PARIS TO SANRAY SUR MER, DAY 3

Killer views from Jean-Francois' terrace in Sanaray sur Mer right on the Mediterranean

More of those spectacular views from JF's balcony in Sanaray Sur Mer

The speed train from Paris to Toulon, where we will pick up a rental car, is very fast. We are in a comfortable first class car. It’s also something called a Zen car, which means you must be relatively quiet. I had never heard of a Zen car before. John and I are sitting next to each other with J-F on the aisle seat opposite me. We are conversing easily and certainly not noisily when all of the sudden we are confronted by a young French woman who rudely berates us for talking and demands that we be quiet. I was stunned. Of course, I’ve known that France can produce some prickly personalities who have no trouble being rude, especially to American tourists. This woman’s behavior was completely inappropriate to the point being nuts. Both John and J-F stared at me with silent pleas not to make a scene. I’m not very good at responding to rudeness and truthfully I wanted to tell her where to stick her bad behavior. She probably won’t say anything more (we’re only about an hour and a half out of Paris), but if she decides to say anything, I will put her in her place. I’m typing this in a very fast and noisy manner. I do hope it upsets her.

Otherwise, the ride is smooth and very, very fast—more than 200 miles per hour.  Barreling through the rich farmlands of the Bourgogne, I’m struck by the fastidiousness of each property with their clusters of old stone houses and the hill sides trimmed and neat as a pin. J-F tells me these are very rich farmlands of dairy farmers and wine growers. It goes on for miles and miles. Unlike, say the train ride from Barcelona to Madrid, which is not interesting at all with it’s vast and unkempt parcels of land viewable on either side, every farm has a pride and they work very hard at making everything look as pristine as possible. It's very impressive. Once the train arrived in Toulon, we arrived in Sanaray about 30 minutes later. Dropping our bags, we went straight to lunch at a local bistro set right on the beach. John ordered a bottle of local Bandol produced Rose. The color of the wine was gorgeous--a beautiful apricot with a touch of gold shooting through the glass. We all ordered the Bistro salad, which was a huge square platter of mesclun greens, cubes of goat cheese, chicken, roasted potatoes, and blistered cherry tomatoes, radishes, two bread triangles of cheese toasted, and slivers of cooked bacon. It was a delicious and filling lunch. 

It's warmer here by 30 degrees than in Paris. After lunch, we did a quick tour of the town, which is charming, full of small shops, narrow streets with colorful apartment houses above the first floor retail. I'll get my camera on this scene tomorrow as we are going to a big local outdoor market.

Dinner last night was at L'Endroit, an enchanting casual restaurant that does a very big business in pizza. Owned by a gay couple from Paris, the restaurant has been packing them in for about seven years, after a very bumpy first year. Located off the main thoroughfare, the restaurant occupies a lively corner spot that gets a lot of foot traffic. Inside, the generously sized space features white washed walls, simple paper covered tables, and a head waiter who is charming, funny and welcoming all at once. He reminded me a bit of a young Alban from La Cage aux Folles. He and J-F engaged in a lively conversation as we were settled at our table. The restaurant was nearly full when we arrived just after 8:00 PM in this quiet off-season.  In other restaurants in Sanaray, the waiter has brought a small plate of crackers with their own house-made tapenade. Tonight the olives were green and very mild, which didn't disguise the anchovies and garlic included with a tough of lemon zest and olive oil. The menu is mostly Italian or Mediterranean Italian. J-F and John ordered a breaded thick slice of chevre which was served on a square of toast with a cup of arugula and shaved parmesan. I thought it a miss and dug into my own large bowl of arugula, shaved parmesan, oil and vinegar. The arugula was spicy, tender and a nice respite from some of the heaviness of meals eaten thus far. But that didn't last long as I had ordered pizza--a quatre saisons with artichokes hearts (fresh!), oil-cured olives, mushrooms, and prosciutto. The restaurant has its own pizza oven with a full-time pizza maker who prepared each pie within eye view. Typically, the crust is a thin an cracker-crisp, charred on the edges and could easily serve two. Mine arrived with a bottle of pepper-infused olive oil. The crust remained crisp as I slowly plowed my way through it--it couldn't be finished. But it was delicious. the charred edges adding some smoke to the flavors of the fresh ingredients. The was excellent pizza. J-F and John both ordered veal Milanese, which looked a bit overcooked and came with a thin slice of of prosciutto over it. Other diners looked happy with their pasta and the couple next to us ordered an inviting anti-pasta plate of fresh artichokes, asparagus, chunks of parmesan, arugula, roasted red peppers and other vegetables. We drank a Bandol rose. As we walked back to the car, I noticed every other restaurant in the area had been shuttered. L'Endroit is that happy combination of a restaurant that does its job well, greets and treats its customers as though they are family, and makes every effort to put good food front and center.

J-F complained about the "snotty" waiter who took care of us at L'Aprenti on Sunday. I thought he was more "correct" rather than warm and fuzzy. J-F, a life-long Parisian who has returned often, said the waiters of Paris restaurants are not the cold and imperious terrors of old who thinks Americans are Philistines (some are). Like my last visit to Paris twenty years ago, I've encountered shop personnel, waiters and others who are invested in making sure you find what you're looking for and dine as pleasantly as possible. 

J-F purchased his perfect one-bedroom condo in Sanaray about fifteen years ago. He often visits during his frequent trips to France for his job with the administration of the French-American school network. The apartment is at the very tip of Provence on the Cote d'Zur. Here are some photos of the apartment. 

JEAN-FRANCOIS IS A MEAN SEPTUGENARIAN

Some of the exquisite pastries and macaroons that have made Laduree one of 

Paris' most famous bakeries

Honestly, I should be in a hospital in traction right now. Instead, I'm in my hotel room and in pain. Everything hurts. Jean-Francois, our intrepid host walked us to death today. We did take the Metro over to the Champs Elysees this morning and then walked down it, and walked past the Minister of the Interior's home and down the big strip of the Rue Faubourg St. Honore where you see the windows of all the city's great fashion designers. This is the biggest concentration of high fashion names from passe Pierre Cardin through all the great fashion names:  Chanel, Givenchy, Sonia Rykiel, and many others. We stopped at Laduree for tea, coffee and some of their famous pastries. They are famous for their macaroons, which come in so many colors. I had a phenomenally pretty and fragrant chocolate cookie, covered with chocolate ganache, and a chocolate truffle, hand turned and dipped in chocolate and then tossed in dark chocolate powder. It was decorated with a small piece of sugared orange peel with gold leaf. John and J-F decided on the the fraise tart over cook fresh rhubarb and then covered in tiny, fresh strawberries--the first of the spring. Laduree has been around Paris since the late 1800s and are famous for their double-decker macaroons--those brightly colored almond-egg cookies filled with ganache, selling some 15,000 a day. There are even macaroon cakes with a tall cone of macarons decorating a funnel top over the small but fantastically expensive cake. The entire floor in two rooms was packed with no extra tables to be had and a cue lined up just inside the door.

