One of my tasks as a wee lass in the early 90s was to wash the rice for dinner while my single mom did the rest of the preparation and cooking. She told me that the ultimate goal in rice-washing is to get the water clear.

With my tiny hands, I would grind the rice together to get all the milky dirt off. My ultimate goal was to be done with my rice-washing task and go straight back to my room and do whatever I had to do as a 12 year old.

My method was very crude, I would basically swish the rice around, then take a handful and grind them together so that a bunch of white stuff would be released. I would also press as I swished the grains around – succeeding in probably breaking 50% of the rice in the mixing bowl. My mother was too tired to correct my juvenile method.

Not until I worked at a Japanese restaurant in Tokyo, did I learn how to properly clean my rice. My job included cleaning rice every morning at 10:30am, so it would be ready for the lunch rush at 12pm. But this time I wasn’t dealing with a quantity of rice for two little Japanese kids and a thin single mom – I was preparing rice for a restaurant full of about 40 people on lunch break. This meant I was handling about 2 gallons of rice (dry). The first thing that my mentor at the restaurant taught me was that you really want to avoid any kind of rice breakage. You must treat the rice very gently. There is no grinding or pressing motion necessary. Instead, he told me to just rake a bunch toward me and fold it over. Repeat.

Because I was literally dealing with a vat of rice at the restaurant, we just kept a steady stream of water running while I did this raking and folding process. It was a waste of water – and boy do those Japanese know how to waste water. The idea of overflowing liquid in Japan is a sign of luxury and celebration.

Anyway, my experience at Konohana really changed my rice-washing habits at home. I apply the same methods to my 4 cups of rice I make at home every few days.

In a bowl, add your rice and enough water to submerge all the rice. Wash the rice as if you are taking handfuls and piling it onto one side. Repeat. Here’s a video to clarify.

Drain the water the first time into the sink (you don’t reuse it because there is a lot of dirt released during this first wash). Add water to the rice again and wash the rice.

Eco points: This time drain the water in to a bowl. Save this water to rinse your face with for later. Rinsing your face with rice-washed water is said to make your skin softer. I don’t know if it’s because of the starch, but I will second that rumor. Plus, it’s a nice way to reuse the water that would otherwise go to waste. You can also water houseplants with this water.

I usually repeat the “add water, wash and drain” course about three times. The water is clear enough and I am not so crazy about wasting so much water on washing rice.

The next step is very important. Drain the rice by placing it into a colander. Store the colander full of rice in the fridge or on the kitchen counter for 30 minutes. I am not really sure what kind of chemistry happens here, but doing this step makes my rice much more plump and succulent.

After leaving the rice in a colander, put it back in the bowl and add water for cooking. Most people say one part rice to one part water. Depending on your cooking method and personal preference these measurements can change.

If you have a rice cooker, it will most likely have the measurement lines on there as a guide.

If you have a “Pre-Soak” option on your cooker, set the timer at 30 minutes, so the rice will start cooking in half an hour.

If you are cooking the rice in a pot, add the rice and water into the pot. Leave for 30 minutes. Then put it over high heat, covered. When the pot starts to blow steam, bring the heat down to low. Leave for 15 to 20 minutes and your rice will be done.

When it’s done cooking, leave the rice in the cooker or pot for 10 minutes so the rice can settle. After 10 minutes, open the lid and gently mix with your shamoji (paddle).

Succulent, plump rice.

Here at Happy Hour the subject all day every day is cocktails. I provide the recipes, and hopefully you enjoy them, and learn a little something new in the process.  But a recent question from a friend prompted the realization that in all the posts about cocktails, I never really dedicated a post to cocktail technique.  Specifically the question posed to me was “how does one know when to shake a cocktail and when to stir it?”

After every recipe I mention whether the cocktail ought to be shaken or stirred, and I may have even mentioned in passing the reason for doing so.  James Bond prefers his Martinis shaken, so he must be correct right? Well, no. The fact that 007 had it wrong is reason enough to go back to the basics and set the record straight. I’ll cover the basics of the most common and most necessary bar tools and their purpose, as well as the perennial question, when does one shake and when does one stir?

Shaken or Stirred?

It’s ironic how many bartenders have no clue when it comes to this question, because it doesn’t get any simpler than this.  Basically, you stir a cocktail when all the cocktail ingredients contain alcohol (think Manhattan, Martini, etc).  Bitters, vermouth, liqueurs, and of course your base spirit, be it gin, whiskey, rum, or whatever, all count as alcoholic ingredients, so if they’re in the cocktail exclusive of any non-alcoholic ingredients, you stir.

