Upon arriving home this evening after skipping work to enjoy a fun, but rather crazy day of skiing at Mt. Hood Meadows (think: high winds, near white-outs, face numbing, and a girl who has little to no experience in knee-deep powder terrain), I couldn’t imagine anything more comforting than a hot shower, cozy pajamas, and my warm bed (which, I might add, is where I am currently writing this). As I grabbed my mail on my way in, I noticed that January’s issue of Portland Monthly had arrived.
I have a strict rule in my household regarding magazines: Thou shalt not read current magazine issues until older issues have been read and recycled. Mind you, I adhere to said rule for the most part, but I do allow myself a swift thumb-through the day I get one in the mail, so that I get a preview of what I'll be reading approximately four months later. (This is no exaggeration, and I have the stacks of magazines to prove it.) I’ll confess that tonight, however, I spent a few extra moments perusing the Eat & Drink section of the magazine than is normally allowed. Boy, am I glad I did.
Under the Cellar Notes of the section, a picture of a bottle of none other than the……(drum roll) …..Chehalem Mountain 2009 Lorelle Pinot Noir, $14.99, popped out and off the page. And I quote, “A tart-cherry-flavored, delicately textured wine . . . made from fruit grown just south of Portland. Many wines at twice the price aren’t this good” (emphasis added).
Despite my suffering from a moderate to severe case of skier’s fatigue, I may have still done a little happy dance. Hey, I might actually know what I’m talking about! Plus I got it for a whole buck cheaper! Could it be that I’m really a closet bargain wine prodigy who’s practically begging someone to finally notice? I guess it’s possible, but I really shouldn’t get ahead of myself here. Even so, sometimes, I've learned, it doesn’t hurt to give yourself a little credit when you do something right, or even figure out that maybe you really are made up of more than hot air. In my particular case here, I found it took a lot less effort to type out a hyperbolical, self-proclaimed title after a single good wine find than to give myself a simple pat on the back. I’m much too sore from skiing to even attempt such a maneuver.
On that note, I think it’s time to catch those much desired Z’s.......
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Christmas comes a little early this year
I hope reading this post feels like tearing open a package on Christmas morning, shaking from the sheer anticipation and excitement of it all. If not, don't worry about it.
It’s been brought to my attention by more than one reader that my leave of absence - pardon me, my sabbatical - is, for lack of a better term, LAME. I am here today not only to say ‘hey’ (I missed you, she admits, her face turning a pinkish hue), but also to assure you that it’s not lame. Allow me to expound.
In the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking. A lot. I guess I always think a lot, which oftentimes gets me into trouble or entangled into a web of confusion, but particularly, I’ve been reflecting on this year. Remarkable changes occurred and unforgettable adventures were had (the dating, oh the dating!); clatter was also conceived. When I started the blog, I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do with it, or what I was going to write about, besides the central theme forever and always being about food of course. What I’ve come to realize is that over time, I started to become my own worst enemy – I made writing out to be a burden, as if I was being forced to be brilliant and funny and informative every time I posted. My fear of becoming another food blog cliché began to eat away at me to the point that my originality (at least in my eyes) started to look gray, gaunt and frankly, anorexic. The thing is, I refuse to be some food-obsessed dim wit who would never admit that she just learned last week that syrah and shiraz are the same grape. I warned you when I started clatter that I am certainly no authority on the culinary arts, but turns out I am an authority on one thing: me. Indeed the old saying is true – write what you know, at least when you’re first learning how to do it. Until someone – a very significant someone – can rightfully exclaim that he knows me better than me, I’m reserving the right to be the number one expert in the field. I’m exercising that right starting now. Ideally, with this expertise comes the voice of writing that keeps the readers coming back for more. So, I've decided that I need to listen to me more, stop overthinking everything, and just let the words flow. That’s a lot of introspection for one day. Is the cure to writer's block writing about writer's block? Whew, I'm tired now.
All of this being said, my reflection and brainstorming since my declared sabbatical have consisted much of coming up with a project, a goal, a focus, a vision for clatter to embark upon in the new year. I still don’t know what it will be as of now, but I’m hopeful I’ll come up with something that will keep me motivated and you entertained.
Well, now that I’ve got you here, I can’t not tell you some of the things that have been happening the last few weeks because my culinary adventures have continued even when clatter has not. I’ve decided to break it down into categories – awards if you will – for your reading pleasure.
Favorite Meal: A dinner date out with a debonair young man at Accanto, a lovely Italian café in SE Portland. My mouth waters when I think of about that arancini with smoky tomato sauce and arugula salad; potato gnocchi with roasted squash, chanterelles, with brown butter sage and melted leeks; and chocolate budini with burnt sugared gelato. A close second favorite goes to a dinner date in, hosted by yours truly. A joint effort in the kitchen yielded lemon-tarragon chicken served over Israeli cous cous and mixed greens with roasted beets, goat cheese, and pepitas. The low point of the evening came when my guest scolded me for failing to offer him an apron before the sauce from the lemon-tarragon chicken simmering on the stove splattered on his nice buttoned-down shirt. Oops. I need a dating ruling: Is my lapse in manners a dealbreaker?
