Culinary Muse

Farewell to Mr. J and Gourmet

Among the many differences between my childhood home and my friend EJ’s home were the magazines.  My living room was scattered with copies of Sunset Magazine, Better Homes & Gardens and Family Circle.  Only one magazine entered EJ’s home. Gourmet. A copy always held pride of place on the side table next to her father’s dark green leather chair. I spent many afternoons sitting in that cool chair, sipping tea and carefully leafing through the latest Gourmet making sure not to bend the pages.  Here was my first glimpse into a world that was sophisticated and cosmopolitan. It was my primary source for learning about places like The Quilted Giraffe, Le Colonial and The Four Seasons. It opened a window for me. I might have been a 14 year-old sitting in a suburb in California but I could imagine myself truffle hunting in France or setting a table with Baccarat crystal and Limoges china - a far cry from my mother’s Franciscan Ware Apple pattern dishes.

I always wondered what Mr. J did with the past copies. I didn’t find out until the day I announced to them that I was planning my first trip to Europe. I could tell that the idea of a 22 year-old going to Europe alone was startling to Mr. J. But he also seemed to want to help.  ‘Come with me’, he said.  E and I followed him into the garage.  He began to open the cabinets that lined the left side of the dark, musty garage.   There they were.  30 years worth.  ‘Borrow whatever you like’ , he offered.  And I did.

Mr. J is gone now.  And so is Gourmet.  I mourn them both.

Transitional Cottons

Yesterday was the first full day of fall. It officially began Tuesday afternoon at 2:11 pm. The heat wave that was predicted for San Francisco never happened thanks to our fog.  But the East Bay, where I grew up, will be in the high 80’s today. Not so unusual. We always get a September heat wave.  Usually around the time kids go back to school and about the time that I have flipped my closet.  That’s when the linen pants and sleeve-less blouses and sandals go to the back of the closet and the wool pants and turtle necks and boots rotate forward. Except for the transitional cottons.  Never heard of ‘transitional cottons’? Neither had I until I was in my early 20’s and met my friend Bonnie.  Bonnie was raised in New York City.  Central Park West to be exact. Bonnie explained that in the 50’s one stopped wearing white and other light colored clothing after Labor Day. You know, summery clothing.  White shoes and matching handbags.  White linen pants and blouses.  Seersucker.  Madras. But what do you transition into if it is still 90 degrees outside?  Yes.  You got it.  TRANSITIONAL COTTONS.  Dark prints, plaids.  Still light in weight but heavy in color.  Cool to wear but still respectful of the change of season.

Does all of this sound just a little silly to you?  Who cares if someone wears white shoes after Labor Day?  Does it really matter in the bigger picture of world hunger and peace? No.  But I like the ritual aspect of this change over.  Summer is over.  Fall is here.  Seasons signal the passing of time. And it keeps me from getting bored with my wardrobe. Tim Gunn, of Project Runway fame, says it best in his book ‘A Guide to Quality, Taste & Style’: ‘Life goes by quickly. We often repeat the same thing day after day: Wake up, work, go to sleep. We humans need variety!... Because technology does a fine job of protecting us from the more extreme vagaries of your environment, you might ask, why not wear voile on Thanksgiving? Well, because then life is one long stretch of endless voile-wearing and, really, who wants that? What about the thrill of pulling out a gorgeous coat when the weather becomes crisp?  Or the lovely lightness of a cotton blouse after a long winter of sweaters? … It gives our world a little puff of that all-important variety and – this cannot be overstated – it means you get a break from some of your clothing, so you do not become desperately tired of everything you own.’  Exactly.

Fall is here...

Did you feel the shift?  The sun at 5:30 last night was low and the light yellow.  And when the alarm went off this morning, the first whiff of cool air through the bedroom window carried the scent of tomatoes cooking at a nearby cannery.  Fall has arrived.  When you are raised in the San Francisco Bay Area you learn to recognize the ever so subtle signs of the seasons changing.  We don’t expect bright orange and yellow leaves to appear. We know that when we hear the crunch of just slightly brown leaves under our feet as we walk to school or smell a certain tomato sweetness in the air that Fall has arrived.  

OUR BAY...

I try not to write about anything upsetting because, well, life is awfully short and if my readers get too depressed they probably won’t want to return to see what the Muse is up to. But I just can’t write about anything else this afternoon because of what I saw at Crissy Field this morning. The headline of the Chronicle read ‘HEARTBREAKING’. That just scratches the surface. And it really isn’t so much what I saw but rather what I did not see that has me in a spin. Gone were the sea lions that were flipping around in the water just last Wednesday morning. Gone are the dogs romping with their dog friends in the waves. And I held my breath as the pelicans flew by hoping that they would know better than to swoop down to catch their last fish. And, because of selfish reasons, gone is my ability to get close to our beautiful Golden Gate Bridge because the road to Fort Point is now police barricaded and the smell of petrol is nauseating. I am bereft. I cried with total strangers as we stood looking out at the bay shaking our heads. Just when we thought it might be safe to go in the water… Perhaps you would like to help? Go to BAYKEEPER to find out how.

San Francisco's Dog Days

5:00 a.m.: Warm and foggy. An eery yellow crescent moon hung in the eastern sky. My dog and I stood on Nob Hill gazing at this moon. I don’t know what he was thinking. Probably something like "I hope she doesn’t howl". I was thinking "hmmm, looks like an earthquake moon, feels like earthquake weather’. Don’t despair, reader. I am not a seer. Further research shows that this weirdness is due to a combination of things. Warm weather in the central valley sucking in the fog from the coast (as usual) and the third day of a fire in Morgan Hill in the south bay. Air quality is bad. If you can’t stay inside today, then move slowly. No rushing about allowed.

I think will wander over to TARTINE BAKERY for lunch and then to BOMBAY ICE CREAM for a scoop of saffron rose or coconut ice cream.

4:00 p.m. update:

Went to Tartine for lunch. Lovely open face Croque Monsieur with bechamel, yellow tomato slices and ham for Mr. Muse, I had the ham and cheese croissant.  Slice of chocolate layer cake and a lemon tart to finish off the meal.  Love the food.  Hated the music today.  Oh, well.

It is now cool and windy, very windy.  Too cool for ice cream. I feel like I might be going crazy with these weather changes happening so quickly.  Maybe a week in Las Vegas would convince me to stop complaining about our weather.  No, too drastic a measure....