A Somewhat Neglected Euro Cuisine

Grüner, a restaurant serving "Alpine" cuisine opened in late December to a lot of hoopla. Christopher Israel, a chef with deep ties in Portland (the late and still lamented Zeffiro's, the Blue Room and Saucebox) was taking a risky cuisine (an oleo of German, Austrian, Hungarian, Swiss and Alsatian-French) and serving it in a very small space more appropriate to the Pearl District, and serving it at upscale prices in the middle of the worst economic downturn in Oregon in more than 50 years. Israel has earned the right to throw the dice his way. I had dinner at Zeffiro's nearly 20 years ago during a visit to friends here when I was living in New York. I thought it was one of the most exciting restaurants I've ever been to. As I was leaving, I spotted Brian Miller, then the restaurant critic of The New York Times, and sure enough several weeks later, Miller's rave about Portland's burgeoning restaurant scene was one of the first to recognize the city's emerging dining excellence. Ivy Manning, my food writer friend here thinks it is one of two outstanding restaurants (the other being Ned Judd) to open this year. I still have a lot of restaurant visits to assess if this is true. Zeffiro's, alas, is no more. I've only had pizza in the Blue Hour cocktail lounge--nice but not enough to assess it's overall quality. I had nice dinner at Saucebox, but it happened on an evening where I had been to a long outdoor barbecue, and I was hardly in the mood for a big Saturday night restaurant meal. But I had the distinct impression that this was a long-running restaurant had jumped the shark. There was nothing wrong with the place. It just had a "been there, done that" vibe.

But Ivy and I share a kind of similar sensibility--she's a distinctly downtown type of foodie. Neither of us warms up to pretentiousness. So I looked forward to going to dinner there and on Saturday, I got the chance. John Baker arranged a dinner group of five on the busiest restaurant night of the week. I hate going to dinner on Saturday night, or at least I had become sick to death of dining out on Saturday night in New York. Not for me. But Portland is strange. I went to Foster Burger at 9:45 on a Friday night and it was deserted. People lined up at 5:00 PM, but at 10:00 PM, they're closed. ON A FRIDAY NIGHT! I've been to lots of nice restaurants in this town, but I never suffer the anxiety of worrying if a restaurant will honor my reservation, which is pretty much a given in most restaurants in New York.

We had a prime-time reservation on Saturday and arrived as the din was at its highest. Two of the five of us were already there, and seated--none of this "we won't seat your party until you're all here" nonsense that is an institutionalized given in New York. As the hostess took us to our table, I had a chance to take the place in. Dark green walls, light pine paneling here and there, exposed air and heat ducts, and very tall ceilings. Every surface was hard which explained the loud din in the dining room of this very small restaurant. Okay, we would have an evening of shouting, I concluded. At the table we poured over the cocktails menu, which I usually skip. But I love cocktails these days, and Grüner's offerings are very tempting. I tried a Zeitgeist--a combination of gin, Cinzano rosso and something called Pelinkovic Croation herbal. It is somewhat reminiscent of a Negroni. A friend ordered Atlas, which combined Calvados, House Spirits Rum, Cointreau, and Angostura bitters. The Golden Rule is a mixture of Kentucky straight bourbon, something called Barenjaeger honey liquer, Dolinblan blanc and Underberg bitters. These were inventive, fun cocktails that got the evening off to a big start. We decided on the charcutrie sampler that we could graze on as we sipped our cocktails. The plate included very thin slices of speck, Hungarian salami, spicy coppa, liverwurst canape, and venison terrine, all of excellent quality. The waiter brought us a basket of breads that included a wonderful pretzel bread, which had the chewy quality of a bagel with salt, and rustic biscuits and a dark sliced bread to enjoy with the salumaria. Meanwhile, we searched the menus. I had to order the choucroute, because I have a wonderfully embarrassing story about choucroute.

Maryann and I were in Paris for ten days in 1994. She kept mispronouncing the Tuileries, which was near our hotel. I said nothing until about the fifth time and finally--arrogantly--corrected her. She was cool on the outside, but secretly biding her time. She was going to get me. And when she did, it was spectacular. Years before Sara Keene asked me to help her with her 10th wedding anniversary dinner. One of the dishes on the menu for this large party--at least 40 people were there--was choucrute garni, which she (being from Fort Worth, TX) pronounced 'shookraut', I had never heard of this dish of sauerkraut with sausages, smoked pork, bacon and potatoes. So back to Paris. Maryann and I went to a restaurant and there was Choucroute on the menu. I had to order it. I said, "I'll have the 'shookraut," I said to the waitress. "You mean shoocruute," she replied. Suddenly Maryann woke up and said "Aha! Gotcha!" Well touché! Okay sidebar over.