The Palais Garnier, perhaps the most famous opera house in the world

J-F then continued the Paris equivalent of the March to Bataan. We trudged through the Rue de la Paix, the just around the corner from the Palais Garnier, which is mostly home to the Paris Opera Ballet and its school for young ballet students. We trudged through the Place Vendome, where the famous Hotel Ritz was being completely overhauled for a new generation of hotel guests (the Crillon, just closed its doors in a complete redecoration which is expected to take two full years). We stared gape-mouthed at the emerald necklaces and other impressive and fanciful jewelry on display at Cartier. So many major jewelers: Buccellati, Tiffany, Bocheron, Rolex, Bulgari, Chaumet, are tightly packed into this small area. The Grand Hotel had such an impressive lobby, we had to walk into to get this photo:

The impressive glass roof over the main entry, palm court and check-in of the 

Grand Hotel near the Rue de la Paix

We had a 3:00 PM reservation for a new and popular art exhibit of the works of Marc Chagall at the Musee du Luxembourg, so we walked over to the Rue de Rivoli, and crossed into the Tuileries Gardens, where we took a break in front of a large round fountain. Here all of Paris seem to have convened as the sunshine and the holiday conspired to take up most of the walking space We saw the impressive Grand Palais on one side--a huge glass-topped exhibition hall. There is a wide fountain in the middle of the Tuilleries Gardens where young boys have been sending out small toy-like sail boats for generations. We reached the Musee du Luxumbourg in the Luxembourg Gardens in time for our appointed visit to view a large new March Chagall exhibit, which was packed the to rafters with a cue around the back that went on and on. Fortunately, we didn't have to wait, but I saw the whole show in less than a half hour because there were simply too many people crowded into this show. I'm not normally a Chagall fan. All the elements of his mature works rarely appeals to me. The religious symbolism of flying Jew, the young married couple (she always with a veil and he with his arms wrapped around her), the crucifixion and other fanciful elements have held little appeal to me, though I did enjoy his earlier works. We repaired to a little cafe next door where J-F and John had a fancy version of tarte tatin, which was exactly that--fancy.

Place Vendome 

Shopping arcade just off the Place Vendome

The Ritz, all wrapped up during it's complete face lift. 

The magnificent Grand Palais exhibition hall photographed from the Tuilleries Gardens

Boats to rent, a tradition for little boys at the Tuilleries

J-F walked us back through the Tuilleries where we saw the magnificent facade of the Luxembourg Palace--home of the French Senate. We finally caught a bus home.  I have a two-hour window before doing to dinner. I need a nap.

John showed us the charm of Place Furstenberg in the St. Germain neighborhood. This

 is where I would like to live in Paris, that is when my ship comes in!

Delacroix lived here. I don't blame him.

Out the door at 7:15 PM, the weather is still cold with a bitter mistral-like wind that won't quit. We headed back to St. Germain for dinner at Alcazar which has a rotating group of chefs who apparently are associated with a French TV version of America's Top Chef. It certainly is a chefy-looking place--big (it used to be a theater), modern, with waiters dressed semi-formally in suits. There was a prix fixe menu with three courses for 43 euros. We all went for the chilled fois gras with paper thin slices of green apple and a spicy apple chutney to go with it and the toast.  It was rich and very nice if not to subtle.  John and J-F ordered chicken, but I wanted the cod fillet which came with a smokey eggplant puree, an artichoke heart, a whole peeled and seeded tomato and cilantro with a few crunchy threads of daikon. Both entrees were served in these large white bowls with wide rims, so the food had to be dug out--great for pasta, but not my favorite way to eat food which was meant to be fanned out on a plate. Three small samples of pot au creme in chocolate, vanilla and coffee finished our meal on a high note, accompanied by a delicious bite of a sort of madeleine. Pinot Noir was our wine again, a real bargain at 30 euros. I would have preferred less of a distraction of a young, hip crowd in this large barn of a restaurant. There was care involved, though the waiters are stretched and not always attentive.

I bought a red Eiffel Tower for my desk. It was such a cheerful and tasteful-looking version. There are so many in Paris, including ones that twinkle with stars to replicated this landmark's nighttime look.

Back at the hotel, I hit the bed with a giant thud. Slept intensely before waking at 4:15. I didn't fight sleep, I simply got up and packed. We're on our way to Sanaray where J-F has an apartment. The speed train will take four hours. I love trains, especially in Europe. We're going to rent a car there. Hope it is warmer further south (Provence).

Forgive any typos. This is the French language, a minefield of errors and this blog won't allow any accent marks.

PARIS FOR A VERY SPECIAL BIRTHDAY

John Baker and Jean-Francois at the Portland Airport just before we begin our awfully big adventure. 

Finally pushed myself out of bed this morning for the long trip ahead to Paris. It's 1:30 AM and I've woken up every hour on the hour since going to bed at 8:30 PM the night before. So it's off to Paris to celebrate Jean-Francois' 70th birthday. Jean-Francois and I have been friends since 1975 when we were both young and callow youths in New York.  Jean-Francois, as many of you know, lives in Portland and it was his residency here that helped contribute to my decision to move to Portland, now nearly four years ago.  We're with John Baker, Jean-Francois former partner and good friend. Jean-Francois has organized the trip in a very precise and complete way. We've barely any free time. We'll be in Paris for two days and then go to his apartment in Provence (the town is called Sanaray) for three days, returning to Paris for the final few days, which will include a big party at a restaurant in the city next Saturday. I fly home on Wednesday.

John Baker needs to brush up on his packing skills!

Archie is being well-cared-for at my friend, Sara's home. She's a fabulous dog lover, and will take very good care of my wonderful pup. Bit is staying in the house, and my friend Carol will look in on him every other day, collect mail, and water the plants. Ironically the weather in Portland is glorious. It was due to get up to 70 degrees F today--unheard of in rainy Portland. John Baker picked me up at 3:15 for the trip to the airport. It's a much longer flight from Portland to Paris then it was in New York.  We'll arrive in Paris at 7:30 AM and will have to wait until about 12:00 noon to get into our hotel rooms. The flight into Newark was very turbulent and I got nauseous as we landed. That never happened before.

It doesn't matter that we arrived early in Newark, the plane is delayed and we wait more than four hours for our connecting flight to Paris. It's a long ride and we arrive exhausted and ready to sleep. Paris is very cold--28 degrees F. We arrive at the hotel at about 9:30, but the rooms are not ready yet. Off to breakfast and I'm kicking myself for not bringing a scarf or gloves. My jacket is just a bit too light.

Around the corner we go for a restorative caffe and croissant. The first bite and you know you are in Paris. Nowhere else can you get such a tender pastry--flaky, slightly warm, buttery and addictive. Back at the hotel we sit down and fall asleep in the lobby waiting for our rooms. Finally at near 1:00 PM, we are cleared to take possession of our rooms. I fall into bed for deep sleep of two hours. Mustn't sleep more than that. I'm going to wake up in the middle of the night.

