On The Road

A family vacation photograph taken on the road in the mid-1940s showing my husband's grandmother Ruth, wearing a white dress and holding onto one of her little girls

Photo: Chronica Domus

The time has arrived for a family summer break which means that I'll be away from my scribblings until early August.  I hope to be rejuvenated and rested upon my return, and ready to post some stories I've been working on lately.

I hope that you too are finding the time to put your feet up and enjoy the delights of summer.

Toodlepip for now!

A Clay Pot Story

Examples of my clay flower pots, very probably made with clay excavated when building London's Piccadilly tube line

Photo: Chronica Domus

Last month, I found myself on the other side of the telephone from Guy Wolff, the very jolly and talented potter behind Guy Wolff Pottery, a small family run business in Connecticut that focuses on making clay flower pots inspired by 18th and 19th century designs.  While placing an order for one of the very beautiful Peale pots, Mr. Wolff regaled me with some interesting tales about his family background and how he became a potter, an art form and skill I've greatly admired since applying my not-so-steady hand to it during my years of school pottery lessons.  We quickly moved onto the subject of where I was born; obviously, he could guess I was English from my accent.  When I told him I was born and bred in London, he asked if I had seen the short video clip produced in the early 1950s by British Pathé, the media organization behind cinema newsreels that were screened through the second world war informing the general populous of current world news events.  I had neither seen nor heard of the clip but was interested in viewing it with alacrity. So, upon concluding my telephone call with Mr. Wolff, off I went in search of what it was that had so intrigued the famous potter.

The rough interior of my old flower pot exhibiting all the hallmarks of being hand thrown

Photo: Chronica Domus

The video, which can be found here, and runs for just over a minute and a half, delighted me on several counts. Firstly, it tells a story of how the dense sticky London clay was discovered during the excavation work performed in preparation for constructing the Piccadilly underground line, which runs right by, and possibly under my childhood home. The Piccadilly line is a route I know intimately from having ridden it countless times during my lifetime. The clay was used to produce an estimated seven million flower pots per year, to be sold to Londoners and plant enthusiasts, all fired in a kiln that had been in continual use since 1860 and located on White Heart Lane.

 Two of my smallest pots, known as Tom Thumb size, hold succulents and stand less than three inches in height

Photo: Chronica Domus

It pleased me no end to view and learn a little of the history regarding my old stomping ground.  To add to my delight, I concluded that by statistical probability and geographical location, I likely own several of these little clay pots. Had you asked me where these pots were made prior to my watching the video, I would not have had a clue, but now I am almost certain as to their local origin.

A potter's smeared fingerprint, immortalized in clay

Photo: Chronica Domus

There are two styles of flower pot shown in the video clip.  The first, located on the majority of the drying racks, has a simple beaded edge running around the rim.  The style shown on the bottom shelf is of a plain tapered shape, just like the ones I own. All of my pots were picked up in a small antiques shop just off the Portobello Road, London's world-famous antiques market, almost twenty years ago. I recall them costing no more than a few pounds each.  The shop contained a beguiling selection of antique and vintage garden implements and there were many, many of these horticultural pots, nested one within the other in short rows, and held in wooden shallow seed crates, all for sale.  I would have purchased several more were it not for the practicalities and considerations of packing them up safely for the transatlantic journey to their new home.

A gathering of my antique clay flower pots 

Photo: Chronica Domus

I love the simple shape of these vessels and the fact that they are so distinguishable from today's mass produced, machine made clay pots with their flawless smooth appearance and perfectly uniform lines.  No, my little clay pots are lopsided and charmingly rustic in their appearance.  Some are so thin towards the rim that they've crumbled away over the years since they were expertly and quickly thrown on the potter's wheel.  With careful examination, one can even see the potter's fingerprints embedded within the clay for future gardeners to discover.

If you are interested in learning more about the history of London's old potteries, I encourage you to visit this page for a fascinating look into the story of a long-lost industry.

 Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

A Plum Bonanza

An overly filled trug of juicy Santa Rosa plums resting in the crook of a neighboring pear tree

Photo: Chronica Domus

Back in March, I published a post highlighting the variety of white blooms in my garden. At the time our Santa Rosa plum tree was full of blossom and I was excited at the prospect of savoring the juicy fruits that were to come later in the year.

 Plum blossoms as photographed earlier this year

Photo: Chronica Domus

I had no idea that this would be one of those flush years which had every branch laden with fruit.  In fact, by the time the first succulent plums were ready to be picked and devoured, the branches would be positively groaning, having been dragged to the ground begging to be relieved of their heavy load.

I was happy to oblige my dear old tree and so on June 11, I began to pick as much of the ripened fruit as I could gather within arms reach.  As you will have noticed from viewing the leading photograph in this posting, it was a bonanza to be reckoned with.  What I've managed to pick thus far is not even close to the lion's share of the harvest. Basket loads of plums still remain on our lone tree.  Some are much higher up and require a ladder to reach, others have yet to ripen.  To say I was euphoric at this exceptional bounty is an understatement.  My daughter, I think, is the most excited for she has not stopped guzzling down the fruits, despite my protestations of a ruined appetite for a dinner that surely will go untouched.  

Unripened plums in shades of rosy pink, apricot and chartreuse covered in their wax bloom

Photo: Chronica Domus

Introduced in 1906 by Luther Burbank, a prolific American botanist and agricultural scientist, the Los Angeles Times wrote of Prunus salicina "Santa Rosa" that it is "the gold standard of farmers' market plum flavor".  If you are as fortunate as I to taste these delicious fruits, you too will agree they are indeed a winner. I have yet to stumble across a plum to equal the sweetness and juiciness of these little gems, which is probably the reason I have practically given up on eating the dry mealy rock-hard plums available for sale at most supermarkets in our area.  Believe it or not, even with their known superior flavor, Santa Rosa plums are not a commercial favorite with growers.  The variety's susceptibility to disease may have something to do with this sad reality. Where you will find these fruits for sale is at the numerous farmers' markets during stone fruit season, which is in full swing during the months of June and July in the Bay Area.

The plums are deepening in color as they mature

Photo: Chronica Domus

This branch holds three plums in various stages of ripening

Photo: Chronica Domus

As the fruits develop on the branch, they are covered by a natural white coating called a wax bloom, which makes their ripening hues appear muted when compared to their final jewel-like color.  I particularly enjoy viewing the spectrum of colors to be found on any given branch. Beautiful shades of vivid chartreuse, apricot, rosy pink, salmon, and the deepest claret red can be spied co-mingling and dangling temptingly like precious stones. Surely, Monet and the great painters of the world would be moved by such a painterly palette put forth by Mother Nature.

A rainbow of plums beginning to weigh down the boughs of our tree

Photo: Chronica Domus

A week later, the plums are ready to be picked as boughs are dragged to the ground

Photo: Chronica Domus

Batches of plums have been dispatched to good friends and neighbors, which is all part of the excitement of growing our fruit.  I have filled compotes and bowls and placed them in the dining room and in the kitchen. The house is filled with their pleasing fragrance which one cannot fail but notice upon entering and being greeted by the heady fruity fragrance. It is just heavenly!

Wiped of their wax bloom and ripened to the deepest shade of ruby claret

Photo: Chronica Domus

A cross section of a juicy Santa Rosa plum showing its deep claret color

Photo: Chronica Domus

Not only do we eat our plums, we like to bake with them too.  A simple rustic plum pie is a tasty and practical way of using the over-ripe plums that have sat around in bowls and have continued to ripen. I've already made two this week.

Our rustic plum pie ready for the oven

Photo: Chronica Domus

Our hungry lunch or dinner guests always appreciate a home-made pie, especially during plum season. We serve our pie warm with vanilla ice cream, my American husband's preferred method of eating it, or at room temperature with decadent whipped double cream.  My daughter prefers to pour cream all over her pie until it pools around it, which is a very British way of approaching things.  Nature versus nurture I think.  Won't you join us for a slice?