The reason for this is because you don’t want to destroy the silky texture of drinks that have only alcoholic components by shaking them.  Make two Manhattans, one shaken, the other stirred, and you’ll see the difference.  The one shaken looks cloudy, and the one stirred looks silky, and has a silky, luxuriously pleasant mouthfeel.  So yes, James Bond had it wrong.

On the other hand, if the cocktail has at least one non-alcoholic component in it (think Margarita, Daiquiri, Sidecar, etc), then you must shake.  So if you have juice, simple syrup, or muddled fruit of any kind, or any combination thereof, shake shake shake away!

Why? Because stirring drinks that contain juices and non-alcoholic ingredients does not sufficiently mix them.  The good, forceful shake (a) mixes the ingredients properly and (b) provides enough aeration and effervescence–exactly what you don’t want in stirred cocktails–to bring out the best of fruit juices, syrups and such.   Make two Margaritas, one shaken and the other stirred and you’ll see why you should be shaking a margarita.  The ingredients in a drink like the Margarita or Daiquiri are opaque to begin with, unlike the ingredients of Manhattans and Martinis, so the shaking of the former doesn’t destroy any clarity, but in fact provides the necessary uniformity that stirring will simply not produce.

The only exception to this rule is with drinks like the Old Fashioned where there’s only a slight amount of sugar or simple syrup, and the remaining ingredients are booze.  In this case it’s not worth changing the texture of the drink by shaking it for such a minor amount of sugar.

Proper Stirring Technique

Proper stirring technique requires some practice, but in general you want to stir with a fluid motion that doesn’t clank the ice around.  The less you hear the ice the better, because again, you don’t want to get all that aeration. Since the ingredients are all alcoholic, they mix instantly.  Therefore your stirring is more to chill the cocktail than it is to mix it.  In time you’ll get the hang of doing it so that you have minimal arm movement, and the only movement will be a steady rotation of the wrist.

As for how long to stir, you have to judge that based on the quality of the ice. Poor quality ice means don’t stir for too long or else the drink will become too diluted, so maybe like 30 stirs or so tops.  If you have really good super cold cracked ice, then stir for 40, 50, or even 60 times.  You can see the dilution as you stir, so stop before the cubes have melted too much.  There’s no hard rule on this, just your own judgment from experience.

Essential Bar Tools

Above, from right to left: Julep strainer, Hawthorne strainer, barspoon, double strainer (aka tea strainer), and muddler.

Julep strainer: It’s curious why they call this a Julep strainer because you don’t ever use it to make a Julep. But, that’s what it’s called, and I’m sure there’s probably a reason why.  The Julep strainer is the type of strainer you’d use when making a stirred cocktail. It has holes big enough to strain out the cocktail, and since you’re not shaking, there’s no fear of ice chips, and it’s therefore sufficient for the job.

Hawthorne strainer: This is the most common type of strainer you’ll see, the one with the coil wrapped around the edge.  This is a finer strainer than the Julep, so this is what you’d use for shaken cocktails. The coil strains out any fruit pulp or seeds or shards of ice in a way the Julep never could. If you had to invest in only one type of strainer, I’d invest in the Hawthorne because it can do both jobs of straining stirred and shaken drinks.

Barspoon: This long, twisted, elongated spoon is what you’d use for stirring cocktails.  A regular spoon that you eat with just won’t do the job right.  The key is the twisted part of the barspoon, which allows the adept bartender to rotate the spoon while stirring, which enables a more fluid motion that doesn’t clank the ice around.

Double strainer/tea strainer: As the name indicates, you use this to double strain shaken drinks.  This is not a necessity unless you like your shaken drinks sans pulp. I use it when I want a finer presentation, but otherwise it’s not a necessity for most people.

Muddler: If you like Mojitos, Caipirinhas, Mint Juleps, and any other drink that requires the crushing of fruit or bruising of herbs, this is what you require.  Notice I distinguished crushing fruit and bruising herbs.  If you’re trying to crush a fruit, go ahead and smash it with all your might, because all you’re trying to do is extract pulp and juice.

When it comes to fresh herbs, however, it’s usually better to go with a softer touch and merely bruise the herbs rather than crush them.  This is because many herbs, such as mint, carry their flavor and essence on the outside of the leaves, but contain bitter chlorophyll on the inside.  So when you crush the mint brutally you get the bitterness from the released chlorophyll when all you really want is the mint flavor.