This makes for a different pizza topping!

At 70, Jean-Francois is fit and thin and a life-long walker. John and I, however, are portly and slow and stairs become something to be endured with grim set faces. Jean-Francois speed walks us through four Arrondissements and my camera goes crazy. We find ourselves on the ancient Rue Mouffetard, a narrow, cobble-stoned street packed with many restaurants, charcuterie, boulangerie, fromagerie, creperie, and other food shops. I pass something called Speed Rabbit Pizza and fortunately it was closed. I would have been tempted to give it a try. The next thing you know we're near the Luxembourg Gardens, and on to Blvd. St. Michel. I didn't realize the three famous restaurants on the blvd. St. Michel--Brasserie Lipp, Cafe de Flores and Les Deux Magots are close to each other. Still packing them in more than 80s years after they were first sought out by Hemingway and other artists of his time, these cafes are now a big destination for Parisians out walking, and they also attract tourists. Today is Easter and anything that is open is packed. Naturally we can't get into them, and instead, settle for Cafe Bonaparte just down the street.

Brasserie Lipp

Les Deux Magots

Cafe de Flore

We now have been past the Pantheon, the Sorbonne, St. German des Pres, the Odeon, and other famous landmarks. It's beautiful--all of it. A glass of wine, and some tzatziki and grilled toast, and we're ready to find a Metro and head towards home. The Paris Metro is very efficient--cars arrive promptly every few minutes, even on an Easter Sunday schedule, but the up and down stairs are tough on this old body, and I emerged completely out of breath. Now I understand why older people prefer taking the bus. Jean-Francois has carefully looked for restaurants opened on Easter. Paris spent its Easter holiday at the cafes, walking around, and enjoying the cool, but still sunny weather. Monday is still the Easter holiday with offices closed and that means most of the shops will also be closed.  Tonight we'll go over to the Right Bank in the 13th Arrondissement for dinner 

Prices are sky high in the restaurants and cafes of Paris. A large glass of rose for John and me, a large espresso, my little Greek snack and frozen dessert for Jean-Francois cost 47.60 Euro! L'Apprenti is an attractive brasserie on the Avenue Daumesnil. It's cozy with lots of wood paneling, and reasonably spaced tables. The food is conventionally Parisian--a bit old-fashioned, but well made. Jean-Francois and I both ordered the same thing--a bowl full of saffron-infused broth with lots of seafood such as tuna, mussels and cod with lots of chopped chives for garnish, while John began with escalops of fois gras with a mesclun salad and a sweet compote of red berries.  Both were fine dishes, though the soup could have been warmer. The dish was pretty and satisfying. The fois gras was rich with the fruit cutting some that richness.  

Jean and I also ordered grilled veal hangar steak over potatoes Dauphinois, with a rich, cream sauce on the side. A bit overkill but still I liked the steak--the veal tasted less beefy. John tried the lamb noisette with a mirepoix of eggplant, and onions. It too was excellent. We chose a modest bottle of Pinot Noir. Still this was a pricey meal at about $216. for the three of us.  

Rue Mouffetard

Tomorrow we hit our first museum, the Musee Rodin--my first visit to admire the sculpture. More tourist photos here:  

The Pantheon--lots of impressive names from the Republic are buried here!

I seem to recall passing many churches with familiar names yesterday. For the life of me, 

I can't remember this one's name!

A Louis Vuitton outpost--one of several in Paris. 

The planners of Paris have been very smart to keep the skyscrapers outside of the center of the city. This lone building, erected in the 60s is an exception, standing out against the tradition architecture of the city.

I don't think anyone can argue that Paris is the most beautiful city in the world!

SAN FRANCISCO: Part II

So overdue on finishing up my San Francisco trip.  I'm going to Paris in three weeks. Must catch up!

One of the joys of this particular trip was being able to spend some time with my good friends, Joan and Fritz Hottenstein and their amazing daughters. Lily is quiet and reflective. She's been very sad of late over the loss of the family beloved dog, Ruby, and while I was there, Lily created this amazing tribute to her favorite companion. Find a large, empty box in the family's garage, Lily covered it with photos of Ruby, had an appreciation envelope for those who knew Ruby to write their favorite memories, and other memorabilia. Quite an amazing creation from the mind of a seven-and-half-year-old. Then there's Quinn, who at five-and-a-half, is as outgoing and socially fearless as her sister is shy and quiet. Quinn fairly blasts out of bed each day in search of adventure and fun. She's a very engaged little girl, who can't stop singing, tumbling, and being totally adorable. These girls live with their parents in Mill Valley, California, a very beautiful, entitled, prosperous to the point of rich, town a few miles off the Golden Gate Bridge. That these young girls have their feet planted firmly on the ground is a testament to their parent's refusal to spoil them. They attend public schools, in a town where most simply ship them off to private education.

I arrived to their hilly and very beautiful arts and crafts home on Friday and Joan took me into town for a walk and to look around. Tyler Florence lives nearby and has opened a rather grand kitchen shop with lots of vintage items such as canister sets and has his own line of sauces. It's a gorgeous store and worth your time. We met Fritz for simple lunch at a local spot. Later on we picked up Lily at school and met Quinn to take her to her gymnastic class at a local training gym. Quinn was right in the center of about twelve young girls of various ages up to young teens learning how to tumble, walk on a balance beam, swing on a bar, and cartwheel. Friday nights at the Hottensteins usually means dinner out at a popular local Italian restaurant. Vasco is a very good family-owned Italo-American restaurant, serving mostly comfort food--pizzas, pasta, simple roast and sautéed meats, fish, salads and deserts in a handsomely modern and bustling dining room. Service is friendly and it's a great place to go to welcome the weekend in while trying to shed the tensions and stresses of the previous week.

Saturday the great weather continued and off Joan and I went Healdsburg where Joan had some wine she wanted to collect at a winery up there. Traffic was practically non-existence once we sped our way along 101 through the rest of Marin and into Sonoma, Santa Rosa, and up to Healdsburg. What a handsome town this is with a huge center square, an a busy streets filled with attractive shops, some hotels, and restaurants. We settled down to a leisurely lunch on the patio of a seafood restaurant and afterwards explored the shops, going into bookstores, and a fascinating store specializing in affordable, and creative imported gifts from all over the world. We headed back home in preparation for a dinner out.  Joan told me she and her husband had been one of a group of people who invested in a local restaurant called Mill Valley Beerworks. Joan and Fritz planned dinner here for Saturday night and she told me I would be very excited about the food.  How right she was.

