THE ROTISSERIE

Last fall, Joan and Fritz came up for a visit with their gorgeous daughters, and brought me a rotisserie attachment for my grill. I had bought Mario Batali's ITALIAN GRILL book a year before, and one of the recipes that just knocked my socks off was for a boned and rolled--porchetta-style--turkey breast stuffed with a combination of bread cubes, sweet Italian sausages, onion, shallots, garlic, fresh fennel seed, fresh rosemary and thyme, chicken broth, salt and pepper, chicken broth and an egg. My own addition was red pepper flakes which gave the stuffing a nice zip. I hadn't broken in the rotisserie attachment, which frankly, intimidated me. My twin brother was up for a visit and I asked him to show me how to use it. Scott is Mr. Gadget, and it took a seconds to feel comfortable with it. Since I had scheduled a dinner party for eight, it seemed the right time to make the turkey dish, and break in the patio for a larger group.

Fritz warned me that he had done the same dish, but had encountered a problem. The turkey roll didn't hold together. Recipes are often a problem in chef-driven cookbooks. Chefs always opt for dazzle over practicality, often overlooking technical considerations or anticipating that what they do, is often difficult for the home cook. So I was ready. Batali's recipe called for the roast to be tied in eight places across, a basically okay idea, but not practical given the amount of stuffing. So I put a portion of stuffing in the inside of the boned breast, and then rolled it. I skewered it shut and then added the string ties across the roast. BUT I also looped a double row of strings across the length of of the roast which made it look like one of those fancy French-butchered roasts that are tied beautifully. There was no chance of any of that gorgeous stuffing falling into the grill. The lesson here is that even if you know what you're doing, question each aspect of the recipe. It's worth anticipating problems. The only problem was that I was so busy with getting the dinner on the patio table that I forgot to photograph the turkey. In the end, it was a triumph, and I baked the leftover dressing in a dish and served it on the side. I'll send Fritz my recommendations for success.

My guests brought flowers along with wine. John brought me this amazing bouquet of white lilies, which are currently stinking up my living room. And Joe and Tom brought me white hydrangeas which had tiny blue specs in them. Gorgeous.

Was 93 yesterday and today. AC is on, thought it's supposed to be comfortably back in the 80s tomorrow.

TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL GAME

PGE Park: Home of the Portland Beavers

Last night I went to see the usually awful triple A baseball team, the Portland Beavers, kick the crap out of the Sky Sox of Colorado--6-3. Exciting game. I think the Beavers are in last place, but last night they played like the Yankees on fire. Perfect baseball weather, balmy with a breeze. We ate brats, drank beer and traded good-natured insults with 14 people in my group--all from PubWest. They even sang "Take me out to the ballgame." (I mean the entire stadium--it was shockingly sentimental!) If you had done that at Yankee stadium, they would have mugged you! The evening was organized by PubWest executive director, Kent Watson. We did this last year and the game was a snore and the Beavers performed like they were embalmed. I know, you're thinking what the heck is Greg doing at a baseball game. But I actually like watching the game (not on TV, which I think is a snooze) in a stadium. I used to sweat to death at Coney Island watching the Cyclones play. This was like an air-conditioned spa. So nice.

Ironically the Beavers' future in Portland is dicey. They have lost their home at PGE Park, which is closing soon for renovations and will now become a soccer field. Their search for a new home has not been easy and if a field isn't ready by the opening game of 2011, the Beavers may leave Portland for good. Tucson has been floated as a possible new home.

All this drama and Steinbrenner dies this week. The good news is that his family doesn't have to pay estate taxes.

Added a snappy new patio umbrella to this week--on sale!

My neighbor's gorgeous hydrangea. Considering asking for a cutting, or I'll use Beau as a beard, sneak up on it during a late night doggie walk and cut me a stem!

POLO UNDER WESTERN SKIES

How would you like to wake up to that view every day?

A Young Polo Player

Ready to Play

Looks So Easy

Hey--don't mess up my lawn!

Referee Mark

Dandy

Mountain views from the Ranch

Back View of the Ranch

Under the Pergola

I’m in Bend, Oregon over the weekend, about three hours from Portland by car, with my friends Lucy and Mark Yerby. The drive is incredibly scenic, climbing the highway up Mt. Hood and down again, through a stunning gorge running through a local Indian reservation, and then out on flat near desert-like road for the balance of the journey. We’re still 4,000 feet above sea level and in the summer it’s hot during the day and cool in the evenings. Mark, a neurosurgeon, has owned a 20-acre horse ranch for nearly twenty years. The drive was absolutely gorgeous and I hope to take pictures of the more scenic areas on the way home tomorrow.