There are hundreds of brands and varieties of muddlers on the market, some metal, some wood, and some plastic.  It doesn’t matter which type you buy, but what you want to look for is something that enables you to get a good grip.  I opt for the classic wooden ones because they get the job done just as well. However if you opt for a wooden muddler make sure you get one made of unvarnished wood. Any varnish on the wood will eventually be worn away by the acids in fruits you’re muddling and will wind up in your cocktail.

Lastly, the muddler also comes in handy for crushing ice. Simply wrap the ice blocks in a towel and pound away.

Jigga What?! Jigga Who?!

What’s a jigger you ask? Jiggers are what you see above. They come in a variety of measurements, and they’re used to do just that, measure–with precision.  Unless you have an excellent eye or years of practice as a bartender at a place like Employees Only where free-pouring is done with expertise, you should invest in a jigger. It may seem like something only for amateurs, but in fact most of the top cocktail bars in the country use jiggers.  Most bartenders at your average watering hole don’t use jiggers, but that’s because they’re lazy and untrained, not because they know how to properly free-pour.  Precision is an important aspect in consistency, and that’s why the top bartenders use them.

As for size, you can go all-pro and get various sizes like I have above, but if you have to invest in only one, I’d go either with the 1/2 oz-1 oz jigger (far left) or the 1 oz-2oz version (far right).

So now you know, and if you see 007 on the street please clue him in as well.  Cheers!

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

I try to live my life void of time constraints. I don’t wear a watch, and I’m perpetually in a rush and am nearly always late for everything. I’m not proud of this, and it’s always something I try to improve, but it somehow makes me less anxious, not knowing what time of day it is.

But here we are, in September. I woke up this morning and noticed that the 9am light was a little different– there was a low orange tint that reflected off the building outside my window that hadn’t been there just a week ago. Yes, we are all bound by time, the minutes, the months– and even though I refuse to wear a watch, the seasons change in a flash, without any warning.

Autumn is absolutely my favorite time of the year. September, they tell me, is the warmest month in the Bay Area, and even in New York, remnants of summer still linger. But time does not lie, and that orange glow I saw this morning was simply not imagined. We’re in September. Time to put away your white linen pants. Fall is coming.

The theme this month is The R. R, as in rainbows and red; ruffage, rice and Rashomon. I lived off the R train for years in Brooklyn. But really, the theme celebrates the start of the “R” months, where according to heresay, it’s the best time to eat oysters (they say that it is safe to consume oysters during any month containing the letter R). Even though oysters are mostly farmed now, making them ok to enjoy year-round, I’m still a bit superstitious and look forward to the R months, September thru April.

As always, I’m not really sure where this theme will take us, but let’s go with it. Here come the Rs!

So I’m having an old friend over for dinner, and he’s a vegetarian. Don’t we all hate cooking for vegetarians?

None of my tried-and-true-recipes-for-normal-carnivore guests, like Beetroot Chicken or Bloody Pot Roast Beef, would fit the food customs of my friend.

Luckily I recently had a fab side dish at another (non-vegetarian) dinner party some months ago– spinach meatballs. I decide to serve it as a main course, without the meat. It’s masculine, sturdy and fills the stomach well. I served it along with the Umamimart Lazyass eggplant/enoki dish and a rustic salad.

What we need:

- A huge bunch of broad-leaf spinach (always shrinks to microsize when washed and heated so get a lot!). You can also use a frozen bag of fresh spinach which I did in this case.

- 1 egg (organic, please!)

- 3-4 garlic cloves (depending on your taste; add less if you’re planning to score later that night).

- Two loaves of wheat bread– I’m using an organic kind, but you can use any kind. No pumpernickel though.

- Half a nut of nutmeg– slice it for most freshness.

- Salt, pepper and a dash of curry spice.

Start out by de-thawing your spinach if you got the frozen kind.

It takes some time, so prepare early in the day. Squeeze the water out of the heap of spinach.

Chop the garlic. Yes, your fingers will smell.

You can also squeeze the garlic, but because I’m a real man I like it rugged and rough…

Drop in the egg. It makes the ingredients cling better together.

Smoulder the bread + crust.

Finally add the spices. The curry spice and the nutmeg blend really well with spinach.

I love the nutmeg interior, looks like a piece of woody tree stump.