Mill Valley Beerworks describes themselves as a small berry and restaurant located in downtown Mill Valley. "We focus on brewing balanced and exceptionally unique beers to complement a rotating and locally sourced food menu."  This is simply too modest.  Under the extremely skilled and visionary chef, David Wilcox, who had come up from Los Angeles, here is a restaurant that specializes in small plates and tasty and creative food where vegetables take center stage with protein acting as a supportive player, but an important player. Joan, Fritz and I are all wine centric. Fritz loves beer, but his heart is in the wine, and we drank Pinot Noir from California and ordered a surprising number of small plates. Wilcox's food kicks culinary ass and I was dizzy from the range of flavor, the variety of ingredients all infused with his creative skill.  Here's a list of dishes we consumed:

pickled herring, salad of butter beans & fennel, lemon aioli
grilled pork jowl, fig mostarda, apple relish, pickled cauliflower
toscano kale salad, roasted beets, blood orange, sunflower, smoked tomato vinaigrette
grilled chicories, lardons, khadrawy dates, crushed pecan, bacon vinaigrette
grilled king oyster mushrooms, nettles pistou, preserved lemon
beluga lentils, confit tomato, shallot, cacao nibs, cilantro
braised lamb neck, toasted farro, spiced yogurt, harissa
pan-seared bavette steak, charred broccoli, shallot and smoked tomato butter

The pickled herring was unlike any herring I'd ever eaten before and that includes herring in Amsterdam. None of that white, rubbery texture that comes out of jars, this was silky herring that hadn't been laying it its pickling juices until it hovered between raw and cooked. Mixed with the butter beans and fennel, with lemon aoili, this was a firm-textured fish that tasted fresh. The kale salad was another discovery, the beets working in perfect harmony with the blood orange and vinaigrette with the crunch of sunflower seeds. The king oyster mushrooms were wonderfully chewy with the pistou and preserved lemon adding oomph and tart spikiness. The beluga lentils were truly the size of roe. The tomato and shallots added a conventional note then the cacao nibs gave the dish an unexpected coffee taste. The lamb neck meat was meltingly tender, the farro was pleasantly chewy, with the harissa and spiced yogurt adding a Middle Eastern touch. The pan-seared bavette was a bit undercooked and was the only dish that gave a a slight bit of disappointment--it's flavors didn't meet the superb creativity that had come before it.  I'm taking time to describe this food because there's nothing like it in Portland and it was a surprising pleasure to encounter it in Mill Valley.  The restaurant was packed with a busy bar crowd enjoying their beer and the din was loud, but very happy. Chef Wilcox stopped by to say hello and I made it a point to tell him how exciting his food really is. Anyone reading this and in the vicinity should try to get there, but make a reservation, or go early in the week when it's less busy.

Here's the URL: 

http://millvalleybeerworks.com/

The visit also included a wonderful lunch in Mill Valley with my twin brother, Scott, his better half, Bernadette, her daughter, Tia (whom I was meeting for the first time), and my youngest brother, Kevin and his wife, Diana. I often see my brothers, but never as a group. Doug--the middle brother--wasn't there this time, but it did feel good to spend time with them. We're all getting older and getting together with my brothers is important. We're all close in age (14-months apart), and while we don't agree on lots of things (politics, etc.), I've always insisted on being the glue that helps keep us together. I remember a mentor from my teen years who always counseled us to "stick together." It's not always been possible, but I'm glad we keep trying. 

I got to attend the huge farmer's market in San Rafael. This is the biggest farmer's market I've ever seen with what seemed like hundreds of stalls selling everything from organic fruits and vegetables, meat and fish, flowers and jams, soaps, cooked food, and so much more. It's a beautiful market, jammed with customers. We bought superb salmon, with vegetables for dinner, This is definitely worth a visit (we went on a Sunday morning). 

Moki

A week or so after returning from my trip, Joan sent me this photo of Moki, their adorable new puppy. The girls are thrilled with the new dog, and while Ruby will never be forgotten, Moki should be able to keep the girls distracted and enchanted for years to come. 

It was a wonderful week, relaxing and rejuvenating. 

A WEEK IN SAN FRANCISCO

Arrived in San Francisco on Tuesday afternoon with no problems. This is a total relaxing week where I plan to do as little as possible, other than seeing friends, taking in a few museum shows, and doing a little nostalgic dining out at old and favorite haunts. First stop was San Mateo where I spent a fine evening with my twin brother, Scott and his lady, Bernadette. Scott made his party dish--lasagne, which was rich in cheese, meat and noodles. It's mother's jiggered recipe, an frankly it's better because Ma used cottage cheese and Scott insists sliced hard-boiled eggs!  I'm absolutely sure I've stifled that memory, but I was grateful that they hadn't made it into Scott's version. The sheer cost of living in California has them more determined than ever to leave and re-locate to the Portland area. The house they are living in costs more than $400 a month for gas and electricity. Gas is, of course, higher here (about $3.79 at the pump vs. about $3.35 in Oregon).

I'm renting a room for three days in the private home of a San Franciscan resident, whose home is perched high up near Twin Peaks. Urging my rented little Mazda Matrix 2 (red, of course!) up those treacherous San Francisco hills is a tad unnerving, but eventually I made it.  The owner, is a charming man, whose companion, a tiny long-haired Chihuahua named Finch, has already visited me several times in my room, staying for a nap while I watched a movie on my iPad last night. A retired CPA from the tech world, John owns a stucco triplex, and rents two of the rooms on the AIRnb.com website. $80 a night with a clean and well furnished room that is attractive and spacious. The room comes with the bathroom. The upstairs living room, dining area and kitchen are designed in one big open-plan with three huge windows that showcase one of the most spectacular views of the city imaginable.  This shot was taken in the morning (we are having near-perfect weather--abundant sunshine, low 50s in the morning and getting up to about 60 in the day. Cool and comfortable), but at night the city is a lit jewel and the panoramic sight is stunning.

Up and out early this morning and decided to head over the the Castro area which is relatively close by for breakfast.  I find San Francisco's "Gay Ghetto" diminished of energy since AIDS decimated the communities ranks in the 80s and 90s. Like everywhere else the real estate now rivals New York in cost. A one bedroom condo may have a little more space and amenities than in New York, but it will still set you back more than $600K. Two bedrooms easily takes you over the $million mark. An hour's worth of parking is $2.00 when you can find it. The city still remains one of the most difficult to maneuver around in a car and parking is virtually an impossibility, such as in Golden Gate Park, where I had hoped to take in a Rembrandt, Vermeer, Hals and other Dutch masters. No parking available, so I chose to make an emotional visit to Lonnie's next-door neighbor, Abbie.

When I arrived at the flat, Abbie was sitting outside on the stoop, reading a book and enjoying her morning coffee. She greeted me warmly, and we shared many memories of our good friend, who passed away at the end of March last year. Lonnie had lived in that flat for forty-seven years (Abbie's preceded him by two), and was a well-loved member of the community. Lonnie took very long walks every day stopping if he ran into a neighbor for a chat, sharing gossip of the neighborhood or exchanging information on parking cars, who perhaps a local crime or break-in. I asked Abbie, who had cleaned out the garage, a dumping ground for many of Lonnie's estate sale purchases, which he hoped to sell on Ebay. He did sell a lot, but he collected more. Lonnie was a pack rat and it toook Abbie more than three weeks to get rid of everything. They had a garage sale, and than whatever wasn't sold, was put on the sidewalk with a sign--FREE! The rest went to salvagers and city disposal.