We ordered starters. Three of us grabbed the Grüner salad. While one of us ordered the beet-ricotta dumplings with poppy seeds and the final starter was a Frisee salad with artisanal ham, Gruyere cheese, toasted walnuts, chives and a creamy mustard vinaigrette. The Grüner salad was amazing "entree" sized mix of romaine, gruyere (though not listed on the menu), carrots, shaved fennel, pencil-thin slices of raw chiogga beets, celery, sunchokes (never saw them in the salad), chickweed, sunflower seeds and pretzel croutons. The salad could have easily been shared. As we enthusiastically consumed everything in those big bowls, I asked the waitress what vinegar was in the salad dressing. She startled me by saying "red wine." The hand that made this vinaigrette was extremely judicious. The salad was compulsively edible, and it was in no smart part due to the subtlety of this superb vinaigrette. The beet-ricotta dumplings were gossamer-light--really extraordinary.

The wine list is expensive and I struggled to find something that was affordable on then menu. I settled on a Riesling, which was the least expensive on the menu at $36. It turned out to be an inspired choice-dry, crisp, and slightly sweet but with a wonderfully arid finish and it perfectly complimented the "Alpine" food.

Which leads me to the "choucroute garni," which was a little bland. Not that all the elements weren't tasty--they were. But Choucroute is a homey, raw-boned amalgam of smoked, and cured meats, sharp sauerkraut and with juniper berries, gentled by boiled potatoes. This refined "restaurant" version's best element was the superb bratwurst. The house-cured pork tenderloin was a bit bland, though beautifully cooked with a rosy interior. The belly bacon added some smoke. The house-made bratwurst was superb. It was the sauerkraut that let me down a bit--it was rich, fatty, tender and bland. I didn't try the short ribs, which one friend ordered declaring it rich and satisfying and the dumplings that came with it looked the soul of comfort food. We finished the meal with an order of a fine poached pear in a soup of vanilla cream, and a sampler plate of delicious house-made cookies with coffee.

The service is excellent, and I especially liked our waitress's low-key, friendly and attentive manner. I'd like to try the rabbit or the duck the next time I'm there. My muted enthusiasm may be due to the fact Grüner's hybrid "Alpine" fare doesn't excite me in the same way Italian, French and Chinese cuisines do. It does demonstrate Portland's continuously warm embrace of many types of food.

PRESIDENT OBAMA HAS SOOTHED MY EASILY RATTLED NERVES

Supreme Court's New Robes

Prior to President Obama's State of the Union Speech and then his utterly brilliant appearance before the Republicans at their annual retreat in Baltimore, I was in a high state if anxiety. The president wasn't standing up to the bankers and Wall Street. He was letting the national health care bill be whittled away by a Congress intent on getting as much pork or political kickback at the expense of the American people. Where was the guy I thought I had voted for? Why all this political navel-gazing and no action. To the relief of all my friends, who run for the hills whenever I go on one of my hair-on-fire political rants, I'm happy to say I'm calm. President Obama has been kicking well-deserved political butt. He admonished the Supreme Court's 5/4 ruling permitting corporations to advertise their political beliefs. He acknowledged that he's hearing what's going in people's minds, and even threw a bone to gay voters by promising to begin to reverse "Don't Ask/Don't Tell" which keeps gay military personnel firmly in the closet.

But it was President Obama's superbly assured presence in front of his very vocal Republican opponents that made me think there might be hope for us after all. While many of those asking Obama questions used the opportunity to grandstand, he rightly chastised them without resorting to Reagan's old "there you go again," or Bush 43's smirk. He told the assembled throng that he has adopted their best ideas into the health plan which isn't that much different than the previously suggested Baker/Dashle (there's a third senator here, but I'm forgetting his name at the moment) plan and said that he was shocked over the current plan's reception where it is being met on the Republican side as "some sort of Bolshevik plot." He made it clear that he wasn't going to adopt any plan that said 'our way or the highway.' And he cautioned all the demonizing on both sides, which made it very difficult to negotiate credibly. Obama was never more presidential, gracious, humorous or reassuring.

Then last night I caught the first of a two-part meeting between Jon Stewart and Bill O'Reilly on his "The O'Reilly Report," and as I wrote to a friend this morning: "I think Stewart's observation that Fox "cyclotronic" delivery of the day's news, elevating some of that news to panic mode," is right on. O'Reilly's lack of a real sense of humor plus his tendency to bully, was undone by Stewart's humor and his refusal to be bullied without resorting to yelling. It makes O'Reilly look scary, sanctimonious (in his desperate attempts to paint Fox as fair and balanced while characterizing Obama's supporters as slackers), and petty." More importantly it showed that Stewart is not in lockstep with the president and has some real concerns that don't toe the party line. In other words, he is as thoughtful as he is funny, and they don't come funnier than Jon Stewart does these days. Even Dennis Miller (oy what a creepy, snarkey, uncomic guy this man is!) concedes that there's more than a touch of Dave Garroway in Stewart, in a segment afterwards.