We arrived at about 10:30 pm and had a late supper at a local Mexican restaurant. A margarita and a shrimp salad were a wonderful restorative before heading to the house. Even in the dark, the ranch is set beautifully atop a short hill above the entrance to the property. Once outside, I let Beau roam about in the front yard. “Look up,” Lucy said. I was speechless as my eye was confronted by what seemed like hundreds of thousands of stars. I have never seen such an extraordinary light show as this—not in California, Massachusetts, New York, Buenos Aires, Europe, Mexico, Canada, or Puerto Rico. It was late, and we fell gratefully to sleep the minute we arrived.

Up at 7:30 am, I took Beau for a walk to meet the horses. About 100 feet from the corral, Beau became aware of a bunch of strange looking beasts and ran right over to investigate. There was a stand-off of staring between Beau and the horses. Beau flinched first, startling himself and the horses. Everyone became very quiet and then Beau moved down up the pasture to check out the barns. He walked along the stream with Beau remaining close, but sniffing everything. I don’t think he’s tasted this much freedom ever. We walked across pastures, admiring Lucy’s gardens, the pergola overlooking the paver-covered patio, and sat on a swing, taking in the amazing views of the surrounding mountains. This is as close to paradise as one can get. I thought you could only see this kind of sky and mountain and vast high plateau land in places like Santa Fe, and here it is just three hours from Portland.

Bend was booming before the real estate crash. Now its is suffering the reverses in the market with many houses forclosed, and people walking away from their mortgages. This was a second-home community of affluent Portlanders, and a popular retirement area. Lucy and Mark plan to retire here. It’s difficult to know if the area will recover from the financial collapse. It is close to skiing areas, and if the economy ever gets back on its feet, this area should recover. The good news is that a bunch of greedy developers has been run out of town, broke from the experience of trying to exploit the a rural area. Mark and Lucy became alarmed at the urban sprawl that was coming at their ranch like a tidal wave. The economic slow-down has fixed that problem.

We’re off to see a polo match this afternoon. Mark has a collection of polo horses. There are nine of these creatures living here (though one is too old to ride, and another horse is boarded). There’s a pony here, an aging buff-colored shaggy-coated lady named Jenny. Jenny came here free from another farm when they sold their land. She is in her retirement, gentle, and easy with the grandchildren who often visit. And there’s Dandy, a senior horse nearly 30 years old. She’s shaggy and a little unkempt looking, but she still has an elegant and aristocratic face with large, soulful eyes.

I’ve never seen a live polo match before. It’s fascinating to watch. Two teams of four horses and players thunder up and down a field the size of three football fields in search of a goal. I guess it’s something like soccer. It’s exciting and you can appreciate the skill of the players and the horses as well. It was beastly hot out (well into the 90s). We sat under an open tent and watched game. Not sure I’d be a life-long aficionado of the sport. It seems to lack strategy, though skill on a horse and the ability to hit the ball in the right direction are not to be taken lightly. Then I watch the game more closely and see the strategy between teams emerge. You have to be both brave and smart to play good polo.

We decided to barbecue on the patio—hamburgers, potato salad and a big green salad were on the menu. I put the potatoes on to boil and took Beau out for a walk. I had left him home because Frenchies don’t do well in extreme heat. He was his usual lively self. He ate his normal dinner before our walk. The burgers were on the grill, the table set, the final preparations being finalized when Beau staggered into the kitchen and collapsed. Alarmed I went to him and tried to put him on his feet. He seemed to have lost his ability to walk completely though he wasn’t in stress such as his breathing, which is one of the first signs of problems with Frenchies. Mark, who is a doctor, called his vet immediately and he couldn’t figure out what was wrong and urged us to take him to an emergency animal clinic nearby. In a panic, we whisked him to the clinic. We couldn’t figure out what has caused this and they grilled me on everything from the possibility of ingesting marijuana (no—there wasn’t any on the premises) to mushrooms growing on the ranch. He seemed stoned or drunk, but slept in my lap as we waited for the vet, snoring loudly. They kept him overnight and this morning when I called to check on him, the assistant told me he had completely recovered his motor responses and was lively and walking. He had thrown up, which may have been the result of his expelling whatever toxic substance he had ingested. He hadn’t eaten yet and we’re to call at lunch time to see how he’s doing. We have to head back to the city this afternoon and I expect him to be with us.