Lonnie's garden was a tangle of trees planted with no thought as to form or the space in the back yard. It was a deep lot and could have been a wonderful haven, but Lonnie had no formal design in mind, nor did he spend much time out there. Abbie never enjoyed gardening, so the area had become an urban jungle with Cala Lillies growing everywhere; Ivy that was chocking every tree in the back yard, numerous jade plants, all gifts to Lonnie over the years. He would simply plant them in the back yard haphazardly. There was a giant Cymbidium orchid which in bloom produced more than 100 flowers, and Abbie was able to give it to one of Lonnie's friends, as it was in a large terra cotta pot. She didn't want the responsibility. She took up the round terra cotta stones and spent days clearing out the flora and much of the junk that had been left outside. I was astonished at the orderliness of this newly renovated garden. Lonnie would have preferred the mess, but it now looked beautiful and inviting, and I could imagine some chairs and a table and wondered why not put the bird bath in the middle of the garden instead of being up against the fence at the end.  Lonnie's apartment has been renovated with a new kitchen and bathroom, and all fresh paint. Two students are now sharing the space and god knows what the rent is now, though the landlord is certainly due for as high a rent as he can charge, since Lonnie virtually paid nothing all those years.

With no parking near the De Young Museum, I went in search of lunch and there was one of my old reliables--Anchor Oyster Bar filled the bill nicely. This thirty-five year veteran of the Castro neighborhood, has been serving New England Clam Chowder, oysters, and other seafood specialties in it's pristine setting complete with marble bar, white tiled floors and walls, a mirrored menu above the kitchen, and about seven stainless steel tables. At night Anchor is packed with a sign-up board and a strict no seating of incomplete parties. At lunch it is a little more relaxed and I hitched myself to the bar with my Kindle reader ready to eat. Among the specials today was a toasted shrimp and Dungeness crab and melted cheddar cheese sandwich of a flattened square of Italian bread. This molten miracle has  a little cayenne for some kick and it came with a nice green salad with a creamy garlic dressing. A nice Provencal Rose completed my lunch. Afterwards, I decided to check out more of the neighborhood. I am astonished at how sophisticated this neighborhood has become. I went to junior high school a few blocks away. During the 60s, this was an aging neighborhood of middle-class homeowners. The houses were beautiful and tightly shoe-horned. While there are the famous brightly painted Victorian homes along Dolores Street, when I was a kid, the colors were far more muted. Property values have skyrocketed to the point where people have made major investments in the look of the houses in the area, and it's a spectacular neighborhood, well-cared for. I saw one Victorian with a finished second floor, but the main floor and garage/basement, was completely gutted and the contractor and his workers were finished with the re-framing of the main floor. Another worker was installing new stairs. This renovation was extensive and most likely meant a huge mortgage or re-financing of an existing one.

The house pride of the city is quite remarkable. Along with Seattle, I don't think I've seen as wide a variety of beautiful, creative homes that are well maintained, with each looking so distinctive. Portland is more conventional in its architecture, whereas Seattle and San Francisco take a certain pride in the architectural specialness of their neighborhoods. I do have one complaint and it's been a complaint for many years. San Francisco has surprisingly fewer trees than in any other city I've ever visited. There are parks and hills that have abundant trees, but too many of the city's streets are lacking in trees and it looks odd to me. Portland, on the other hand, is wall-to-wall tree. You practically need permission to cut a tree down on your property and it will cost you a fortune to get rid of one.

My walk took me to shops, but I'm not really interested in shopping during this trip. Back at the house I'm more than halfway through THE END OF YOUR LIFE BOOK CLUB by Will Schwalbe, a colleague from my days at William Morrow. It is a very moving memoir about the last two years of his mother's life, and their mutual love of books (before launching his start-up website, Cookstr.com, Will had previously been editor-in-chief of Hyperion Books in New York).  Their reading ranges widely and includes fiction, non-fiction, old classics and new. It's a remarkable tribute by a son to his mother, a woman who spent her life in academia, raised three kids, and traveled all over the world in support of refugees. It deserves all the glowing reviews it has received.

At eight, I began to think about dinner, and instantly I determined that I would to another old favorite--Zuni Cafe. Amazingly, this mainstay of upper Market Street, is thirty-three years old. Founding chef, Judy Rodgers, still presides over the kitchen. I can't tell you the last time I ate there--was it really back in the 90s? I have Judy's cookbook in my kitchen, and I've cooked from it infrequently over the years, particularly the restaurant's famous roast chicken with arugula salad and large bread croutons. It somewhat reminds me of Union Square Cafe in New York in that it was one of the first restaurants to buy its products from local farmers. Chez Panisse, which is probably forty years old now, pioneered this farm-to-table concept in American restaurants, and it has had an enormous influence ever since. The large, and spacious location has been renovated and is no longer quite as rustic looking as it was during its formative years. The menu is beautifully conceived, and as I read it, I honestly didn't see anything that I wouldn't have wanted to eat.

I wanted oysters tonight, and Zuni Cafe offers a wide variety. I chose three, two local and one from Washington plus two Little Neck clams which made me nostalgic for New York. Served with a mignonette sauce using an excellent quality vinegar, it was all the oysters needed to please. The bread served here is a rustic sourdough whole wheat bread, which Rodgers insists should have the most crackling crust imaginable--and it does. The inside manages to be both chewy and tender and had this lightly sour, yeasty, wheat flavor that made me inhale it all. Served with good butter, it was delicious with both the oysters and the salad that followed:  a radicchio/endive mixture with three types of oranges (regular, blood oranges and clementine pieces tossed with these miraculously fresh and crunchy chopped almonds. The champagne vinaigrette added the right tone of slightly sweet acid to the salad.

I ordered ricotta gnocchi with these tiny mushrooms. I've been making potato gnocchi since I moved to Portland, but a chef friend suggested I begin to make them with ricotta.  This dish, rich in butter and parmesan was ethereal. These beautiful, shapely little clouds virtually floated on the butter. I cut each small gnocchi in half with my fork and refused to rush through them. I will try to make them when I return home.  This simple meal was accompanied by two glasses of Bandol Rose, and at the end of the meal, I ordered a single espresso to close out a memorable repast. It's remarkable to see a restaurant still on top of its game after more than three decades of lunches and dinners, parties, and a copper bar that is a major destination for the city's movers and shakers for a drink. Chef Rodgers runs a smoothly functioning enterprise here with grace and a passion for great food. People look so happy eating and drinking here. The service is on the same level as any of Danny Meyer's celebrated restaurants in New York (Grammercy Tavern, Union Square Cafe, etc.). Zuni Cafe is a shining example that you can go home again.