Looking forward to Part II. Not that I'm betting on good manners, and logical thinking to prevail in Washington and someone will do something stupid soon to get my blood boiling all over again.

I was thinking of all the Grammy Awards fuss in relation to a very brief appearance by Norah Jones toward the end of the evening. I found I enjoyed Lady Gaga a great deal and her performance with Elton John was as delightful as it was respectful. But I truly felt sorry for Stevie Nicks having to sing one of her hits with Taylor Swift who couldn't hit a note on pitch if her life depended upon it and got a real kick in the ass about it the next day. Suddenly I see her record label defending her and blaming the media and public for elevating her and then delighting in tearing her down. I think Taylor Swift has the good will of the press and her fans. She got criticized for singing poorly and deservedly so. Her voice, to my way of thinking is beside of the point. It's a slender, fragile non-voice in the classic Suzanne Vega mold. It doesn't undermine her skills as a songwriter, but as a performer, it does expose her to people who are sensitive to the niceties of timbre, pitch, power, the ability to color her voice to the emotional needs of the song. And I'm afraid she fails in those basic elements of a singer's art. Now back to Norah Jones. I thought her first album, which was a massive success, was a snore. But last fall she released her third studio recording "The Fall," and it's a winner. The songs are wonderful, memorable, and she's reaching for a new maturity. Her voice has acquired a new depth and I've played it a lot. There isn't a monotonous moment in it.

I'm often at a loss with rock music, but Dave Matthews appearance singing the anthem, "You and Me," was also a highlight. I downloaded his latest album and I must say, it's terrific! Now if only someone would make a good R&B album. It's too long between John Legend CDs.

For any of you cabaret lovers, Rebecca Luker's new CD "Greenwich Time," is a great, great, great experience. Ms. Luker unleashes her very pure soprano and sure dramatic grasp on a clutch of contemporary songs that defies description. There is a great deal of warmth and depth to her singing and I'll play this one over and over again. She also includes "In a very unusual way," from NINE. Luker joined the cast of the last Broadway revival of NINE near the end of Antonio Banderas' run and her singing of this gorgeous and rather under-performed ballad, was the highlight of the evening.

While many of you are still coping with blustery, cold days back East, it's overcast and often rainy in Portland with steady mid-40s temperatures. I must bring my camera with me on one of Beau and my walks to show how early spring seems to come to Portland. I'm envious of other gardeners who will have the first daffodils, crocuses, hyacinths, and then tulips as early as the end of this month. I'm anxious to have rose bushes for which the city of Portland is famous as the rose capital of the country.

The Robins; Spring is Here!

Yesterday it poured all day long. Beau wouldn't go out at all. I had to pick him up and put him down in the back yard for his morning business, but by 4:30, he wasn't having it at all. I was at work on my computer in the dining room when I heard a commotion in the the back yard. I've been reporting that the Robins wait until they think holly berries have fermented and then attack the berries, popping many in their beaks and swallowing them. The berries make them drunk and they misbehave. In four days they stripped my holly bush clean. I went into the park and found all the holly bushes there stripped. It was fascinating. I went out to take photos, but the bird fly around so fast I couldn't get a really good picture. But here's the holly bush laden with berries and after four days, totally green holly bush and the birds are hovering in a neighbor's house. It's like a Hitchcock movie here!

El Nino means we have a very mild winter, and so while walking in the park or checking out my neighbor's shrubs and bushes, I see that everything is budding in the neighborhood. I was in the park this afternoon and saw a shrub beginning to bloom. At this rate, we're poised to have the longest summer on record! Bring it on!

For those who didn't see it, my cookbook blog got a nice plug in the Los Angeles Times (http://www.latimes.com/sns-food-books-for-cooks,0,4970366.story) on Sunday. An interview I did about my list of the best cookbooks published in 2009, for a Kentucky paper has been widely syndicated and made it into the Los Angeles Times. That really impressed me. Hope to continue to get more PR for my blog and expand my readership.

A PERFECT FRIDAY

Cabin fever got a hold of me yesterday something fierce. I'd been cooped up all week long. My phone rang round noontime. It was my friend, Mike, calling in a celebratory mood (I can't say why yet) and wanting to see a movie and maybe have some dinner. "Sign me up," I said. I haven't been to a movie in ages. I'm like some old fart who finds it easier to Netflix hit the On Demand red button on my TV remote. We had no trouble agreeing on seeing George Clooney in UP IN THE AIR. We also decided to check out Foster Burger, the fairly recent culinary brainchild of Portland's popular Pok Pok owner and the chef of the high end Sel Gris.