Remember: don’t add too much, max half a nut! Nutmeg is a natural poison and injecting it directly into your veins will kill you instantly.

Yay, cooking on the wild side! These vegetarians are off the hook.

Wash your hands really well and use them to mix the ingredients violently.

It’s better than using a spoon as the stuff is pretty big and sturdy and will not cling together, if you don’t put some muscle into it.

I have never tried to blend it all, perhaps it would result in a finer texture– or maybe it would just fall apart.

Heat up a good pan and add some olive oil.

You can also add some olive oil to the spinach dough if you think it needs more fluid. Use a spoon to help shaping the spinach balls.

Sizzle away!

Right at this moment my friend arrived and my less-than-well-trained hostess skills made me somehow forget the balls while I was attending to the kitchen conversation and making the other dishes.

Result: slightly burned balls!

But they survived somehow.

No one likes eating dry balls, so my friend suggested we make a fresh dip using tahini and lemon.

He squeezed the lemon into a small bowl of tahini and stirs a good dip.

The German label Rapunzel produces a great organic tahini.

Ready to eat!

- Slightly burned spinach balls with tahini/lemon dip.

- The Lazyass eggplant/enoku mushroom dish

- A rugged salad made of baby spinach, arugula, sweet sugar peas, cucumber, yellow pepper, shredded carrot, an Italian mozzerella and a few shiso leaves from the balcony for freshness.

Bon appetit, you veggie freaks!

My sister came over the other day with part of an apple pie she had been talking about making for a while. The young, sour apples came from her garden and worked perfectly with the pie. The crust was very crispy on the ends – just the way I like it. She mentioned she always makes her pies from the book Bubby’s Homemade Pies.

My favorite that she has made from the book is the blueberry pie with a ginger cookie crust.

But back to the apple pie. She delivered the pie to me in some foil. I busted it open and…

Yoko: Oh my god! Hahahaha!
My sister: Oh my! How did he get in there?

There was a Bieber face floating around on the surface of the pie!

Sometimes pranks are meant to be documented and I am glad I went all-out paparazzi on this pie.

Is it really the last day of Sloth Season? Say it ain’t so! Sigh. Totally not fair considering the Bay Area has been a shroud of fog, gloom and sweater-weather all “summer”. In Dante’s Inferno, San Francisco is not unlike the third circle of hell, where the gluttonous are punished in eternal rain and relentless cold.

Fitting, actually for the Umamimart family.

What better way to end all the slovenly sloth (who live in Dante’s fifth circle of hell) than the laziest edition of Lazyass Cookin’ yet. This is a recipe of my mama’s that I grew up eating. She would make it for fancier occasions so of course I always assumed she slaved over the dish when I was younger. Turns out Hideko is the President & CEO of Lazyass Cookin’. Such trickery.

Now, here’s your chance to trick yourself, and guests too!

Fresh, colorful tomatoes are still abundant at the farmer’s market (at least here on the west coast, as of this past Saturday), so please enjoy this recipe while they are still around.

Jorge, a guy I work with, gave me this gorgeous green tomato.

Slice lengthwise.

Chop onions into little pieces. I like mine a little spicy, so always opt for the Spanish yellow onion. Chop them uniformly if you’re trying to make a good impression, but otherwise, fuck it. We’re lazy.

Ingredients for the dressing: Shoyu, vinegar, sesame seeds. You can use ponzu instead of the shoyu and vinegar, but I didn’t have any. Probably could have added some sake and mirin too, but whatever. As Hideko would say: Do as you please!

Mix above into a cup. I would say one part soy, one part vinegar, and just a little drizzle of the sesame oil. Not too much, as it gets really overpowering otherwise. Adjust to taste.

Place tomatoes flat on a plate. Sprinkle the onions over it. Then pour the dressing over it, evenly.

Here’s the most important part: put this in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes so it gets nice and COLD! If you’re like me and are perpetually in a rush, go ahead and cheat by putting it in the freezer. Ideally though, this is something you want to keep cold in the fridge until the last moment when you’re ready to sit down and eat.

This seriously takes about five minutes from start to finish, in preparation. Doesn’t get much lazier than that. And such a great way to celebrate ripe, sweet tomatoes!

Enjoy the rest of the summer, mes amis! May Sloth Season last for as long as we can possibly get away with it.