Please do help yourself to plum pie and cream

Photo: Chronica Domus

Do you enjoy eating or cooking with plums when in season, or do you have another favorite stone fruit you look forward to eating when at its seasonal peak?

Special Delivery: A Postcard From The Past

 A very special postcard delivered to us sixty-five years after being written

Photo: Chronica Domus

Summer in the United States, for those that have school-aged children,  usually involves some type of summer camp activity.  Summer camp, for the benefit of my international readers, is a supervised recreational or athletic program designed for young children and teenagers.  It provides structured activities for the duration of the long summer break when children are not attending school. There is a myriad of summer camps available to choose from if you decide to send your children to such things. 

Summer camp is a distinctly American tradition and is not one I grew up with in England.  Our summer holiday breaks from school were usually filled with visits to the park with the other neighborhood children, playing in our garden, or whizzing about on our bicycles.  We also spent a lot of time rambling in the large woodland across the road from our home in Kent.  The highlight of the summer was our month long family holiday which had us traveling by boat and car around the continent visiting such gloriously hot places as Greece and the Aegean islands.  With no set itinerary, we enjoyed whatever adventures presented themselves along the way, and there were certainly many I can recall. With six weeks off school, we children had our plates full.  American students have twice as much time off during the summer as their British counterparts, which feels like an eternity for both parents and offspring alike.

My own daughter has this year decided she would rather spend her time at home, playing with her friends, reading, and working on a variety of art projects, rather than attend any of the summer camps we offered to sign her up for.

So, with all of this talk of summer camp around our home lately, it was with much pleasure and serendipity that we received a very special package last week, addressed to my husband and sent by his cousin, Rowena.  The package contained a note explaining that Rowena was feeling nostalgic and decided to look through some old boxes of family photographs that had belonged to her late father, Robert.  She came across an envelope labeled "Things for Rowena" and within it found a remarkable postcard.  Rowena wrote "I had never seen the envelope before so you can imagine my excitement wondering what he had set aside for me. In it were some photographs, birth certificates from his grandpa and grandma, a few papers, and the little gem I'm sending you".

The "little gem" turned out to be a postcard written by my husband's late father Richard, when he was a mere lad of ten, sixty-five years ago.  It was mailed on August 13, 1949 from Fort Bragg, California, and it was addressed to his mother, my husband's grandmother, in San Francisco. Interestingly, the price of postage was a mere penny.

Oh dear, not a happy camper!

Photo: Chronica Domus

It seems that young Richard had been sent to a summer retreat run by the San Francisco Boys' Club at Fort Bragg, a town located along the northern California coast. Back then, the camp was known as Camp Marwedel and has since had a name change to Camp Mendocino.

It appears the camp was not a hit with master Richard.  Here is what he wrote:

Dear Mom,

I don't like the camp and I'm homesick.  I went fishing for today.

Thank you,

Richard

These scribbles, written by an unhappy ten year old city boy, had us roaring and in fits of giggles.  This is because at such a tender age, his youthful thoughts had already revealed so much of Richard's disdain for venturing into the great outdoors as an adult.

According to my husband, his father absolutely loathed outdoor living and would not join his wife and four children on the family's regular camping and fishing trips.  The only time he did, he lasted until nightfall, at which point he got in his car and drove himself home.  This from a man that loved to sit by a blazing fireplace, even during the summer months, but never a camp fire.

 The young Richard (left), his brother Robert, and sister Nadine in happier times

Photo: Chronica Domus

Rowena continued in her letter "It's funny how after losing people that are so close to you, these items feel like gold".  And, how right she is.  Thank you Rowena for your kind and thoughtful gift.  We feel so fortunate to have been the recipients of this very small piece of family history that might have otherwise remained in a box for a future generation to have found, one that would not have known who this young boy was. Our daughter enjoyed reading the postcard, which provided her with a small insight into her grandfather, even though she never had the privilege of meeting him.  She has enjoyed such camps, living among the trees and participating in riparian activities, and cannot fathom her grandfather's dislike of the great outdoors.

