The Monogram

Carmel-by-the-Sea

Here is the great idea that I presented to Billy recently. We were coming up on a non-significant anniversary (not one of those number of years divided by five). So I thought it would be cool to buy monogrammed aprons to celebrate. Now, have I mentioned somewhere along the line that Billy and I cook together? I mean, we cook together a lot. He is Casa Healy's sous chef extraordinaire. Believe me, no one can prep food, including slicing, chopping, and shredding like this man. He is also an excellent bartender, and an ace barbecue chef to boot. What is it that Rita Rudner says about barbecuing? That men will cook if danger is involved. That's Billy -- give him sharp tools, booze, and fire, and he is all in.

Unfortunately, not so in on the apron idea. He even used the "i" word -- something to the effect of "Are you insane? Why would I want an apron?" So I pretty much dropped the idea for the time being. Billy can get a little cranky at times, and the "i" word is one of his favorites when, in his view, people are not seeing eye to "i" with him. I let this roll off my back because it's also meant to be funny, in a weird, hyperbolic way.

Besides, I knew I wasn't insane. Not by a long shot. You see, there is a store here in Carmel that sells yummy, luxurious french linens which can be personalized with embroidery in a myriad of ways. You can find out about this marvelous store here. I always go there when I am in Carmel, and have often bought kitchen towels as gifts for friends. But I've never acquired any of the linens for myself. OK, so maybe my mistake was trying to loop Billy into this transaction.

Looping Lydia into this transaction is another story altogether, however! For a little backstory, I must ask you to remember or review my post entitled The Sisterhood of the Traveling Scarves (available right here, for free!). Because once again, Lydia and Debra came to Carmel. And what a time we had. We spent a girlfriend day lounging around in robes at The Spa at Pebble Beach. We shopped a lot (or Lydia did, anyway, as she's our resident pro). They even shopped while I went to Mass on Sunday. We ate, I drank (they're such lightweights), and they took me out twice including one night to La Bicyclette where we had some pretty fine pizza, and some very fine pinot. And in the midst of all this frister fun, I mentioned the aprons. Then, I took them to the store to check out said aprons.

Lydia? Where's Lydia? She circled the store maybe once, eventually zeroing in on the aprons. Soon she had selected one she liked and began looking at the various images that could be embroidered on it. Now, before we go on to that, I must provide the back story that Lydia came late to the cooking party. Last summer, she made a commitment to begin cooking in earnest at her home. Her son had returned from college to attend law school, so she would be cooking daily for at least three. And she has taken this endeavor very seriously, even with some chatter lately about taking cooking classes. So, not to belabor the point, an apron was right up her alley (also right up Billy's, but as I've relented why am I going on about this, I ask you?).

Lydia was momentarily stymied by the choices of iconic images that she could have embroidered on her chosen apron. She could have had lobsters, or olives, or grapes, or herbs, or any of a variety of vegetables and fruits. She could have chosen a whisk, or a few sprigs of lavender. She had scores of options, and she seemed stumped. So I suggested a monogram, showing her one that I thought was pretty, with the initials written in script.

"Oh!" she said, as I handed her the apron with the monogram. I could tell she was considering it.

"Let's see, you would have the large "O" in the middle," I pointed out (obviously, Lydia's last name begins with an O. Duh.).

"What's your middle initial?" I continued.

"L."

"L?"

"Yeah, it's L."

Pregnant pause.

"Are you telling me that your monogram is L-O-L?"

"Yeah."

"No-o-o-o . . ."

"Yeah, it is," she said, smiling, as this had inexplicably never occured to her.

"Are you kidding me?"

A novice cook, with a family frankly surprised that she has taken this on and is making many things "from scratch." And . . . wait for it . . . an apron that states L-O-L. You just can't make up stuff like this.

Lydia purchased her apron, choosing a whimsical font for her initials, and it turned out perfectly. And, not to steal the thunder here, but I got one too. One that has olives embroidered on it (appetizer de rigeur at our house and here), and says Casa Healy. I'm hoping that Billy will be envious when he sees it, and perhaps request his own. But not as envious as I am about Lydia's acrynomic monogram.

Alas, the visit of Las Chicas passed too quickly, but not before we managed to laugh ourselves all the way to tears several times. In a store with a collection of wry slogans on magnets, Debra and I needed tissues after a laughing fit. And I know it won't sound funny here (rather mean-spirited, in fact, but what the heck). It was a characture of a middle-aged man and his portly wife. The caption read: Not only are you not the woman I married, but it looks as if you ATE her. OK, we were a bit punchy from an all-day shopping excursion with Lydia, which was, as usual, exhausting, comprehensive, and tons of fun. And, I must say that until you've spent a day like that, with these bright and funny women, you really can't appreciate the meaning of LOL. You must trust me about this. Thank you for reading my blog (and thanks for coming to Carmel, Las Chicas!).