This title might be deceiving. You know I cook a lot, from lazyass to the it-will-take-all-day kind. But fish is something I’ve never explored much. As I mentioned last week, something about the eyes, the mouth, and the flesh freaks me out. In Japan, where fish supply is abundant, most people buy fish whole, and cut it up at home. I’ve seen my mother doing this since I was a kid. I’ve never gone close to the murder scene because of all the blood and guts. Not only you can buy fish –intestines and all– at any fish monger, my people bring back very fresh fish from the early morning hours of fish hunting.

Once when I was home in Japan, my brother asked me if I wanted to have really good squid sashimi, and I said hell yeah! Next morning when I woke up, my brother was at the kitchen sink, busy gutting squids that he had just fished a couple of hours ago (like 4am). It was the best of the best squid I’ve ever had. The thing was just swimming in the ocean until a couple of hours ago!

Now the time has come for me to tackle on this whole new level of culinary adventure. I am a fillet-a-fish virgin. Here in the U.S., almost all fish are already filleted, and ready to be cooked. Why bother to get the whole thing? Yes it’s cheaper since all the labor is on me, but is it really worth it?

So I went to Chinatown and got a pretty fresh looking snapper. I asked for it to be scaled since I assumed that the aftermath would be worse than Kayoko’s plum-chutney-making-cleanup.

Hello Mr. Snapper.

Luckily it was already gutted, so no need for the insert-a-knife-into-his-anus-and-cut-through-his-stomach business.

As everyone says, it’s very important to get fish that has clear eyes. If they are cloudy, that means it is old, and literally fishy.

With my half-ass research on how to fillet fish, I turned on my surgeon mindset, and started the operation.

First, you cut right next to the neck or whatever the part is where body and head separate. Push it until you hit bone. It felt very weird. Although I’ve never stubbed a human, this might be how it feels. Reaching the bone and feeling it through the knife was something I’ve never experienced using a knife. A little chill ran through the back of my neck.

For amateurs like me, it’s easy to place a cut near the tail, so I did.

Along with the bones in the middle, you cut the meat from the open part on the stomach side.

Cut through to the tail.

Then turn the thing around, and cut through the upper side.  You can tell I am fucking up so badly, since the flesh should look intact, but mine isn’t.

One side done. Move to the other side.

Do the same on the other side. You can make fish stock out of carcass, especially since there is still a lot of meat near the bone left, where I couldn’t get to. One of the instructions said to cut the head into half to make a really good soup. I toyed with the idea, and pulled the mouth open, and that’s when I screamed. By opening the mouth, the whole head moved, as if it were still alive. Taking that as a cue, I dumped the guy into the trash.  Sorry Fish God, I am a fillet-a-fish virgin, and couldn’t handle any more.

There are still a bunch of bones on the lower left side on the pic below.  So you slice them and separate them apart.

Looks really bad, doesn’t it?  I am embarrassed to show this.  They don’t look like fish fillet you get from a fish monger at all.

What I learned from this experience is that I should just buy fillets. Out of just about two pounds of fish, I think the fillet was basically less than a pound. Snapper fillets are about $11 a pound, and two pounds of the whole fish was about $11. Time and grossness factored in, buying fillets are just better.

I also have a new respect for sushi chefs. When you sit at a counter, don’t they just cut open the fish like it’s a piece of vegetable? They are trained in fish cutting, and it’s not easy to master it, I now fully realized. Also, I respect the guys at the Lobster House at Chelsea market. They fillet fish like pros.

When I fail something, I usually try again and again until I succeed, but I don’t think I will revisit this adventure.

I know why I am not a surgeon. Couldn’t you imagine me in the OR, screaming at the sight of a beating heart and passing out over the blood?

I just had the most unique dining experience of my life and I have no idea what my food looked like. Basically, the above is what I saw for two hours straight.

NOTHING. I mean absolutely nothing. Didn’t matter if my eyes were opened or closed, couldn’t see even a speck of light.

This happened in Tel Aviv last month at the Nalaga’at Center on the port in Jaffa.  The cultural center employs some 70 people, most of whom are deaf, blind or both. The center has a theater, a cafe run by waiters who are deaf and a pitch-black restaurant with a staff of blind waiters. We bought tickets to experience it all!  The evening started with a theater production called “Not by Bread Alone” performed by about 15 actors who were both deaf and blind. Through a fascinating combination of sign language, super titles, translators and vibration, they told us their stories while baking bread onstage. Some had slight vision and could see sign language. Those who were both deaf and blind communicated by holding on to each others’ hands while signing- the simple movement creating the communication.