The agenda for Thursday was a two-hour tour of San Francisco's Museum of Modern Art. Other than the sticker shock of paying $18 to go through  museum, SFMOMA is impressive for the range of its holdings, and is well worth your time. Try to take city transportation. Traffic in downtown San Francisco (it's near the Moscone Center for Conventions), is a nerve-wracking exercise in urban hell.

Another area of the city I haven't been to in more than 30 years is Union Street--a once charming business are in the Pacific Heights area of the city. Back in the 60s when I was a teenager, it was a four-block stretch of exclusive ladies boutiques (with a few men's shops), elegant restaurants, antique stores, and one coffee house-- Coffee Cantata--a handsome cafe that served coffee drinks, food and some wine, if I remember correctly. Today it is gone. There are other coffee cafes in the area (including Starbucks, which still is the worst designer coffee sold in America), but it now encompasses nine blocks and is full of fitness centers, nail and skin salons, and other worthless shops selling stuff most of us don't need. But it is diverting for a quick tour. Today I had lunch at Rose's Cafe, a well-established destination for breakfast, lunch or a snack. The pale wood interiors make the place feel very Euro, and the marble topped counters where one can sit solo for lunch with hanging glasses above the bar. The tables overflow with young mothers, children in tow, lovers meeting for lunch, and tourists. There is an outdoor seating space as well.  I chose a warm chicken sandwich with caramelized onion on warm ciabatta, which came with a mixed green salad. Tasty with my ice coffee. I could read, and people watch from my perch.

Back to the car, I wandered into a shop that was a little clothing boutique for women, but also sold table-top linens, glasses and dishes, and brac-a-brac for the house. The owner of the store and I struck up a conversation. She had owned the shop for the past eight years and was getting ready to throw in the towel. She was appalled that Sephora and AT & T had moved in along with a Nine West shoe store. She was especially critical of the singles bar scene that had taken over the neighborhood in the last few years. But formerly specialized shopping neighborhoods all over the country had changed hands and evolved into a sort of mini-mall with national brands moving in while forcing the smaller shops which sold unique items to close because the rents have gone sky high.

San Francisco is now nearly as expensive a city to live in as New York. The city's best restaurants charge New York prices. The only difference in rents here is that you tend to get a bit more space for the money, but they are just as pricey, and the cost of owning a condo or a home is horrendous. One might find a fixer-upper bungalow for $500K, but it will need a lot of renovation. Parking is as ominous here as it is in New York, and the driving is just as nerve wracking. At least New York has no deeply steep hills. Like New York, the city's middle class has been squeezed out to make room for this generation's movers and shakers. But the same thing exists in other big cities such as Boston, Chicago, Seattle, and Denver. I'm glad Portland is an affordable city (at least for the time being). Still the city is a perfect jewel to visit and offers lots of diversions, culture, great dining, and plenty to see. 

Must remember to bring my camera with me tonight. I'm going to see my friends, Rita and Riccardo and meet their new baby boy, Luca!

This is Finch, a two-year-old long-haired Chihuahua mix who lives with the host of my roomstay in San Francisco. Finch likes to come downstairs to my room to wake me up in the mornings, or lie on my bed and take a nap if I'm answering my e-mail.  He's an excellent guard dog, but mostly he's a lovely, friendly little guy. 

PATTY--I MISS YOU ALREADY

A late 40-something birthday of mine celebrated at Patty's New York apartment, and 

my favorite picture of us over the years.  

2012 has been my own personal annus horribilis.  On a recent Saturday, my friend Pat Reshen's step-daughter called with the terrible news that she had suffered a massive heart attack and died instantly at home. It was also something of a blessing; she went so fast with virtually no pain and with great speed.  I've now lost Lonnie Robbins, Arlene Friedman and Pat Reshen --all close friends--in the space of seven months. It is too cruel to lose loved ones in such a short span of time. Ironically and exactly as with Lonnie, I spoke with Pat the night before. She called me from home to check in. We have spoken often since I left New York in June, 2009. She was full of news about a spectacular new black shearling coat she had just purchased and was looking forward to the cold weather to wear it in. I was telling her all the good news about the sales of my cookbook, and asked her if she wanted to come for Thanksgiving. She was excited by the possibility and told me she would check in on airfares to see if she could find a reasonably priced flight.

Because of a new job, Pat had missed coming out for her annual Labor Day visit. She had come every Labor Day since I have moved to Portland. She wasn't sick, or at least wasn't sounding sick on the phone. In fact she seemed more chipper than I had heard her in months.  We rang off with her usual "I  love you." When I got home from the ballet on Friday night, she had written me two e-mails, one saying she was beginning to search for flights and the other to praise me for my latest blog post. The next morning, she was gone.

Her daughter, Amber was in Europe, and Pat's step-daughter was frantically trying to reach her. She had stepped off the plane at JFK and her iPhone lit up. It is a wrenching thing to hear after you've been away on a pleasurable vacation. I received a lovely call from Amber this afternoon, but more on that later.

I met Pat through her ex-husband, Neil, an agent, financial manager, and consultant to the publishing industry. I had been hired to do the public relations promotion on a rather difficult book based on Nascar statistics, written and compiled by one of Neil's authors. I can't remember how I came to be recommended. Neil and his daughter and I hit it off right away, and Neil had been urging me to come up to Danbury for a visit at the family's compound there for months. One gray Saturday, I made the trip. He told me his wife would be on the same train, but we would connect once we got to Danbury. A tall blonde woman in her 50s, all in black was at the train exit when we arrived. I had a premonition that was Pat. Indeed, I was correct. We started talking immediately and there was an instant bond between us. She was friendly, a little sassy and a little bawdy. I liked her right away.

Neil picked us up at the station, and in no time, he realized Pat and I would be talking out heads off to each other and he would be kinda left out. It didn't completely turn out that way, but it was clear, Pat and I were to be friends. She lived in the city and commuted to Neil's home where he lived alone on the weekends (the weekdays, the big Tudor house was the office for his business). We had a casual lunch in the living room on trays and talked about publishing, the authors I worked with, Neil's clients, and Patty's website design business. By two PM, it was declared cocktail time. Patty poured me a big tumbler of Dewars and water and in two hours, I was a big cock-eyed. It was time for me to leave. I had to be back in the city and get on a train to Westchester for dinner out with my boss and his wife in the burbs. The train that would take me closest to their home wasn't working and so I took an expensive car service to Larchmont. Just as I was ready to leave, Patty came out of the house with a large traveling cup and when I rolled the window down, she handed me a "roadie" of more Dewars and water. We promised to call each other in the city and meet for dinner. Once the car was out of sight, I opened the window and drained the glass. I was already crocked, and didn't need anymore stimulation.