Have you ever been given a treasure from the past that belonged to your family, and what of summer camps, did you enjoy them and do you send your own children off to such camps?  What will you be doing this summer?

A Pea Salad Luncheon

A salad of Prince Albert peas, pencil thin asparagus, and pea shoots served on a botanically themed platter

Photo: Chronica Domus

On June 15, which happened to fall on Father's Day this year, our second harvest of heirloom Prince Albert peas was ready to be picked.  Out to the garden my daughter ran, basket in hand, to retrieve one hundred and seventy-two bright green and plump pea pods.  I was astonished she had found so many pods that were ripe for the picking, so soon after our initial bounty twelve days earlier.

I received an email from the editor of Lindaraxa, a blog revolving around the writer's passion for entertaining and cooking, with a suggested recipe for using any further peas I might harvest.  The recipe, which can be found here, included an ingredient that was already growing in the garden, but it was one I had not actually considered eating. As it turns out, the young and tender shoots of pea plants, along with their white blossoms and curly tendrils, are edible.  There they were, right under my nose in my very own garden, yet I had not given them more than a passing glance during the entire growing season as I admired their botanical beauty. Ultimately, it was the suggestion of using pea shoots as a component of the salad that swayed me to try Lindaraxa's deliciously fresh and spring-like recipe.  And, I am delighted I did.

Impeccably fresh ingredients for our pea and asparagus salad include freshly shelled peas and their shoots, and Eureka lemons from our tree

Photo: Chronica Domus

The recipe turned out to be one of the easiest ways of preparing fresh peas and asparagus that I had ever attempted.  Aside from the pea shelling, always an agreeable activity for my daughter who treats it more like the unwrapping of Christmas gifts, the entire preparation took less than fifteen minutes.  As the asparagus was already pencil thin, I did not even bother to slice the stalks in half.  I also substituted Eureka lemons freshly picked from Old Faithful, our lemon tree (a subject for a future post, I think), Meyer lemons not being on hand. The salad was so fresh and spring-like in taste, thanks to the addition of the zingy lemon juice and zest, that I dispensed with adding sugar as suggested by the recipe. And what of the pea shoots you might ask?  Well, surprisingly they too were deliciously tender and grass-like, and an unexpected culinary discovery that I shall attempt to incorporate into our cooking whenever we are fortunate enough to have them growing in our garden.

Our Father's Day luncheon, served casually at the kitchen table, was all the more special because not only did my daughter pick the peas for the salad herself, but Lindaraxa made it all possible by reaching out to me with her recipe, and for that I am most thankful.

Can you recall a time you ventured forth and discovered something new and tasty in the culinary world?

Dinner At Boulevard

A local's view of San Francisco's waterfront complete with trolley bus and an illuminated Bay Bridge, as seen from the corner of Boulevard restaurant

Photo: Chronica Domus

What an absolutely lucky girl I am.  As fate would have it, this was my second dinner date in a month at my favorite restaurant in San Francisco. The first, back in mid-May, marked a wedding anniversary and a birthday celebration, and on that occasion a table was secured weeks in advance to insure a happy and carefree evening. On the second occasion, this past Saturday evening, plans to meet friends fell apart earlier in the day so my husband and I seized the moment and made inquiries in hopes of reserving a table for two at Boulevard. Lady Luck was shining down upon us and a table was promptly secured for a late dinner at 9.15 p.m.  The timing could not have been better as it allowed us plenty of time to dress appropriately for such an establishment, and arrive in time to loll away a pleasant hour at the bar prior to taking our seats for dinner. Although a strict dress code is not enforced at Boulevard, my husband and I enjoy upholding old-fashioned sartorial standards of adult dress that befit such a restaurant (suit and tie for him, dress and heels for me). We are not subscribers of the "anything goes" mentality that is sadly becoming the norm at some places around town. I am pleased to report that the majority of diners do make an effort to dress smartly at Boulevard, but of course, there is always the odd few that think it perfectly fine to wander in from the streets in grubby tee-shirts and jeans and actually expect to be seated.