Favorite Deal: Meeting friends at a teeny wine bar called Lupa (with stellar wine descriptions on its menu) on Mississippi Ave, I ordered a glass of Pinot Noir. It may have cost me $9, but once I took a sip, I declared it worth every penny. I had never heard of it (I also don’t really know wine so this shouldn’t be a shocker), and yet I figured it had to be the product of some small Willamette Valley winery. I did some research on it the next day, trying to find where I could buy it and at what price. Convinced that Fred Meyer wouldn't have it (even at the impressive wine section at the Hawthorne store), it appeared I was correct. I pored over the Northwest section and chose another fairly inexpensive Oregon Pinot to try at home and began to walk away. Before I could even consider feeling a pang of defeat, I caught a glimpse of the wine on special display - there it was, in all its effulgence, the 2009 Lorelle Pinot Noir (of Chehalem Mountains, Willamette Valley) at a mere $13.99 a bottle! I couldn’t believe my luck. Charming as Lupa was, nothing can make me swoon quite like a killer price. $9 a glass or $14 a bottle? What a no-brainer. You sure as hell better believe that I will do everything in my power to recreate the quaint wine bar ambiance in my apartment if it means I will be drinking the same wine for a fraction of the price. A bargain never tasted so sweet...with hints of cherry and blackberry.
Favorite Disaster: I'm torn. I've had a couple of significant baking screw-ups in the kitchen in the last few weeks, so I’m declaring a tie. First there was The Great Thanksgiving Hardship, when I temporarily lost faith in Ina Garten (heaven forbid, may it never happen again!) after my apple cake tatin did not cooperate as she promised. When inverting the caramel apple-y dessert from its pan, portions of it decided to stick, resulting in colorful language and one ugly cake. So I got creative by forming what I called a “pseudo-Bundt cake” and adding pomegranate seeds, both for aesthetics and tartness. Thanksgiving was lost and then saved again. Check it out:
Before:
After:
But then, weeks later, I had to endure The Sunken Chocolate Cake Dilemma. What was supposed to be a lovely dark chocolate loaf, recipe courtesy of Magnolia Bakery (to be served with peppermint ice cream and drizzled with chocolate) for the aforementioned gentleman dinner guest, mostly was that – except that due to a Dutch-processed cocoa/leavening agent issue, the loaf’s center sunk to an appalling low. The good news was I came up with a bright idea of how to fix the problem; the bad news was we never ended up having dessert that night (and subsequently I learned he hates peppermint ice cream). Despite its appearance (should I take it as a sign that I'm going nowhere with this guy?), that loaf cake still tasted mighty good and was polished off in less than a week. Maybe the true disaster is yet to come – once I step on the scale.
Favorite Place: Pastaworks, a gourmet food/wine/cheese/pasta shop on SE Hawthorne that will make any foodie unabashedly drool, especially with its adjoining door leading into the land of Powell's Books for Home & Garden. Ahhh. I described the experience the other day as "a little like entering the gates of heaven." My belief remains steadfast.
See, I’m not dead (and it’s no coincidence that I’m currently listening to the Pink album of the same sentiment). And now, it’s about that time to cut out my sugar cookies into adorable holiday shapes and finish this glass of Lorelle. Just so you know, drinking a $14 bottle of wine is nothing less than extravagant for a Tuesday night for me, but sometimes fancy-free is just what I need. That’s something I’ll never feel bad about – you shouldn’t either. So cheers to that.
Oh, I almost forgot: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
It’s been brought to my attention by more than one reader that my leave of absence - pardon me, my sabbatical - is, for lack of a better term, LAME. I am here today not only to say ‘hey’ (I missed you, she admits, her face turning a pinkish hue), but also to assure you that it’s not lame. Allow me to expound.
In the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking. A lot. I guess I always think a lot, which oftentimes gets me into trouble or entangled into a web of confusion, but particularly, I’ve been reflecting on this year. Remarkable changes occurred and unforgettable adventures were had (the dating, oh the dating!); clatter was also conceived. When I started the blog, I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do with it, or what I was going to write about, besides the central theme forever and always being about food of course. What I’ve come to realize is that over time, I started to become my own worst enemy – I made writing out to be a burden, as if I was being forced to be brilliant and funny and informative every time I posted. My fear of becoming another food blog cliché began to eat away at me to the point that my originality (at least in my eyes) started to look gray, gaunt and frankly, anorexic. The thing is, I refuse to be some food-obsessed dim wit who would never admit that she just learned last week that syrah and shiraz are the same grape. I warned you when I started clatter that I am certainly no authority on the culinary arts, but turns out I am an authority on one thing: me. Indeed the old saying is true – write what you know, at least when you’re first learning how to do it. Until someone – a very significant someone – can rightfully exclaim that he knows me better than me, I’m reserving the right to be the number one expert in the field. I’m exercising that right starting now. Ideally, with this expertise comes the voice of writing that keeps the readers coming back for more. So, I've decided that I need to listen to me more, stop overthinking everything, and just let the words flow. That’s a lot of introspection for one day. Is the cure to writer's block writing about writer's block? Whew, I'm tired now.