Must You Be So Shellfish?

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

We've been here for a week now, and the best word I can use to describe the experience is . . . cold. We were lucky and missed rain in Carmel, by driving up in the opposite direction of a storm, passing through it that night that we crawled into Santa Barbara. Everyone here in Carmel is overjoyed that the sun has been with us everyday, as they had days of rain before our arrival. And I agree that I would rather not have the rain. We walk several miles most days here, partly along Scenic Drive which fronts the beach, wrapping around the point here. It's stunningly beautiful. So, good on the no rain deal. But did I mention that it's cold?

Coming every year, as we do, we've run the gamut of weather. I can clearly remember that the first year, during the time I was here alone, I walked to the beach to watch the sunset in cargo pants, a short-sleeved tee-shirt and sandals. The amount of times that we have eaten lunch or had cocktails on an outdoor patio is countless. On the other hand, one year we drove into town in the beginning of a power outage which lasted several days. Luckily for us, it was in the other half of the town. Unluckily, that's the half which has all three markets, and when we arrive at the house, the refrigerator is completely, 100% empty. We bring a little bit of food, and enough wine to get us through the first few days (in case of an emergency like this!), but no fresh food. That year we discovered how delicious linguini with oil, garlic, and chopped kalamata olives can be. One year, when I was here with our late Australian Shepherd (see picture of her adorableness right here), it rained for eight days straight. Every time there was a break, and I picked up her leash to take her on a walk, we got as far as the front porch and it began coming down again. It's central coast California. And, it's January. We expect the best and the worst. But this year -- not to put too fine a point on it, did I mention that it's COLD?

So this morning, while anticipating Billy's mom's arrival at Monterey airport, we are trying to make plans for her visit during this frigid spell of weather. Billy wants to take her on the 17-mile drive through Pebble Beach. Let's see, that makes about 17,000 miles on that route accumulated through decades of visits here. Frankly, I'd rather stay home and stick sharp things in my eyes. But I will dutifully, if not cheerfully, join them if that is what they decide. It is beautiful, what with the Del Monte forest conveniently placed right next to the craggy coast. Just watch out for those golf balls soaring overhead. Fore . . .

I hope that we will go to Montrio restaurant which is in a converted fire station in downtown Monterey. We used to go there a lot when we first started coming up to Carmel. I always ordered the same thing. We would share an artichoke. Then, I would have asparagus as my salad. If memory serves, it was bathed in a vinaigrette. My main course was a shellfish appetizer, which I ate with a side of polenta. The polenta was light and custardy, but had a decent crust to it. I, perhaps not too accurately, remember the shellfish, as being crab and clams and mussels in an herby, olive-oily sauce (ingredients of which truly escapes my memory), served in a small cast iron skillet. But I clearly recall raking forkfuls of the polenta through that sauce. It was amazing. After a new chef took over, I could still order it, though it was off the menu. Eventually no one there knew what we were talking about when we tried to order it. And I get that. It was a new chef, a new menu. And, I believe, he is still there. And we do still go. I love the space, and we've continued to have some very good meals there, even if the shellfish appetizer has disappeared.

Meanwhile, a couple of years back, I ran across a recipe from the February 2008 issue of Bon Appetit. It rather reminded me of the shellfish dish from Montrio. Billy was catching a ride back to Carmel with our friends, Gwen and Henry. They were arriving around dinnertime, so I decided to give this a whack. It wasn't the Montrio dish, but it was lovely. It is . . .

Roasted Shellfish

1       tablespoon whole coriander seeds
1       tablespoon fennel seeds
2       tablespoons olive oil
2       pounds stone crab claws or Canadian snow crab legs,
         shells cracked
8       farmed mussels, scrubbed, debearded
1/2   cup chopped shallots
1/2   cup dry white wine
1/3   cup fresh Meyer lemon juice (or 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice,
          mixed with 1/4 cup fresh orange juice)
2       tablespoons butter
Chopped fresh chives

Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Process coriander and fennel seeds in spice grinder until coarsely ground. Place heavy roasting pan over two burners and heat over medium heat. Add ground coriander and fennel seeds and stir one minute. Add olive oil, cracked crab, Manila clams, and mussels; stir to coat. Place pan in oven. Roast until crab is heated through and clams and mussels have opened, stirring occasionally and transferring clams and mussels to plate as they open (about ten minutes -- discard any that do not open).

Using tongs, transfer crab, and any remaining clams and mussels to plate; tent with foil to keep warm. Heat same pan over two burners, over high heat. Add shallots and wine and boil for one minute. Add lemon juice and boil until sauce thickens slightly -- about two minutes. Whisk in butter. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Pour sauce over shellfish or do as I do, place shellfish back in roasting pan and toss with sauce. Sprinkle chives over. Bring either platter or roaster to the center of the table.