I hated JUNO. I thought Jason Reitman had delivered a movie that screamed INDIE. Overly cute, this is dark comedy with its head up its ass. When Juno comes home and announces to her parents that she's pregnant, their response was insane. Can you really believe your parents would have reacted to the new by saying, "Oh thank god, we thought it was drugs!" And would you really give away a child to a woman as clueless as Jennifer Garner's character was in this movie? All she is thinking of is having a baby. She never notices her husband isn't on board with this at all--she's just in la-la land about motherhood. Totally unbelievable movie, despite the charm of Ellen Page's Juno.

The ending of UP IN THE AIR leaves a slight sense of dissatisfaction. But then again, I have a need for tidy endings, so maybe I'm not being entirely fair. No matter. UP IN THE AIR is about as wonderful a movie as I've seen in ages. George Clooney delivers a performance to set beside THREE KINGS and OUT OF SIGHT. He's just perfect as Ryan Bingham, the guy hired to fire people in America's rapidly crumbling corporate world. I wonder why so many of us think of Clooney as our contemporary Cary Grant. Yes he is impossibly handsome, with his salt and pepper gray hair, soulful eyes and easy, likable screen presence. And there's that seductive bass voice of his. But Grant's reputation rests mostly on a gallery of effortless comedies, some good and some terrible. Grant rarely showed how good his acting chops were and he endured for decades and decades. Early in his film career, it looked like Clooney would have gone the way of Grant--and sometimes I have wondered why he hasn't taken on more romantic comedies, which could certainly use his effortless charm. Oddly enough, he's tanked in romantic comedies genre in duds opposite Michele Pfeiffer and Catherine Zeta-Jones. He has, however, scored very big in the dumb Oceans franchise playing suave to a T. But Clooney has increasingly asked us to take him seriously in a clutch of astutely picked films, and it has paid off some handsome dividends with SYRIANA and GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK. I've never seen him more in command of the material he's given here and it makes him even more likable, more handsome more watchable. Does that mean it's George Clooney the actor or the movie star? I'm not sure. On more than one occasion Clooney has reminded me of James Garner, woefully underused in the movies, but a guy who artfully uses his handsome presence on screen in romantic, or tough, or comedic roles who can fly from silly to grave as the situation warrants. You're always aware it's Clooney (or Garner), but they are always a pleasure to watch and that's not easy.

The whole cast of UP IN THE AIR is spectacular. I loved Vera Farmiga's Alex and Anna Kendrick's smugly young Natalie grabs you the minute she enters and doesn't let go. This diminutive dynamo should be given every opportunity. A big young talent.

Jason Reitman gave a terrible suck-up speech at the Golden Globes this year, and it may be a key to some lapses in his movies. UP IN THE AIR is miles better than JUNOT, but for me the end is a bit of a letdown. I'm not going to spoil it here. And I don't at all mean to suggest you shouldn't see it. Obviously Reitman can handle actors (both Jason Bateman and J.K. Simmons from JUNOT have roles here), and his screenplay is sharp and dazzling. The sexy zingers going back and forth between Clooney and Farmiga left the audience laughing and panting at the same time--who writes clever dialogue like this anymore?

Afterwards, we went to Foster Burger, a fairly new joint out in the no-man's land of SE Foster and 52nd Avenue. I say no man's land because across the street is an adult movie store and a seedy massage parlor--a strange place for a burger with the kind of pedigree that shouts the Pearl District. Foster Burger is co-owned by Chef Daniel Mondok (Sel Gris) and restaurateur Andy Ricker (Pok Pok), two of the biggest culinary stars in Portland. It's got a divey vibe. We got there around 9:15 last night and the place was just winding down (they close at 10, and apparently are packed at 8:00).

There is a fair selection of beer to choose from but only a syrah and a chardonnay for wine. The menu is short and mostly smart. What you want here is the burger (there is a lamb, fish and mushroom burgers for the finicky) and fries. You can order it for extra $ with chick cu bacon or sharp cheddar cheese (our choices), bleu cheese, a fried egg or caramelized onions. And there is a daily soup choice and salads (does a dive really need a chopped salad that includes such pretentious additions as chicken confit, radicchio and pork belly lardons?).

