. As we prepared for the party I took a sample to make sure it was just right and proclaimed to anyone who would listen that “My guacamole is so good that they call it holy moly.”
“Tough crowd.” I said.
My daughter who was busy baking desserts offered, “I just thought I’d let that one pass.” Later on she approached me, “The guacamole is really good.”
“Yeah, holy moly,” I responded.
She rolled her eyes, turned on her heels and walked away shaking her head.
My grandson Jackson, whose finicky tastes puts a cat to shame, said “That’s the best guacamole ever.”
Wherever you are Jack my former colleague you’re still making ‘em smile.
So here for everyone to enjoy is Jack’s Barbary Coast Guacamole exactly as it appears on my stained copy. (With a few of my own changes in italics). Continue reading
“Ewwwww,” that’s morbid.” That was the reaction of a friend of mine when I told her that during our trip to New Orleans we visited the Lafayette Cemetery.
“Why would you want to go to a cemetery?” Why indeed. First of all they’re unique for the fact that since New Orleans is built below sea level underground burial is a non starter so the deceased are entombed in raised chambers. Secondly, they are historic sites and major tourist attractions. Lafayette Cemetery opened for it’s melancholy business in 1833, before the city of Lafayette became a part of New Orleans. Known as cities of the dead, the cemeteries are laid out in a grid plan with “streets” or “lanes” that run at right angles forming city blocks of buildings just like many typical cities. Only these cities house the deceased.
One of the “streets” of Lafayette Cemetery
“You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits.” ~ A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
Gumbo is on the menu for Christmas Eve this year but that really has little or nothing to do with this post. It’s the panetonne that’s important. How are panetonne and gumbo related? Well, not at all. I’m talking about the store display. Okay, I’ll get to it. While I was at the store shopping for ingredients for the gumbo, there in prominent display near the front of the store was a stack of those distinctive trapezoidal boxes that could contain only one thing – panetonne. I guess you could call panetonne a sort of brioche dotted with candied fruits and raisins with its roots in Milan but if there’s someone out there with a better description then please fire away. I could never properly describe it to my childhood friends besides to inform then that panetonne was one of the most delicious of holiday treats.
Near the store display of panetonne was another, this one stacked with other cakes and sweets from Italy. It seems that Italy is now a Christmas sensation – as it should be. Italy is mom’s mother country and it gave my family, to this day although now diminished, many holiday traditions and memories. For instance there was il pacco. Continue reading