They shared their dreams with us- things like being able to go to the movies or going for a walk unaccompanied. So much of their communication was based on hands and feeling, and this metaphor was shared with us in the way they kneaded and then baked bread onstage. After an hour of inhaling this amazing aroma, we were invited to use our sense of taste to enjoy the bread that had just come out of the oven, onstage with the actors. Amazing.

Afterwards, Jack and I went to dinner at the same center’s restaurant called Blackout, where the waiters are legally blind and there are no windows or lights. The guests, once inside, cannot see at all. Before we entered the restaurant, while we could still see, we paid the $30 prix fixe fee and ordered our food and wine from a menu. To mix things up we ordered the chef’s surprise menu. The hostess led us inside the first door to meet our server, a young 30-something woman who had been born blind. She asked me to put my hands on her shoulders and she would lead us in like a train, following her. As we walked through the black velvet curtain, I heard the bustle of a restaurant, but I could not see a thing. Not even light up watches or cell phones were allowed. We wound around about 20 steps or so until we arrived at our table.

She told us the tables were all communal: we were being seated at a six-top, and that four other diners were already at the table. If we needed anything, we were instructed to just call out her name. We instantly felt around to find where our napkin and silverware were, careful not to knock over any glasses. Jack was seated across from me, which is normal usually but in this situation seemed odd. We were far enough apart that our knees weren’t touching, and if he stopped talking, I couldn’t be sure he was even there. The darkness was at first exciting, then a bit disorienting and almost scary. (I could see how someone prone to panic attacks would have a hard time!) I felt the need to hold Jack’s hand across the table just to make sure he hadn’t gone anywhere (although where would he possibly go?!).

When the person beside me left, our server came over and suggested he move next to me- that most people preferred that seating arrangement. She was right- it was then much more comfortable. We could hear each other more easily and sit closely enough that our shoulders touched, which quickly put me at ease and all thoughts of anxiety vanished. She brought our wine and sounded very sincere when she promised us it was indeed what we ordered. But really- how would she know? Someone who could see had to tell her. A lot of trust was involved in this whole ordeal.

When the food came out, we weren’t sure what it was going to be.  As she carefully but seamlessly placed our food in front of us, I was told I had ravioli and Jack had fish. My plate had a small round nob on the edge to tell her which plate was which. As to what else was on the plate, we had to just find out. After a few mouthfuls, I really wanted to know what exactly was on that plate, so I stuck my fingers in it! What? It’s not like anyone could see! (They must have been offering the bibs outside for this reason.) I felt mushrooms and perhaps some greens and something mashed, later determined to be a side of creamy polenta. After that, I had a better idea where to stick my fork! …Until I was about half way through and kept coming up with empty fork-fulls. Then I went back to the finger method.

All our other senses were notably heightened- the smells were intense and suddenly everything seemed loud. People in the restaurant periodically said “shhhhh” because it got hard on the ears. I couldn’t keep my hands off Jack (and we are not PDA people, at all!). We talked about what we were feeling throughout the whole dinner (again, not a usual thing for us) and tried to guess how many tables there were and how they were positioned. How many people where in there with us? (about 25). How many did the restaurant seat? (40). Was the restaurant full? (only half- surprising!). Is the chef blind? (He’s not). If we wanted to run and get out, which way wold we go? At one point Jack proclaimed that he was naked. (He wasn’t). But our hebrew speaking tablemates understood some English and laughed. We were curious about our waiter- she was very friendly and spoke English well. She loved working at this restaurant and studied Kabalah in her spare time.

By the time my dessert came, I was pleased that I hadn’t spilled the wine- if only I were always that careful! I’m not sure what the dessert was… some sort of baklava inspired stringy basket woven-type pastry filled with a pudding like cream and seasoned with rosewater. Our server made us feel the bottle to be sure it was empty when she took it away.  When we were ready, we called out our waiter’s name and she escorted us out, hands on shoulders.

In the end, we didn’t think the food was remarkable. My veggie raviolis with cheese and mushrooms were good, but nothing too unusual or groundbreaking in terms of ingredients or cuisine. It was more about the experience. But I can only imagine if this sort of experience was paired with something Heston Blumenthal or Wylie Dufresne could dream up. Apparently these “blind restaurants” exist in other parts of the world too- I’d jump at the chance to try it again.

The exterior of the restaurant (above). Some of the staff’s seeing eye dogs wait for them to get off work.

photo by erin gleeson.