The burger is spectacular. Beefy and augmented with back fat, this char grilled patty is perfect. The bacon and sharp cheddar are in ideal balance. For once a so-called fancy burger isn't an overstuffed mess that falls apart in your hands (though you do need more than one napkin to contain all the good juices running down your fingers and arms) The sesame seed roll is delicious--soft but with body enough to hold hold everything including lettuce, house-made pickles, onion and Foster's secret sauce. The accompanying fries were also first rate--crunchy, slightly salty, with soft potatoey interiors. I don't eat burgers very often, but this is an exceptional burger.

Our waitress didn't tell us there were specials, which I noticed on a board over the kitchen near the bar. There was a hot dog that included a chorizo sausage, and fried pig's ears, a bit strange to me. They also have truffled fries, which seems like gilding the lily to me.

Foster Burger's makes one helluva great burger. It perfectly capped of a perfect Friday movie night which even Portland's famed rain couldn't put a dent in.

I called a friend this morning who travels all over the world in search of birds. The reason I called is that the last four days, hundreds of robins have been invading my backyard holly bush, eating all the red berries, and acting strangely. I had never seen this before. Tom, my birding friend said it is very common. The robins wait, somehow knowing that the berries have reached a kind of fermentation stage and attack the holly bushes, gobbling up the berries, which make them drunk. It's a riot to see them besotted on fermented berries, attempting to fly. Lots of loop-de-loops, near mid-air crashes, ruffled, unsmoothed feathers, and bird brawls ensue. Every time I reach for my camera, they scatter.

My friend Michael Smith, who is a talented photograph took this shot of me at my laptop in my dining room during a visit to visit his step-son and family in Eugene. I like Michael's compositional eye and his fidelity to black and white photos with crisp white borders. It's so retro it looks entirely new!

A NATIONAL HEALTH CARE PLAN DEAD ONCE AGAIN

POLITICS AT THE SKIN-DEEP BEST!

Scott Brown, senator-elect from Massachusetts in a 1982 Cosmopolitan Magazine Centerfold

I've spent the better part of the week out of my mind for the first time since George Bush's sorry presidency despondent over the fact Martha Coakley's astounding loss of Senator Edward Kennedy's senate seat. Ms. Coakley's loss is due, we are told to her to her sheer incompetence. But I just heard from a politically astute friend of mine from Boston who said one of the reasons she faltered so badly in the election was that her campaign had run out of money. When she went to the Democratic party for money, she was turned down. Her numbers were too good

While Scott Brown, her rival and winner of the seat reached out to independent voters and Tea Baggers and other lunatic fringe to snatch the prize, thereby squandering a hard-fought Democratic lead in the Senate. In all likelihood, we've just handed ourselves the defeat of yet another national health care bill. Massachusetts voters with their short memories, are either too ignorant or too stupid to realize that our current economic woes, double-digit unemployment, staggering debt, record home foreclosures, and an endless war in the Middle East can be laid directly at the door of George Bush. Yet Republicans have managed to successfully place the blame squarely on shoulders of Barak Obama. There is fault on every side. Obama should stop being bi-partisan. The Republicans are obscene obstructionists who don't care about the greater good of the country. Instead of a handshake, our president should bitch slap the entire country into reality, placing the blame for this squarely where it belongs--with Republicans and rouse the population with his brilliant oratory skills to demand change. Where is the plan to put Americans back to work repairing our infrastructure, or rebuilding our energy futures, which would also put people back to work? Where is our health care bill which would also help fix our broken economy? All three plans have been killed by Republicans. Even if Congress had the balls to shove the plan they have put in place now, what would we be getting. There's no transparency and Congress has been busy with backroom deals that will probably render the plan useless to most. President Obama has wasted too much time allowing Congress to create this bill rather than writing his own and just as he's wasted time reigning in the banks and Wall Street from the excesses that put us in this mess.

Americans have the shortest memories. They don't bother to find out the real truth even when it is staring in their faces. They are susceptible to lies which they are fed by the media. They are far more interested in celebrity culture than they are in reality. It's a lot more interesting to them to focus purely on celebrity foibles such as Tiger Woods. They simply cannot rouse themselves to demand health care, jobs and an end to gridlock in Washington. Meanwhile Congress simply puts ideology in front of every consideration and ignoring the fact that they are being paid to do the bidding of the voters, and not the special interests. The system is hopelessly broken.

The media, owned by powerful corporations, has been effectively muzzled. They are having their own survival problems which has cut back on coverage and the same players are chasing down the same limited number of stories, ignoring others that are considered hopelessly complicated or not sexy enough to cover.

Hillary Clinton made the mistake of assuming she was a shoo-in to be the Democratic candidate for presidency. Martha Coakley has now made the same mistake. Candidates would do well not to take anything for granted.