I turned into a puddle the minute I saw Beau in such distress. We get so attached to our pets and freak out whenever something is wrong with them. I cant’ wait to pick him up and get my lick.

There can be no more generous and fun and interesting weekend hosts than Lucy and Mark Yerby. Lucy won’t let you buy anything and is perfectly willing to stage an embarrassing scene in the supermarket until you put the wine bottle into her shopping cart. Mark, whose politics are as responsible and as liberal as his medical practice is a caring, can talk about a wide variety of interesting subjects from his polo ponies to the development of Bend as a place to live. The Yerby’s are relaxed and genial hosts. There’s no set schedule and one decision blends gently into the next in terms of what we will do. I can read, write this blog, eat a late breakfast or walk the ranches’ grounds—all at a leisurely pace.

Sunday morning, we’re all up and wondering how Beau is doing. Mark’s stepson, Tim is visiting and has brought his delightful wife, Becky and their very pretty five-year-old daughter, Lucy. She’s a little skittish around dogs, but takes to Beau well. I call the clinic and Beau is fine—almost as good as new. I can pick him up at 2 PM. But first there is a Polo match for which Mark will act as a referee, and then the long drive back to the city.

After an exciting match, won by the Washington team over their local Oregon opponents 6-4, we head out to collect Beau. The vet assistant hands me Beau who looks a little worse for the wear, but gives me a hopeful lick. In Mark’s truck, he sleeps very close to Lucy in the back seat, quiet as a church mouse. He appeared dazed to us just before we sat down to dinner on Saturday. Before Beau got sick, my contribution to that meal was a simple potato salad that my friend, the late music critic, Stephanie von Buchau gave to me some thirty years ago. During the hot summer months in New York I don’t like eating any salads with mayonnaise and Stephanie’s potato salad is the perfect summer dish, has only six ingredients: red bliss potatoes, sliced scallions, salt, pepper, olive oil and red wine vinegar. “Resist the urge to turn this salad into a ladies luncheon item,” she wrote me. No parsley, no olives, no hard-boiled eggs—not even chives. You’ll only spoil it.” Best of all you can leave it on a table for a long time and not worry that it will spoil. I’ve followed her advice ever since.

Red Bliss Potato Salad

2 pounds medium-sized Red Bliss potatoes, cut in half lengthwise, and cut into 1 ½-inch cubes

1 bunch scallions, cleaned and trimmed and sliced thinly (tops too)

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

Place the cut potatoes in a three-quart pot with a lid and cover with water. Place over high heat and bring to a boil. Turn down the fire and simmer gently for about 12 minutes or until the tip of a sharp knife inserts gently into the potatoes. Drain and run cold water over the cooked potatoes. Let them dry out a bit and place in a medium bowl. Add the sliced scallions, salt and pepper. Then pour the oil over the potatoes and then the red wine vinegar. Stir gently and thoroughly coat the potatoes. Taste and adjust seasonings according to taste. I’ve sometimes mixed the red wine vinegar with Sherry wine vinegar and like the combination. Serves about 6.

PORTLAND ROSE GARDEN AND JULY 4TH

My twin brother Scott and his girlfriend, Bernadette, visited over the July 4th weekend. It was decent weather--still chilly (see complaints below). It is often said that Portland's summer weather doesn't arrive until after July 4th, and I have friends who have an annual summer party that they refuse to scheduled until the beginning of August because the weather can be so unpredictable.

Within the first few weeks of my coming to Portland, Jean-Francois showed me Washington Park's magnificent Rose Garden. With more than 700 varieties of roses, July is the month the garden is at its peak. I've always loved roses, and now that I'm growing my own (four rose bushes and one climbing rose and counting), I've become even more fascinated by roses. The colors are infinite. The garden was crowded with rose lovers. We went up and down the rows of bushes, snapping photos right and left, the shapes and colors keeping us in thrall.

While all my friends complain about scorching temperatures on the east coast, we continue to have rather chilly ones here. Beau woke me up at 5:30 this morning, wanting to go out. I checked the thermometer and it was only 58 degrees! We haven't had any rain for more than a week now, which is great, but it is colder than I expected, and certainly colder than it was a year ago when I first arrived in Portland. It is not expected to get warmer than 70 on Saturday and Sunday and in peeking at the 10-day forecast, I see the hot weather (80s) gets underway by Monday--typical, I'm told. Today I read a Yahoo news feature that says Portland is the best city in the country to visit in the summer because of our many nice parks, farmer's markets, and other outdoor activities, and with an average summer temperature of 66 degrees, it's certainly the most comfortable. Conversely Portland is least alluring in December when its combination of cold and damp is at its most unappealing.