Pizzeria Bruno was the one place I wanted to go during my visit to San Diego earlier this month. Mike Senese, television personality and hardcore pizzahead, had mentioned that it was, “easily the best pizza I’ve found in Southern California,” so of course I had to try it.

I walked in and the first thing I noticed was this Forza Napoli soccer scarf.

Flashback to 2001 when I went to the AS Roma vs. Napoli game at the soccer stadium in Roma. I’m a big Totti fan (and Nakata played for Roma back then too), but for the sake of conversation, let’s say Napoli won. The Romans then went apeshit in their rage, so much that it felt like the stadium would implode and collapse unto itself. Of course the Carabinieri (Italy’s lazy pseudo-FBI police force) were there in full armor, ready for heavy combat to try to prevent blood from shedding on the streets of Breaderico Panini. Nonetheless useless as usual.

They take their football seriously in Europe. Very, very seriously. [Ask me about the AC Milan vs. Juventus game sometime. DRAMA!].

The scarf reminded me of all of this, particularly the Italians’ unshakable dedication to their teams and their cities. And the one thing that is so quintessential to the city of Napoli, aside from their soccer team and creepyass train station (winner of the You-Will-Definitely-Get-Mugged-Here Award), is their pizza. It’s a very unique style– the paper-thin crust probably being the first and most important distinction.

I knew this would be a night of heavy pizza critiquing, as I went with two friends who I had traveled with to Napoli back in 2000. We all still treasure our memories of that trip, and, of course, the pizza. So the bar was set pretty high for Bruno. But that’s ok, right? We should all have high standards when eating out. Especially for pizza.

We started with the Market Salad while we patiently waited for our pizzas. Generous shavings of parmigiano.

Spicy olive oil was placed on the table. This was a special sign from the pizza gods, as pizza houses in the U.S. NEVER have chili oil, which is such a staple in pizzerias in Italy.

The classic Margherita: Tomato sauce, fresh basil and mozzarella di Bufala. Please take note of the char bubbles. Importantissimo.

The mozzerella was $5 extra but totally worth it if you’re interested in eating your pizza with the BEST CHEESE IN THE WORLD. At least on pizza.

The Salami: Tomato sauce, mozzerella, reggiano, soppressata, and olives. Again, the char bubbles.

Isn’t she luscious?

La Campania: Tomato sauce, mozzerella, mushrooms, fennel sausage, roasted onions.

This pizza was my favorite. The sausage was flavorful, as were the roasted onions, that are so much sweeter than just tossing them on raw. The mushrooms were cut thick, adding a great texture to the entire thing. Bravo.

Interior of the crust: this is where Bruno distinguishes itself from just another pizzeria, or even the standard napoletana pizza– the texture is actually rather spongy. There was such an airiness to it, we loved this! It had a really a unique bite.

I have heard comments that this pizza is “soggy”. Good pizza should never be decribed this way, but actually, this style of pizza tends to get pretty wet, that is true, from all the sauce and olive oil and cheese. It’s pretty normal, so don’t be alarmed– although come on, who wants a “dry” pizza?? Not me! I want the sauce and cheese to meld together and explode in my mouth, thank you.

Aerial view. Forgot to take a pizza upskirt picture but you can see the bottom of one of the slices on my plate below. I would say it was charred just right– pretty pale in color, and dotted with sporadic blackened spots.

Sasha exclaimed: “This is even better than the pizza in Napoli!” Whoa.

Now, the fun part. We started talking to the owner/pizzaiolo, Peter Lutz behind the counter who gave me the grand tour!

Meet Pete: True pizza napoletana aficionado.

Pete’s pizza-partner-in-crime, Bruno.

Named after Pete’s wife’s grandfather, Bruno was custom-built in Napoli by some famed wood-fired-pizza-oven building family, put on a freighter ship, and landed in San Diego months later. I believe Pete told me there are only one or two other of these ovens in the States.

Bruno gets over 900˚F! HOT!

Definitely not sticking my hand in there.

Fire wood and Pete’s metal pizza peel.

Pete brought out some of his key ingredients that make up his pizza. Only the best for Bruno and its clientele.

He also uses San Marzano tomatoes for the sauce, which is pretty much the standard now at Napoletana-style pizzerias. But Pete did make it a point that he doesn’t like to drop names and brands– he thinks that good, quality ingredients should just be a given and his establishment shouldn’t be defined by such specific brands. Well stated, my friend.