I hope my long-suffering friends who groan about my political rants will continue to indulge me. I care deeply about these things. Some of my friends tell me I'm over-reacting. Some think I shouldn't give up on America. But I've seen little to be optimistic about in our modern age. And it's not a function of my aging. It's a sense that we've lost touch with what's important for everyone and not just a privileged few. We've been encouraged to indulge in our own personal tribalism--us vs. them, ethnic, religious or sexual differences. And we've added a layer of politicalization, liberal vs. conservative. It's a recipe for disaster because nothing gets done. Worse, I'm afraid most people are too political stupid (forget ignorant) and can be persuaded to change their opinions on issues depending on who is talking to them at any given moment. When Obama was running for President, a national health care bill was one of the reasons he's got elected. So what happened in a year? The Republicans had a field day demonizing health care while Democrats dithered over abortion, coverage for undocumented immigrants and the public option (which the media declared to be dead one day and a priority the next).

In the meantime, here's an old photo of Scott Brown. Now you tell me why this guy got elected?One friend described his win as the same as Obama's. People are sick of old and they will take a chance on something completely different. Obama showed on the stump what he was made of.

Meanwhile it's about 50 degrees here and the sun has decided to make an appearance. Out of nowhere has come a tribe of Robins who attacked the red berries on my holly tree in the back yard. I watched fascinated as they plucked the berries one-after-the-other. They're having field day out there right now. Thanks god nature has the ability to calm me down. No matter what is going on "out there," I can look into my back yard and forget about how strange and dumb the world truly is.

Redemption Through Haiti; Fuming in the Rain

The Daily Beast, Tiny Brown's news blog had two fascinating stories, both involving Haiti and both the redemption of two men seeking forgiveness at the expense of this country's terrible woes. First "Baby Doc" Duvalier, the military strong arm who is credited with thousands of deaths during his reign of terror and excess in Haiti, which he fled from twenty-five years ago along with the country's treasury, now wants to give an $8 million trust established in his mother's name (and which he has no control over) to Haitian relief efforts. The story says that the Swiss bank which controls this trust, is unlikely to do his bidding. So an empty gesture.

Then in another item buried at the bottom of The Daily Beast home page is the news that Tiger Woods has pledged $3 million in support of Haitian relief. This was leaked by Russell Simmons, presumably a friend? This has a whiff of a PR campaign aimed at restoring Tiger's shattered public image. Rather than feeling good about his generous offer, it seems that Haiti is once again being used to improve the lot of someone else. Otherwise why leak the news of this offer to the public via Russell Simmons?

And while we're the subject of Haiti, I'd like to know how that big, fat blowhard, Rush Limbaugh, uses his money in support of charitable causes. He criticizes Obama's support of Haitian relief making incredibly insensitive and tone-deaf remarks that we already give to Haiti in the form of taxes. So what does Rush Limbaugh do to "give back to the little people"? I only ever see him chomping expensive cigars and living large in big houses and on a big boats (well something has to support that big, fat, bloated frame of his). This odious pile of blubber and bluster makes millions from his bully pulpit picking on people much smaller than he will ever be. Rush Limbaugh is indefensible on any level. He is about as Christian as the Black Plague, and ought to be declared by an act of Congress, a national disgrace. For my birthday, I'd love for someone in my name, or in the name of a grateful nation to build a glass silence chamber and entomb Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter and Pat Robertson together in perpetuity. They should have able to be seen by the public arguing, and screaming in silence as they are passed by, ignored by everyone. Perhaps for Rush's redemption, he could do his show live from Port-au-Prince, so we could witness what the suffering people of Haiti really think of him.

I think at this point, I'm really going to have to get serious about getting a car. Last night I had two social items on my calendar, both of which are not too far from my home. But it rained most of yesterday--a steady, unwavering medium-weight shower. But armed with my Trimet Planners, I could take buses to my destinations. Starting out at 4:30 for the first appointment, and following directions, My promised 36 minute trip turned into an hour and 10-minutes and took me through four different neighborhoods. As I boarded a connecting bus, I asked the driver, "do you do stop at SE 32nd Ave. and Rex."

"Nope."

"But your bus sign says via 32nd and Rex," I replied.

"I don't stop there," he mumbled.

"So how do I get to 32nd and Rex? The Trimet schedule tells me this is the bus I need to take," I countered, becoming testy.

"That another #19 bus," he grunted.

"How the hell am I supposed to know the difference?" I was now morphing back into my old belligerent New York persona.