4 servings, or two if you're . . . us.

It's best served this way: with a decent California chardonnay (and we're not chardonnay drinkers as a rule, so you must trust me about this), and the finest sourdough bread you can find. And, just to be persnickety, I would also add that you should serve the bread with the best butter you can find. Specialty stores sometimes stock artisanal butter from Sonoma County, California, or the state of Vermont. It is well worth buying if you are certain it is fresh. Who knew butter was so good? As my friend, Lisa, says (and I thoroughly agree with her), these days I'd rather have good bread and butter than dessert. However, if you need more green than just the chives at this meal, I would suggest a simply-dressed salad of arugula or like bitter greens. And would further suggest you serve it afterwards, in an uppity and European manner.

So there you have it. It's not Montrio of yesterday, but it's lovely and very, very easy. The perfect dish for company on a winter night in Carmel. Best served after the town's nightly migration to watch the sunset at the beach or at Mission Ranch (where, btw, we saw Clint Eastwood last night . . .). Enjoy! And, thank you for reading my blog.

On The Road Again

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

This will be our seventh January spent at the same rental house in Carmel. And, the answer to the question: do I know how lucky I am? is yes, I do. Although sometimes, even in the midst of your luck, you have to pay for your pretties.

Billy and I left our home in the northern end of Los Angeles at 3:45 on Sunday, January 2nd, en route to spend dinner and the night with our friends who live in Santa Barbara. Now, we live close enough to Santa Barbara that we have often spent a Sunday gardening, then showered, dressed, and climbed into the car to drive to Santa Barbara for dinner. After a day of digging around in the dirt, Brophy Brothers used to be our go-to spot until we had a couple of off-experiences there. Anyway, with all of that aside, we were counting on a seventy to ninety minute drive to our friends' home. Our travel time was generously estimated, or so we thought. It was, after all, the Sunday after a long New Year's weekend which included both the Rose Parade and Bowl game both held in the greater Los Angeles basin. So, in light of that, we conservatively tacked on about twenty minutes to our usual ETA.

Twenty minutes? LOL! Again, we left home at 3:45 with an expected arrival of 5:00-ish. Instead, we arrived at 8:15 pm after four and one-half hours traveling the seventy miles north on Highway 101. Now, I need to underscore that we did not take this experience personally. My friend and pilates trainer, Cathy, was stuck in New York for almost a week just after Christmas. And we heard a horror story or two about people basically camping at Heathrow in a similar nightmare. So, with all of that, as well as our ultimate destination in mind, we sucked it up and tried to make the best of our ten-mph commute at the commencement of our month away from home. We listened to a 2-CD set called Ultimate Broadway. It began with Oklahoma. By the time we made it all the way to Rent, I would have paid rent on a restroom for just a few moments' use. All along the highway, men had no such issue as they pulled over to use the side of the road. After the show tunes, we went to salsa music on my iPod, and finally ended up listening to The Rolling Stones, wishing we had some of Keith Richards' substances to abuse.

But it did will out, and we made it to Santa Barbara, to our friends' lovely home. While we were stuck on the road and after we let them know of our situation, Gwen phoned us frequently to check on our progress. She was making a risotto, so there was no problem holding dinner -- it would be made after we arrived. Henry told us that the wine was set out waiting for us, and we confessed that vodka would be our beverage of choice after this ordeal. Eventually, we arrived. Bathroom: done. Vodka: check. A good dinner, and our January retreat had begun.

We left Santa Barbara the next morning, and arrived in Carmel late Monday afternoon after the rain had swept south through central and southern California. We caught the sunset at Carmel beach. We celebrated our first night, as we always have, at Rio Grill. We are now unpacked, and our larder is stocked. And, we are in Carmel, which in many ways feels like we are home. I never anticipate this feeling when we are in the throes of removing holiday decorations, and packing up what always feels like much too much, before making this trip. In recent years, I find myself increasingly burned-out during that transition, and I often feel that I am sorry we have made these plans. But we push through the pre-trip travails, then travel up the 101 which approximates what was once, in the old mission days, called the Camino Real. We cut in at Salinas towards the Monterey area, and as we approach Highway 1, I finally see a stand of cypress trees. Not all, but a lot of my accumulated stress diminishes in one heavy exhale. Le sigh . . .

And so, from my kitchen table/desk in the little house that we rent here, and at the end of our first full day in Carmel-by-the-Sea, I start my year, by wishing you a happy new year. May it be a year without gridlock. A year without grief. A year to remember for all the beauty and cypress trees it may, perchance, bring to us. Welcome to 2011, and, thank you for reading my blog.