Rant Sidetrack: Larry King, the dumbest, least interesting talk show host in the history of the genre, is retiring at the end of his contract next year. It's the end of a long and strange news era. I've watched stupefied, as he has presided over the 9:00 o'clock spot on the cable network for a quarter of a century. He's hardly been a probing interviewer, and he often asks awkward questions. We've been treated to the spectacle of his rather weird and tabloid-ready multiple marriages and divorces (though to be fair, lots of talk show hosts have been through multiple marriages and divorces). CNN is hemorrhaging viewers, and I suspect at 76, King is not attracting young viewers. So far I'm not wild about any of the early suspects to replace him. I think Katie Couric should stay put at CBS. She got her news mojo back at the expense of Sarah Pallin (admittedly an easy mark), and is apparently showing some strength. Joy Behar does a good job on the CNN affiliate, but she's too liberal (and I would equally protest someone who was too conservative). But someone has to take over the spot, and it hopefully will be a blast of fresh air.

We finally got a heat spell and it was nasty. Had the central AC on for three days. That still beats New York where my air conditioner went on in mid-May and never got turned off until the end of September! It was bone dry, but hot is hot. An when the temperatures went over 100, I appreciated the central AC.

THE PATIO IS FINISHED AND OPEN FOR SUMMER PLEASURE

With the belated arrival of summer weather--it's 70 degrees and brilliantly sun-shiney at 10:30 on a glorious late June Sunday morning), Kyle finished the patio yesterday before heading out for a family reunion. After my birthday blow-out from the night before, I was more interested in keeping it low profile for the actual birthday (Saturday), and invited John and Darren over for a grilled steak. I filled a platter with lettuces from my garden, added a pile of grape tomatoes, some English cucumber, slices of boiled red potatoes, some cooked green beans, and added some pickled boiled eggs with beets and onions. I topped it with a marinated flank steak with I grilled on the patio. I made Sara Moulton's wonderful Creamy Garlic Dressing for the salad and we at it out on the patio, staying out there talking, eating and drink until well after 10 when the sky finally went totally dark. John brought me a chocolate cake with a raspberry glaze (a huge chunk of which I sent back home with them). This was a perfect harbinger of a long, warm summer of dinners, which will probably begin on Friday night when my twin brother, Scott arrives with his girlfriend, Bernadette for the Fourth of July weekend.

Kyle counted the bricks in the new patio--more than 2,100. It's set in a beautiful pattern. John brought me a wonderful planter tub full of summer blooms including red geranium. I couldn't more thrilled with it. I think it truly enhances the property and I'll be able to count the backyard now as an extra summer room. Beau like sunning out there, lazily turning over to give himself a good back rub.

Roses are amazing.

These are a real pale pink rose, which the sun and my camera don't quite do justice to.

BIG BIRTHDAY!

Humiliating myself with a 60th Birthday tiara from my evil friend, Lucy!

John, Mike and Kyle

Kyle, Ivy and Gregor

Mark, Lucy, Sarah

David, Trish and Mark

Vanessa, Ruth and Alan

Vanessa, Kent, and Judy

Kyle, Ivy and Gregor

Sarah, Carol and Kent

Most of the Gang

Today I not only celebrated by 60th birthday, but also my first year anniversary in Portland. Last night I hosted a pizza party at Gladstone Coffee and Pizza--the same pizza I've been raving about for a year now. John Mitchell, the owner, set up a series of tables together on the patio to accommodate my party. Kent, Vanessa and Judy, Trish and David, Ivy and Gregor, John, Kyle, Michael, Mark and Lucy, Alan and Ruth, Carol and Sarah AND Beau gathered for pizza, Caesar salad, John's house-made giardinera, wine, beer, and coffee.

Lucy having just celebrated her own similar milestone brought along a plastic tiara she had been given for hers. Deciding misery loves company, she presented it to me. Not above behaving like an idiot, I put the damn thing on. Weather was perfect. Beau enjoyed the evening, especially when his good friend Trish put him in her lap where he very quickly settled in for a long nap.

If you have to be 60, this is not a bad way to do so.