The upshot here is that there are two #19 buses, neither one marked to differentiate their routes. And I was saddled with a bus driver who could have cared less (to be fair to Portland bus drivers, I've experienced mostly courtesy and a genuine desire to help). I got off his bus and waited for the next # 19. I arrived at my destination relatively dry and was fortified with two glasses of an excellent French chardonnay before proceeding to my next appointment. Armed with my schedule, I headed for the bus stop. I had timed it for a wait of no longer than 15 minutes. I waited and waited and waited and no bus. At 6:40, I called my friends to send a taxi. But my hostess insisted on coming to rescue me. Five minutes later the bus arrived. The driver, another mono-syllabic moron, couldn't explain the delay when I asked her why the bus schedules show a bus due every fifteen minutes. "Sir, I'm only the bus driver." Clearly this was an indication of the way our taxes are being spent.

Transportation-wise, it wasn't my night, though both social engagements were very pleasurable. I've been trying not to extend my "energy footprint" in Portland and yes the choices of subway, bus or taxi made me fleetingly nostalgic for New York. It seems to me that Portland's Trimet management could offer a more realistic schedule. If your schedule says 15 minutes, then mean 20. If it says 30 minutes between buses, than mean 35.

I took a pear pie with me for dessert (actually, my hostess picked it up that afternoon so I wouldn't have to schlep it in the rain). The Bosc pears were still hard when I peeled them, so I melted some butter and sugar and sliced the pears and sauteed them in this mixture until the pears became a golden color and the butter and sugar caramelized. I left them to cool with fair amount of freshly grated nutmeg and the zest of an orange before adding them to the crust. At the last minute I realized I need another pear. So I sliced up my last pear in thinner pieces and added it to the pie. My friends were raving before I had a chance to sink my fork into a slice (I had arrived late, so they had all eaten, and I was trying to catch up). I must say the combination of the cooked pears with the slices of raw which were less cooked in the pie, made for an interesting texture. Both were fully cooked but at different degrees of doneness. There was less "juice" and the pre-cooking of the pears had set the sugar and butter into a nice thickness. I have to say in all immodesty--it was a great pie!

It's always instructive to compare grocery shopping between the coasts. The various style of meat cuts and preparations are fascinating. For instance: I couldn't find turkey parts to make stock at Thanksgiving. The markets here sell sliced or ground turkey breast only. It drove me nuts. I finally found turkey wings at New Seasons market. Blade chuck roasts are cut thick and make for wonderful stews and braises. In the east, we get thin, unappetizing cuts of chuck blades sold as "steaks," which is the worst thing you would ever want to eat because this cut very tough. When I first arrived in New York, I saw boneless chicken breasts for the first time and was fascinated by them. They didn't exist in California at that time. In Portland, I have encountered freshly ground chicken thighs, which alone or with the addition of sausage, make for an excellent meatloaf. Italian sausage here has been disappointing in flavor. I don't know why. This week I discovered "pork cubed steaks," a variation on the classic beef cubed steak, for the first time. I bought two small ones, and decided to prepare them like the classic Italian breaded veal cutlet, fried and then showered with a cold salad of endive and tomato in a vinaigrette. The combination of hot breaded cutlet with the cool chopped salad made for a mighty tasty meal.

I found a demo on YouTube for making homemade red wine vinegar. I've got a jar brewing on my kitchen window sill. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Backyard photo taken from my kitchen back door around 7:00 AM during a two-day

dry spell from the rain. Beautiful. Makes me realize why I'm here.

Message to Conan, Leno, Zucker and Mark: BOO!

Big whoops...Mark McGwire has admitted he took steroids. Gosh I'm shocked. But now he wants us to feel sorry for him. He's sorry he did it, but even more outrageous, he says they didn't enhance his performance, he took them for health reasons. Okay, I'll bite. What health reasons? Doctor's certificate, please. That's like Tiger trying to convince us he didn't have sex with those women. Let's be clear here. He's going into spring training. St. Louis wants him, but they also don't want the distraction of the press hounding the team over a more-than-decade old story. McGwire says he didn't reveal his steroid use to protect his family. Has this guy no shame?

I'm not sure what the deal was over the Tonight show, but it seems to be that Leno wanted to step down. So they gave his hosting duties over to Conan, who had to wait six long years (for which I'm sure he was given lots of extra cash to tie him up for that long). The deadline looms, and sure enough, Leno's not happy that he's stepping aside. As I recall, his wife wanted him home more, or something like that. Leon whines at the network, whose fortunes by now have plummeted from the high of Seinfeld, Friends and ER. The network is about to be placed on the market. General Electric isn't happy about the profits and other divisions are tanking. Ever the corporate hero, Jeff Zucker thinks he can save the network millions in the wake of ER's cancellation. He gives Leno an hour of prime time. It's a helluva lot cheaper than a hugely expensive scripted series like ER. So game in place, the everything is hunky dory until Leno and Conan tank in the ratings. Leno, who came out swinging when he took over for Carson, dominating Letterman at CBS and Aresenio Hall at Fox (anybody remember Arsenio?), lost his mojo at 10 pm. Tonight is not a prime time show, even with the name change. People still want a good show to send them to bed or to the news and then bed. People changed the channel in droves and NBC affiliates watched their lucrative ad revenues for their local news programs (once a major source of their income) plummet. And Conan had seven months to prove he was no Leno. Now he's whining he got screwed. Being a talk show host is lot harder than being funny. Just ask Joan Rivers, Regis Philbin, Joey Bishop, and others who have failed to find an audience after the news. Meanwhile as one friend says the Tonight show franchise, once a ratings and financial juggernaut for NBC has been tarnished.