All of this being said, my reflection and brainstorming since my declared sabbatical have consisted much of coming up with a project, a goal, a focus, a vision for clatter to embark upon in the new year. I still don’t know what it will be as of now, but I’m hopeful I’ll come up with something that will keep me motivated and you entertained.
Well, now that I’ve got you here, I can’t not tell you some of the things that have been happening the last few weeks because my culinary adventures have continued even when clatter has not. I’ve decided to break it down into categories – awards if you will – for your reading pleasure.
Favorite Meal: A dinner date out with a debonair young man at Accanto, a lovely Italian café in SE Portland. My mouth waters when I think of about that arancini with smoky tomato sauce and arugula salad; potato gnocchi with roasted squash, chanterelles, with brown butter sage and melted leeks; and chocolate budini with burnt sugared gelato. A close second favorite goes to a dinner date in, hosted by yours truly. A joint effort in the kitchen yielded lemon-tarragon chicken served over Israeli cous cous and mixed greens with roasted beets, goat cheese, and pepitas. The low point of the evening came when my guest scolded me for failing to offer him an apron before the sauce from the lemon-tarragon chicken simmering on the stove splattered on his nice buttoned-down shirt. Oops. I need a dating ruling: Is my lapse in manners a dealbreaker?
Favorite Deal: Meeting friends at a teeny wine bar called Lupa (with stellar wine descriptions on its menu) on Mississippi Ave, I ordered a glass of Pinot Noir. It may have cost me $9, but once I took a sip, I declared it worth every penny. I had never heard of it (I also don’t really know wine so this shouldn’t be a shocker), and yet I figured it had to be the product of some small Willamette Valley winery. I did some research on it the next day, trying to find where I could buy it and at what price. Convinced that Fred Meyer wouldn't have it (even at the impressive wine section at the Hawthorne store), it appeared I was correct. I pored over the Northwest section and chose another fairly inexpensive Oregon Pinot to try at home and began to walk away. Before I could even consider feeling a pang of defeat, I caught a glimpse of the wine on special display - there it was, in all its effulgence, the 2009 Lorelle Pinot Noir (of Chehalem Mountains, Willamette Valley) at a mere $13.99 a bottle! I couldn’t believe my luck. Charming as Lupa was, nothing can make me swoon quite like a killer price. $9 a glass or $14 a bottle? What a no-brainer. You sure as hell better believe that I will do everything in my power to recreate the quaint wine bar ambiance in my apartment if it means I will be drinking the same wine for a fraction of the price. A bargain never tasted so sweet...with hints of cherry and blackberry.
Favorite Disaster: I'm torn. I've had a couple of significant baking screw-ups in the kitchen in the last few weeks, so I’m declaring a tie. First there was The Great Thanksgiving Hardship, when I temporarily lost faith in Ina Garten (heaven forbid, may it never happen again!) after my apple cake tatin did not cooperate as she promised. When inverting the caramel apple-y dessert from its pan, portions of it decided to stick, resulting in colorful language and one ugly cake. So I got creative by forming what I called a “pseudo-Bundt cake” and adding pomegranate seeds, both for aesthetics and tartness. Thanksgiving was lost and then saved again. Check it out:
Before:
After:
But then, weeks later, I had to endure The Sunken Chocolate Cake Dilemma. What was supposed to be a lovely dark chocolate loaf, recipe courtesy of Magnolia Bakery (to be served with peppermint ice cream and drizzled with chocolate) for the aforementioned gentleman dinner guest, mostly was that – except that due to a Dutch-processed cocoa/leavening agent issue, the loaf’s center sunk to an appalling low. The good news was I came up with a bright idea of how to fix the problem; the bad news was we never ended up having dessert that night (and subsequently I learned he hates peppermint ice cream). Despite its appearance (should I take it as a sign that I'm going nowhere with this guy?), that loaf cake still tasted mighty good and was polished off in less than a week. Maybe the true disaster is yet to come – once I step on the scale.
Favorite Place: Pastaworks, a gourmet food/wine/cheese/pasta shop on SE Hawthorne that will make any foodie unabashedly drool, especially with its adjoining door leading into the land of Powell's Books for Home & Garden. Ahhh. I described the experience the other day as "a little like entering the gates of heaven." My belief remains steadfast.
See, I’m not dead (and it’s no coincidence that I’m currently listening to the Pink album of the same sentiment). And now, it’s about that time to cut out my sugar cookies into adorable holiday shapes and finish this glass of Lorelle. Just so you know, drinking a $14 bottle of wine is nothing less than extravagant for a Tuesday night for me, but sometimes fancy-free is just what I need. That’s something I’ll never feel bad about – you shouldn’t either. So cheers to that.
Oh, I almost forgot: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
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