Boulevard is housed within the historic Audiffred building which happens to be the lone surviving structure in the area following the 1906 earthquake and subsequent fire that raged through parts of San Francisco.  The building's architecture resembles those of the French second empire, complete with a mansard roof and garret. Patrons of the restaurant enter through the revolving wooden doors and are warmly greeted by the affable hostess at her desk, which is illuminated by the lamp in the photograph below.

An Art Nouveau inspired lamp in keeping with the interior decoration of Boulevard

Photo: Chronica Domus

Mr. Kuleto, co-owner of Boulevard, did an outstanding job designing the cozy interior which draws heavily from the Art Nouveau period. Everything from the ironwork to the flattering lighting helps set the mood for a swell time ahead.

We were more than ready to kick off the evening with cocktails so Raymond our bartender obliged by mixing our favorite drink from Boulevard's cocktail menu, a cucumber gimlet.  If you've yet to try one, I highly recommend it.  Thirst quenching, refreshing, and gin based, need I say more?

Accoutrements at the well stocked bar

Photo: Chronica Domus

We were having such a pleasant time chatting and unwinding from our busy work week, we decided that with another thirty minutes remaining until it was time to be seated at our table, that a second round of gimlets would be a capital idea.  And, it was.

Our second, and most decidedly final, round of perfectly mixed cucumber gimlets

Photo: Chronica Domus

We eagerly anticipated our dinner this evening as neither of us had eaten for hours beforehand in preparation for the feast that was to come.  We were escorted through the front of the dining room, past the theatrics of the open gallery kitchen, and into the back area where our table awaited us.  As is typical of most of our visits here, the room was buzzing with excited patrons as they happily tucked into their delectable modern American fare with more than a little French flair to it.  I did not spy a single vacant table about the room, but why did this surprise me?  It was, after all, Saturday evening and we were in one of the city's most favored restaurants.  We've been eating here with pleasure for many years and it is always the first place we think of when celebrating special milestones.  Boulevard received the James Beard Award for Outstanding Restaurant two years ago, the highest national restaurant accolade, and the first time that title has returned to a west coast establishment since being won by the storied French Laundry in 2006.

Looking back towards the front of the restaurant upon our arrival when it was still light outside.  The room boasts an impressive domed brick ceiling

Photo: Chronica Domus

One of the things I enjoy most about Boulevard is that it has yet to succumb to the all-too prevalent and annoying trend of playing loud background music.  In fact, they don't play any music at all, which is exactly as I like it.  Of course, I make an exception for live music that adds to the ambiance of a place and doesn't eclipse everything else, but forced loud music to set a mood, as though the happy chit chatting and banter from contented diners was not enough, no thank you!   I want to enjoy my meal and be able to hear my dining companions' conversations, not gain a headache and be deafened in one fell swoop.

The tenderest scallops imaginable

Photo: Chronica Domus

Back to the evening's main event, the food.  We began our dinner with a plate of delicate buttery scallops dressed in brown butter, lentils, and tangy roasted tomatoes.  We also chose the tastiest buffalo buratta and tomato salad we had ever sampled.  Every component was a delight to the taste buds. The creamy buratta was the ideal accompaniment to the perfectly ripened tomatoes, and the surprisingly flavorful basil and colatura dressing.

The buratta and tomato salad that had us raving with delight

Photo: Chronica Domus

You may, as I was, be wondering what on earth is colatura.  It is, I've since discovered, an Italian fish sauce, dating back to the Romans, and primarily made of anchovies.  This tasty new (or would that be old?) discovery is what made me declare this particular salad the best I've had at Boulevard. Which brings me to yet another favorite point about their menu items. Boulevard's staples will always remain the same, no matter which time of year you find yourself eating here.  You will always have a choice of filet mignon, a pork, lamb or quail entree, and a variety of fish.  However, what constantly changes with each of these staples is the seasonal ingredients that are paired with it. For this reason, no two meals you will have eaten at Boulevard will ever be the same (unless you are lucky enough to have a repeat performance the very next day, in which case, you'd be a most fortunate fellow indeed!).