My thanks got Gladstone's pizza master, John Mitchell, for executing such a perfect evening. I'm told there are a few other great pizza joints in town, but when the pizza tastes this good and you don't have wait a pathetically long time to get your fix (a 30-minute + wait at A Pizza Scholls is not my idea of a fun time), then why are so many Portlander's putting themselves through that!

Beau, looking for food opportunities to drop out of the sky.

Summer Arrives In Portland--FINALLY!

Saturday marks my first anniversary in Portland, and my 60th birthday. What a year this has been! And it's been a full week! The patio is supposed to be finished tomorrow. The rain has held the whole project up by more than three weeks. But it's so beautiful. More than 2,000 bricks, it should provide me with a lots of entertaining and relaxing time in the Adirondack chairs. The next thing will be to start looking around for large pots to plant along the border of the patio.

On Wednesday night, Kent and I had dinner at one of the food carts Portland is famous for. The Garden State cart is a sleek, silver cart that specializes in sandwiches. In this case, it was an Grilled Alaskan Cod sandwich with slices of orange, red potato and arugula on ciabatta. It was delicious, though it needed some tarter sauce. We ate our sandwiches under a tented area with tables and chairs to keep the sun off of us. At the same location, is The Sugar Cube where Kent indulged in the cart's much admired panna cotta with strawberry salad. The panna cotta was just perfect without too much gelatin to make it tough. It was infused with vanilla bean and topped with the salad of sliced strawberries in a simple syrup with minced basil. I had a bite and was impressed. This was my first experience with the food cart culture here. There are many areas around town that have food carts. Some are very popular for lunch, as the ones near Portland State University. Others, near clubs, are popular after hours when the partying hordes come in search of something to soak up the alcohol they've been consuming.

While Kyle was making noise cutting brick to fit in the border of the patio, Beau took to his upstairs day bed. But whenever it's too warm outside, he doesn't exactly lay inside his bed as he does when its colder. I came into my bedroom this afternoon and found him mostly out of his bed. On hot days he often has his body in his day bed but his head is hanging well outside and trailing on the floor. Today I would describe Beau's position as praying--very Zen-like.

Tomorrow, we celebrate my birthday at Gladstone Coffee and Pizza. The owner John Mitchell has turned the patio over to eighteen of us who will dine on their fabulous pizza, eat Caesar salad, drink wine and beer, while I try to ignore this big milestone. Beau will also be coming.

Tonight Kyle drove Jim, the guy who is helping him finish the patio, home. Jim live in North Portland, and since I needed to buy groceries, I wrote shotgun. Everyone worked hard today with me chained to the office working on booking interviews for a client. My day had begun early with an 8:00 AM one hour interview with a food show I do regularly from Lincoln, Nebraska. I've been doing this show every six weeks, but now the host, Judy Gilliard, wants me to come on the show to talk about the cookbooks I review on my blog. Judy is wildly enthusiastic and we always have much to talk about.

Anyway...after dropping Jim off, I suggested we eat out and Kyle suggested going about a mile further into St. John's a neighborhood I had never been to. Like much of NE and North Portland, St. John's is an old, funky neighborhood. Near the University of Portland you'll find a lot of younger students. There are a lot of old timers here, some of them a bit burned out by drug--filled, misspent youth. Houses are nice with a lot of student housing. Like all parts of the city, the older "bad" neighborhoods of this area, are gentrifying and much had been done to St. John's before the real estate market collapsed. Kyle told me there is a main commercial area full of restaurants, and most of them are pubs that serve food. He took me to a place he had been in several times before. I don't know the name. Most of them are dark gathering places for drinking, playing pool and eating. It wasn't promising, but I've learned that Kyle wouldn't have bothered if the food was bad. I wanted a salad and he a burger. We both got what we wanted. In my case it was a grilled chicken breast in a bowl of very nice salad of mixed greens with blue cheese and hazelnuts with a vinaigrette dressing. Outstanding and amazing at $6.96 for this dinner-sized portion. I could only admire Kyle's huge burger served with a heap of crunchy, salty, perfect French fries--just what the doctor ordered for a hard working day.

Tomorrow my buddy Mike Campbell is driving down from Seattle for my birthday and will stay overnight. Kyle is finishing the patio and he leaves on Saturday night for Washington for a family gathering. It will be the first time Beau and I have had the place to ourselves in four months. Kyle has been an unobtrusive presence, but it will be nice to rattle around her solo for the next three days.