In the coming months, Patty and I went out to dinner often. She would read about a new restaurant she was dying to try and off we'd go. Patty loved to eat and drink and smoke. We would often go to Raoul's, the standard-bearer of French bistros in Soho.  Patty loved steak, pork, lamb--any red meat with a bone on it. She loved marrow bones, and she loved red wine. She could sit for hours over a steak and potato. She didn't much care for vegetables though she always ate salads. We would talk about movies, new books (she as a voracious reader of popular fiction) she was reading, the difficulty of family, her worries about one of her employees who had AIDS. He was a close friend, and she moved him into her two-bedroom apartment during a particularly dark period of his health problems. Pat was a very generous friend, who often came to the aid of friends in need. She was also the patron saint of no-longer-wanted house plants. I would have to be careful if I intended to toss out an old and tired looking orchid, or other living houseplant. She would rescue it and bring it home with her and nurse it back to health or bloom.  She was every dog's champion. We once found a dog in the back of an open cab of a truck in Soho. The dog was barking and making a nuisance of itself. Suddenly Pat was walking into every bar within a five-block radius to find the owner of the dog. She didn't mind the dog's barking, but she was concerned that someone might call the police and report the dog. Finally, I convinced her to stop and we jumped into a cab and headed home. My stop was first, but I knew she was going to turn the cab right around and look for that dog's master the minute I left the cab, which is precisely what she did.

At some point, both Pat and I were experiencing financial difficulties. But I didn't want to stop our dinners, so I began to invite her to my home for supper. We'd rent a movie, or just have dinner and talk. She was over the moon about my French bulldog, Beau, and sat on the floor of the living room, just outside of the kitchen and play with Beau while I cooked and we caught up.  There were two things I usually had difficulties convincing Patty to love:  vegetables and fish. She liked roasted cauliflower, or roasted Brussels sprouts, and asparagus was always welcomed on her plate, but not much of any other sort of vegetable appealed to her, and if it didn't she would move it around her plate and then ignore it. The same with fish though she would eat Salmon and I gave up trying to convince her veggies and seafood were good for her heart. One recipe in particular was a favorite--a sauté of sweet Italian sausages with red grapes, a little balsamic vinegar and red wine. She constantly asked me to make it for her.

Patty was the only person I let smoke in my house. She was so addicted that it was pointless to lecture to her about it. She had surgery on both carotid arteries, and suffered considerable heart disease. I learned to live her her constantly leaving the table in a restaurant or in my apartment to go have a cigarette. I finally relented. As a former smoker, I felt sorry for her habit. She was never going to quit. After surgery last year, she told me she was quitting. She would brag how well she was dong for weeks after her surgery, but stopped talking about it. I finally said, "are you smoking again?"  I don't know what I asked. I knew the answer.

Patty didn't' much care for politics and had no head for it. She aped the Republican views of Neil, and when we were by ourselves, I would give her hell about it. I often harangued Neil about his silly politics. He didn't seem to be very good at political argument at all. But he clearly held sway over Pat about hers, and she remained a staunch Republican until Barak Obama's first term in office, and she finally admitted that she liked his positions on health care, the economy, Medicare, and the Middle East.

Neil and Patty divorced when their daughter was still very young. Patty moved Amber into the city, enrolling her in school.  At some point, Amber moved to Danbury and lived with her father before she graduated from high school.  Pat had a wonderful relationship with her daughter and they were very close. Amber managed her mother's web-design business. After Pat closed her web business, Amber went to work with one of the big insurers, and was the person in charge at the company's World Trade Center branch in the immediate aftermath of 9/11.  When Amber announced she and her husband were moving to Vancouver, British Columbia, Pat was devastated, but understanding.

About the time I was leaving New York, Neil started suffering from severe signs of dementia and the beginning of Alzheimer's disease. Unable to take care of himself, Neil was moved into a nursing facility in the Bronx.  Patty faithfully took a cabs to the nursing home, took him out for lunch or dinner and a haircut or a manicure, bought him clothes, and took care of his needs. Because of his slipping memory he began to regard her as his jailer, which caused her much pain. Whenever she was in Portland or in Vancouver visiting her daughter, Patty spent most of her time on the phone with family and Neil, always with the thought of making him as comfortable as possible. Several months ago, Neil's memory no longer worked. He couldn't recognize Patty at all. Still she selflessly visited him every weekend, bringing him food, reading to him, and watching TV with him, sometimes, just staying there while he slept. She was determined to preserve whatever shred of dignity he had in the world his mind had escaped into.

When Patty lost her job, I said to her, "Okay, we've talked about this. You said you're want to downsize to nothing. Come out here and share the house with me. She loved the idea and we talked about it in great detail, but in the end, she couldn't abandon Neil, even though he would not be conscious of her being there or leaving. This kind of loyalty was very touching.

A year ago or so ago, I began to make friends with a squirrel in my back yard. He would walk up to me bold as brass, and take peanuts out of my hand. I named him Cooper and began to take photos of him. I saw him just about every day, and I loved that he had made a nest in my cedar tree.  Then one day when friends were over in the back yard, one of my guests noticed that Cooper was near the fountain I have over on the fence wall. We noticed he wasn't moving, and I went over to investigate. I saw blood right away and it was evident he had sustained some sort of wound. It looked bad, and indeed, thirty minutes later, Cooper was dead. Patty had been following the course of our friendship, and had met him in my back yard the previous Labor Day holiday. The next time we talked, she was very upset to learn he had died. A week or so later, a package arrived, and upon opening it, I saw it was a plaque with Cooper's name, and the date of his death. I told Patty that I buried in him in the dog run on the side of the house, and she ordered a plaque so I wouldn't forget my departed friend. That was the kind of caring person Patty was.

Amber called me a day after she returned home to say she was taking care of the arrangements to have her mother buried. But she called to let me know that her mother "adored you." I was very touched by that. I bought Patty an amber bracelet with some turquoise stones from a trip to Santa Fe, and sent it to her when I got home. She called me a few days later all emotional about the gift. She insisted it had magical properties and would bring her good luck. For the rest of her life, she would tell me all her good news, always followed by the idea that the bracelet had been responsible.  Patty had a strong will which she used for good things, and most of us were powerless against it. She will be missed.

THE OREGONIAN COOKBOOK IS A WONDERFUL SUCCESS

It was determined that my little idea--a cookbook based on recipes from The Oregonian's Foodday section, published on October 1st--is going back to press. We are now completely sold out of the small hardcover edition and nearly through the trade paperback print run. So a second printing of 15,000 copies and I'm still concerned we'll be out of stock before Christmas. This is a good problem to have, sorta.  Still it is music to my ears to hear that Costco, Powell's, Amazon.com, and other big retail outlets are out of stock. Kitchen Kaboodle, a popular, local culinary equipment chain of five stores was sold out before Katherine Miller's autograph session in the NW 23rd Street location on Saturday. We brought sixty more copies with us, and they have reordered more copies. And the Lake Oswego New Seasons market asked us to confirm we could ship them a reorder because, "We CANNOT keep this book on the shelves!!"

http://www.kink.fm/09/26/12/READ-The-Oregonian-Cookbook/landing_music_discovery.html?blockID=635361&feedID=9695

Powell's lead our kick-off on President Obama's disastrous debate against Mitt Romney, who seemed resurgent at the expense of the truth. Still we managed to attract an audience of sixty five readers. I put six current and past Foodday editors and contributors through their paces talking about Portland's current emergence as a major culinary destination. And they delivered a lively hour and a half of talk about the excellence of our locally produced foods, our top chefs, and the general high quality of food here. Lots of my friends showed up and bought books. I've done a few interviews, one of KINK-FM that I'm very proud of. 