The kitchen staff constantly source the freshest and tastiest local ingredients available to surprise and delight their regular diners.  I suppose it helps that the area's farmers sell their produce directly across the street at the twice-weekly market located at the Ferry Building, one of the country's premier farmers' markets, and one that I enjoy patronizing whenever I have the opportunity.  Even the tasty rounds of pain au levain, a delicious wholewheat sourdough, is walked across the street from the Acme bakery. You really could not get a better confluence of farm-to-table cuisine than this.

Bread rounds are cut by the wait staff as needed to insure the freshest possible taste 

Photo: Chronica Domus

The service here is always discreet but friendly, and most certainly efficient.  Water and wine (if you've ordered a bottle) is replenished as if by magic.  Oh, and don't be surprised upon visiting the ladies room to powder your nose to return to a table where your napkin has thoughtfully and neatly been replaced tableside, ready once again to be used.

We both opted for the Alaskan halibut that was served with fingerling potatoes and an assortment of green beans, marcona almonds, and a delectable lemony green sauce.  It was all so mouthwateringly good.

 

A light and flaky halibut in its spring finery

Photo: Chronica Domus

 

We could not get enough of the tasty bread which is accompanied by the creamiest butter

Photo: Chronica Domus

We cannot quite remember which wines we ordered, which may have just been a side-effect of one too many gimlets earlier on in the evening I suspect. Nevertheless, we were sure they were perfectly suited to our food choices as we managed to quaff every last drop.   

I took a pass on the dessert menu, and opted instead for a decadent sliver of Brillat-Savarin cheese followed by plenty of black coffee, which may have accounted for the the lack of sleep later that evening.  My better half held no resistance to the trio of bonbons that enticed him; manageable little spheres of ice cream covered in chocolate and pretzel pieces bathed in a caramel sauce.  

One final cup of coffee before we head home

Photo: Chronica Domus

What an enjoyable evening we had shared at this marvelous restaurant. We even managed to extend our stay by striking up a conversation with a pair of diners that were sitting at the opposite table from us as we were all about to leave.  They happened to be visiting from Los Angeles and were equally delighted to have eaten at Boulevard this evening too.  The four of us agreed there was no better place to have dinner along the waterfront of San Francisco.

The peacock, a favorite motif of the Art Nouveau period, bids adieu as diners exit through the revolving doors

Photo: Chronica Domus

As we stepped outside into the cool night air, we decided that it was the perfect evening for a gentle stroll along the Embarcadero.  Passing by the familiar sights of the Ferry Building's clock tower, and the dazzling Bay Bridge illuminated by the recent light installation, it was all so terribly romantic and beautiful.  Is it any wonder Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco?

A glimpse of the Ferry Building's clock tower as viewed from Boulevard restaurant

Photo: Chronica Domus

If you get the chance to visit this fine city, do consider reserving your table at Boulevard for a uniquely San Francisco experience with food to delight and views of the waterfront to enchant.

 Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

The Tale of a Naughty Laptop

My morning started with coffee and cursing.  The cursing was emanating from my husband who was thoroughly peeved off with our laptop that was not behaving to his liking.  To his insistence, the computer was making decisions on its own, such as opening pages and pushing command buttons on various websites.  Of course, I scoffed dismissively and returned to my coffee.

Fast forward to the afternoon following on from a wonderful lunch, it was my turn at the keyboard.  I began working on the outline for a future post when suddenly, what were imaginary problems when they involved my husband earlier in the day, suddenly became my reality.

It seems our laptop saw fit to publish my working model gibberish, a fact that escaped my notice for five hours.  Upon returning from a visit with friends, I was mortified to discover this rather red face inducing development and swiftly deleted the posting.

I suppose this is all my fault as there have been plenty of warnings in the media of late regarding the fact that Windows XP is no longer supported by Microsoft, thus subject to some rather nasty digital illnesses.  I think mine just caught a bug. 

This was definitely the straw that broke the camel's back so we are now in the market for a less vulnerable laptop.  Please stay tuned as normal service will resume shortly.

Have all of you non-Mac users updated your computers from Windows XP?