Pete also accidentally slipped and told me what kind of flour he uses. OOPS.

I have to say that the desserts were forgettable, as they also are at Tony’s in San Francisco. We got the cannoli and panna cotta. At this point, I’m not really expecting great desserts at pizzerias, so it’s fine.

We pretty much closed the place down, as usual.

Sofia.

Thank you Mike for the awesome recommendation, and big love for Pete, who has brought his devotion and art of great pizza napoletana to Southern California. Better than Napoli, says Sasha! (Don’t let them hear you Sash, i Napoletani sono pazzi).

Viva Napoli! Viva Bruno!

Lake Tahoe is a bit of a nightmare during the height of the summer. The lake is a dream but South Lake Tahoe is swarming with slot machine hungry tourists from both sides of the border (California and Nevada).

We stayed at the Marriot and I had no complaints, especially because we stayed in a suite with a full kitchen. We were able to avoid spending $26 on seafood linguine at a restaurant built on the docks because of the kitchen. In fact, the only time we went out for food at South Lake Tahoe during our three-day stay was for lunch at the Brewery at Lake Tahoe which was mediocre at best.

As soon as we arrived into South Lake Tahoe, we surveyed the area for food sources. Sadly, the only grocery store neighboring the Marriot, Embassy Suites, Harrah’s and Harveys was a Raley’s. We were definitely not in Berkeley anymore.

Our task was to cook a menu involving beef for dinner. Since I purposely did not bring any gadget that connected to the internet, I turned to the local yellow pages. Under “Meat” I found a humble little listing that sent telepathic signals to me– Overland Meat Co. It also helped that they were located on the only road I recognized, which is also the road that most things in South Lake Tahoe are located on– Lake Tahoe Boulevard.

Easy to spot on the main road by a sign which reads “Free Range Meats,” Overland Meat Co. is nestled in a plaza called Kings Trading Post.

Upon entering, I knew I came to right place.

We wanted to make Gyu no Tataki (recipe below), so our beef was going to be rare. I asked the guy behind my counter which one I should use. He recommended the top sirloin.

What impressed me was that this guy was just a kid, but he was knowledgeable and eager to tell me where their meats came from (Oregon Country Beef, a cooperative of family ranches scattered across Oregon).

They also had an impressive case which included all the necessary foodstuffs necessary for a killer temaki party!

It was also great to see that they are not fans of waste and sell hunks of bones for dogs.

And the mark of a killer meat market is their own brands of sauces for marinading and slathering meats.

This is a tiny store but packed with a lot of product and knowledge.

Oh yeah, and a bunch of wine.

Upon leaving the store, a local who was sitting on a stump doing pretty much nothing (but maybe shining his harmonica), told me that “This is the best place in Tahoe. It’s a small business that’s been around for years.” That’s when I thought to myself I need to use the yellow pages more often.

We went home with two juicy top sirloin steaks, wasabi-horseradish and a bottle of wine.

My husband was in charge of cooking the meat. On the menu was Gyu no Tataki, which is usually made with wagyū. The top sirloin is a perfect substitute for us in the states who have access to delicious domestic grass-fed beef.

Gyu no Tataki

Ingredients (feeds four):
2 big slabs of top sirloin steak
2 tbsp of salad oil
Pepper

Marinade:
1/4 cup soy sauce
1/8 cup sake (or white wine)
1 clove grated garlic

1. Rub the steaks with pepper and let rest at room temperature for 20 minutes.

2. In a large pot bring the soy sauce and sake to a gentle boil. Turn off the heat and add the grated garlic.

3. In a frying pan, heat the oil and sear the steaks. Searing time depends on the thickness of the steak, but for our top sirloin (which was about 1.5 inches thick) my husband seared it for about 3-4 minutes on each side. Another sign of when to stop is when you start really smelling the aroma of the meat.

4. Once the steaks have been seared, place them into that pot you have ready with the soy sauce marinade. Cover the pot and place the whole thing into the fridge. Turn the steaks over every 10 minutes or so.

5. After one hour of chilling and turning the steak over every 10 minutes, cut the steaks into thin slices.

This was excellent as-is, but a dab of wasabi or horseradish livens up the flavor as well.

Since this recipe is SO simple, a good piece of meat is the key factor in making this dish a success.

I’d like to thank Oregon cows, the Overland Meat Co. and my husband for an unforgettable meal.