I do love the fact that President Obama is even thinking of levying a tax on the banks which is supposed to help pay down the deficit and deter the banks from making risky mistakes in the future, but I fear that it won't pass and the banks and investment banks will live another day to screw us.

On a lighter note I had lunch with my food buddy, Ivy Manning today at a restaurant she's telling me will probably be in a run-off for a best restaurant of the year in Portland--Nedd Ludd. Located in the Northeast part of the city this rustic restaurant serves wonderful food in a very relaxed setting--a kind of hangar where you might service a small airplanes. Once the site of a pizza parlor that apparently served terrible pizza, the restaurant retained it's gorgeous brick oven where most of the cooking is done. We had an amazingly simple meal. I chose the charcuterie board of sliced cured meats such as a fennel sopprasata, speck, and prosciutto, along with a small pork of warmed pork rillettes, and a crispy rasher of bacon, some pickled pears, fresh slices of apple, and Marcona almonds, served with a sliced and toasted dark bread. This was a fascinating lunch where you could graze to your heart's content on meat! Ivy had a superb collection of roasted vegetables, including succulent wide slivers of herb-roasted yellow pepper, whole cippollini, cauliflower (my personal favorite), Brussels sprouts with rice, a Raita-like yogurt sauce. I took a bite of the Brussels sprouts which had just come from the brick oven. The smell of the roasted vegetables was intoxicating. Nursing a bad cold (which turned out to be bronchitis), Ivy sipped green tea, while I chose a Lapsang souchong black tea in sympathy (I don't drink alcohol at lunch). I met Jason French, the co-owner of the restaurant (that's the photo of the inked guy next to his brick oven). Apparently lunch is a lot less hectic than dinner, which suited me fine.

Ivy's a splendid cookbook writer, freelance food journalist and former chef, and she's taken me under her wing, showing me about the ins and outs of the Portland food world. We find we agree on most things culinary. She's married to Gregor, a wonderful guy who happens to be a superb photographer (he does all the color photography for her books). She affectionately calls him Mr. Tofu, because he is pretty much a vegetarian (he does eat fish), which is one of the reasons she wrote her last book, THE ADAPTABLE FEAST, in which she provides wonderful recipes and ideas for people in mixed-diet households (omnivores, vegetarians and vegans).

Last week I had dinner with Carol and Sarah, two old friends from my early New York days. Both outstanding musicians (Carol was the former chorus master of the Portland Opera; Sarah a fine violinist who teaches and play with local groups out here). They like a place in the NW area of the city near Carol's apartment, called Cafe Nell. The place has a bistro feel to it--cozy, neighborhoody and inviting. It was cold and Carol and I decided we wanted a warming glass of Merlot and ordered the house version, which was just fine. Service is attentive here (as it is in most restaurants in Portland). It's a relaxed and we were in no hurry. The food is up and down. I had nice lamb shank perfectly cooked and tender, but it was served on a gluey mash of potato and parsnips (a good combination) which only could have happened in a food processor--a no-no with mashed potatoes. Carol had a dish of thinly sliced beef and carrots that looked a bit wan, and it was an absurdly generous portion. Later Sarah told me she was disappointed in her seafood stew of whole shrimp, scallops in a saffron broth with rice. My bite said one thing--bland. Sarah likes to finish dinners out with a Sambucca which she ordered. The glass that arrived had a really unpleasant alcohol smell that overpowered the liqueur and is tasted that way. Real Sambucca was not in evidence--it was clearly a "house" brand. None of us were in the mood to call the restauarant out over these gaffes, but I won't return. Too bad. A front-of-house crew got done in by the kitchen and a management decision to deceive their customers about the alcohol they serve. Not a good idea of you're a neighborhood restaurant.

Got a bit nostalgic for New York as I have spoken with Maryann yesterday, and Karole and Laurele today. Poor things are locked in a city gripped by a cold snap. And it's January. Too bad. It's not bad at all here today. In fact Steve, my handyman came by to install a railing in my basement stairway and a smaller one for the steps from the dining room to the garden. Now I can get my insurance company off my back.