The Oregonian's Foodday Panel at Powell's City of Books for THE OREGONIAN COOKBOOK,

Portland, October 3, 2012

The book will be advertised every week on The Oregonian through the end of January. So I think once Thanksgiving arrives, we'll be inundated with sales for the holidays.  Foodday editor, Katherine Miller will be showing up at Costco, Fred Meyer, Safeway, and New Season's markets, the Beaverton Farmers Market, the Oregon Historical Society's annual book fair event, and Made in Oregon, signing copies through mid-December.

Both of these long-stem beauties came from a single stem. 

The garden is now winding up its long growing season. We had a bit more than three and a half months of dry, sunshine weather, highly unusual here these days. We had a very long and rainy winter/spring so when the sun finally arrived around July 4th weekend, it seemed as if every day offered Portlanders the opportunity to go to the beach, or hike in the mountains, or tend their gardens, or lay in a meadow in one of the city's many parks. I used my central air for about twelve days--a long time here. Most nights, I used a fan, and the door to my bedroom balcony was always opened. Archie got to the dog run park nearly every day, socializing with lots of dogs as they kicked up every bit of available dry dust which flew everywhere for lack of rain to keep it earthbound. While I had lots of roses, I didn't feed them much. The hydrangeas were very showy this summer, but sunlight burned them as well.  My hostas grew like weeds and my pear tree produced fruit for the first time in two years. I got lots of figs, but they refused to ripen. I suspect they will be finally producing fruit next summer. The lilies have matured and bloomed all summer long. But the big news in my garden were the grape and cherry tomatoes. The vines just grew like Jack-in-the-beanstalk, virtually taking over my entire vegetable garden and producing the sweetest tomatoes that got thrown into virtually everything. I just put up two batches of tomato sauce for pasta later on this weekend. We had radiatore pasta with cherry tomato sauce with onions, fresh oregano and bacon last night. I chopped them up for salsa, Deb (my housemate) stirred them into her morning eggs. Every place I could add tomatoes, I did. I gave away batches (they were like unwanted Zucchini at one point). Now they are fewer and once the rains arrive, will be done for the season. Time to think about cutting the vines down. I also have to dry sage, oregano, and rosemary; and harvest fresh bay leaves. We've got six new jars of fig jam and I'll make Seville orange marmalade in the next two weeks.

The back yard cedar tree with it's new haircut. You couldn't see my neighbor's garden shed 

because of the all cedar's lower branches blocked out sunlight, and the view. 

I have two cedar trees, one in the front yard, which is an eyesore. The backyard Cedar is quite beautiful, but both of them needed pruning badly and the front yard tree had a branch that was threatening my cable/phone/internet wire. So they got haircuts and the difference is astonishing,  particularly the backyard where there is about one third more sunshine.  Now I plan to rethink my plantings for next summer.  The dahlias were so showy and now that they have their own bed and even more sunlight, I may add more. And I've finally worked up the courage to have my holly tree removed. It has gotten over-grown, makes a mess my dumping holly leaves onto my backyard side garden and patio, requiring too frequent sweepings. And I bought new patio chairs to replace the old and ugly and uncomfortable Adirondak chairs. I shopped for them and the prices were sky high--as much as $1,200 for two chairs!!! But I found two really good-looking faux-wicker chairs in a second hand shop for $45--BOTH CHAIRS. I have this great fabric that I bought in New York. It's French and brilliantly stripped. It's used for outdoor umbrellas, espadrilles, and cloth tote bags. I'll have cushions for the new chairs made from this fabric.  I'm already planning next summer!

Archie and Bit are becoming closer. Most of the time, when they are not sleeping, they are chasing each other all throughout the house. They provide endless entertainment. Like Beau, Archie's cuteness makes him a magnet for people who wonder what his breed is, and when I tell them Dachshund and Sharpei, the laugh at the incongruity of his mix. Here they are on a lazy summer afternoon soaking up late summer rays in front of the kitchen door.

Another quiet moment with Archie and Bit--this time just before lights out!

Chrstine Goerke in the title role of Richard Strauss's Epic opera, ELEKTRA

My good friend, Christine Goerke made a remarkable debut last Saturday night at the Lyric Opera of Chicago in the title role of Strauss' monumental ELEKTRA. On stage for the full amount of the 100-minute work, Christine (who first sang the demanding role in Madrid last October) rocked the house, singing with piercing dramatic acuity while pouring out an avalanche of dramatic soprano tone. She was rewarded with a standing ovation at her first curtain call, and a universally ecstatic critcal reception from the national, local and international critics in attendance. It was a long overdue acknowledgement of a great singer at the peak of her powers and she set the house afire.  Here's a promo prepared by the the CLO for YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dN_qcCXYrFY

I get to see the final performance on the run on October 30th. I've been waiting for years to hear her sing this part. I have separate audio and video performances of her Madrid stint and I think she's the most sensational Elektra that I've heard since Nilsson and the underrated Oliva Stapp sang the role in performances I saw in the 70s.  She's singing her first WALKURE Brunnhilde later this year in Berlin, and starts the new year with her first performance of the Dyer's wife in Strauss's DIE FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN in Amsterdam. This is a prelude to her return to the Met in New York in 2014 for the same role. She's also due to sing her first complete Ring cycle over the next few years in Houston. But watch her profile rise in the next few months. With this Chicago success, Christine Goerke now joins the ranks of the best operas singers in the world.

Christine Goerke during one of many highly emotional moments in 

Strauss' ELEKTRA at the Chicago Lyric Opera

My good friend, Elizabeth and Erin Manwaring, closed their gorgeous boutique, Ste. Maine at the end of September after five years.  Theirs was an upscale shop carrying luxurious home decorative furniture, tabletop accessories, mirrors, bedding and towels, pillows and art. They were among my first friends in the city when I moved here three years ago.  I bought six porcelain shallow bowls, ideal for soup or pasta in a more formal setting. I also bought books, because both ladies loved those big and lavishly illustrated decorating and garden books that you find in upscale homes. They also did very well selling cookbooks and I was delighted when they asked for my opinion on the best of each season's most beautiful and well-written cookbooks to sell. Sellwood is a good neighborhood for antiques, but Ste. Maine was more appropriate for spender Pearl district.  I'm sorry they have closed. In the meantime, Elizabeth and Erin always sold the classiest holiday ornaments and this year's Halloween offerings were really beautiful. I found a stunning mirrored glass pumpkin and these two mirrored "skull" candle holders.  Happy Halloween!

If Cinderella can have a glass slipper, I think I can have a glass pumpkin!

A little ghoulish candlelight for those discerningly formal Halloween sit-down dinners!