kellementology

life according to me

Tag: Likes

  • Brain Malarkey Cooked for Us

    Screw the memes I have to do. (I really WILL do them. I promise. And my fingers are NOT crossed behind my back.)

    But the MoH and I had the perfect recipe for a Monday. We went to our local cook’s haven, Great News in Pacific Beach and spent the evening with Brian Malarkey.

    What?

    You don’t know who Brian Malarkey is? Feh. Where have you been? He was one of the finalists on Top Chef this year, and the recipient of Chef of the Year from the San Diego Restaurant Association. Of course he should have won Top Chef, but that’s beside the point. WE got to enjoy his magnetic personality, sense of humor, and great cuisine tonight. Here. In Paradise. It was so worth it. IMG_5180.JPG

    The sky was clear, the air clean, and the Pacific stretched as far as the eye could see. That orange glow was shimmering just above the deep blue horizon. Gorgeous. But a tad cool. Okay, so about 50 degrees F.

    But I forgot my camera. So how convenient that we were an HOUR early and I could whiz home to get it and then slide into my seat and look forward to a couple of glasses (well…three if you count the one the MoH didn’t quite finish) of Two Buck Chuck. And the MoH says after the class, “That was pretty good…what was it?” “Koolaide,” I replied, “and you’ll be sorry in the morning.”  The MoH does not imbibe.

    IMG_5172.JPG The menu for this cooking class was “Asian Inspired Malarkey.” Brian is the executive chef at The Oceanaire here in San Diego. Of course, we seemed to be the only people in the audience who hadn’t eaten there, but that’s because we’re busy paying taxes. We love to eat out, but only do so on special occasions during the year. Actually, we thought we’d enjoy The Oceanaire before this Monday’s class, but time has gotten away from us lately. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to improve our record in that department, getting out to try local food more than we do. I know. Quite the novel concept. Where would San Francisco be without all those Food Bloggers sampling local faire? S.O.L.

    Ahem.

    The menu Brian and his right hand man prepared for the 50+ group this evening was lovely:

    Kumamoto Oysters on the Half Shell with an Asian Inspired Mignonette Kumamoto Oysters on the Half Shell with an Asian Inspired Mignonette

    Sesame Crusted Big Eye Tuna with Ocean Salad and Micro Wasabi Sesame Crusted Big Eye Tuna with Ocean Salad and Micro Wasabi

    Shiitake Mushroom and Ginger Soup with Bean Sprouts and Cilantro Shiitake Mushroom and Ginger Soup with Bean Sprouts and Cilantro

    Japanese 7 Spice Petite Filet Mignon with Ginger Butter Japanese 7 Spice Petite Filet Mignon with Ginger Butter

    Green Tea Ice Cream (from a local vendor whose name I regrettably did not get)

    Y.U.M. Truly. We’d never had oysters before. Clams, yes. Mussels, yes. But oysters? Um. Nope. So this was big. And I appreciated what Brian had to say about them because the information helps when you slurp something live into your mouth and do notice the slightly briny “Mermaid’s Kiss” with a hint of cilantro as you swallow the creature and smile.

    I did not get a stripe on my arm for this accomplishment, but I FEEL good. DAH-duh-DAH-duh-DAH-duh-DAH.

    The Ahi Tuna? Oh. My. Sesame seeds all ’round and seared and then sliced and served with a compound butter. Goodness. I love Ahi this way. But what really made it was the “ocean” salad we waited for while Brain took questions (mostly from the MoH) about his Top Chef experience. The seaweed, thinly sliced and plated under the ahi was perfect. Fresh . Crunchy. Amazing. Totally. I have seared ahi with sesame seeds, but would never have thought to have the seaweed. Who knew? Delicious. It has to be THE reason why I’m a morsel and not a lithe waif. *Make a note to strike the Barefoot Contessa like I didn’t already know this.* Just kidding, Ina. Could you send me a pound of buttah, please?

    IMG_5174.JPG And Brian’s Top Chef experience details were interesting, too: He didn’t get to speak to his wife for FIVE weeks. They take away your wallet, your keys, your cell — everything. And then, if I’m getting this correctly, they send frequent letters reminding you of your obligation to remain silent on the outcome of the show. With respect to the filming, each day, there’s either a quick challenge, or a main preparation. In Brian’s opinion, the only quick challenge that mattered was the one that took place at the French Culinary Academy (I’m sure I’ve gotten this incorrect). And speaking of culinary academies in general, in his opinion, those interested in his line of work would be better served volunteering for a few hard days with a chef, then signing on to work in that kitchen (if you passed the chef’s scrutiny) and learning from the ground up. You’d earn money as you were learning, as opposed to paying nearly 50K going to an academy. Sounds good to me. Maybe in my next life since I’ve essentially learned by trial and error, reading, by example, and anything else that counts for the last 40 years or so.

    Other points of interest in the evening: Brian recommended many local places to find great ingredients, and fresh food. I did know of a few, but a couple I can’t wait to schlep to are San Diego Coffee, Tea, and Spice which concocts the spice mixtures Brian used, and Specialty Produce which is where the chefs in San Diego get their goods. Now how could I have NOT known about this? Unbelievable. I’m there this coming Saturday.

    News at Eleven.

    Anyway…it was a lovely evening. The worst part about it was the ending, and finding out that it was still Monday, instead of Friday, which would have been perfect.

    An early birthday present for the MoH with more to come later in the week.

    What’s up with these December babies, anyway?

    Gluttons.
    IMG_5182.JPG

  • My Soundtrack of What Matters. And Yours?

    Oh look everyone.  Another Saturday.  I continue to be amazed that the days on the calendar just whip by with such complete disregard for the fact that I’m on the back side of a half century and it’d be nice if things could slow down a bit.  Not permanently, of course.  But long enough to allow for the extended time I require to think about things that really don’t matter in the grander scheme of the universe and the survival of the species.  I don’t know which particular species, but still.

    But there are some things that matter so much, I can’t imagine what I’d do without them.  The loss so many have experienced this past week in San Diego in the wildfires has prompted me to wonder about choosing if I had to.  But my choices aren’t necessitated by a fire.  They’re the result of simply taking stock, and acknowledging what keeps me anchored.  Understood is that family and friends are not something to be considered here.  Period.

    Solitude.  I can be around many, many people.  But I prefer not to.  I love the busy roar of a large city, but not as much as a winding road and low grass covered hills.  And music?  It can bring me to tears, cause me to dance, or force me to sing along whether there are words or not.  But even music can’t compete with my need for solitude.  The quiet I enjoy for part of every day when the only sound I can hear is the rustle of trees outside my window, or the creak of wood somewhere in the house matters.  Plain, simple quiet.

    My stove.  I could say cooking, but not being one of those Top Chef type people, I wouldn’t want to have to cook on a hot plate, or a sterno flame.  No.  I’d need my stove.  The one with the nine cheery red knobs.  I’ve heard people say they love their cars — the purr of the engine, the handling, the acceleration.  That’s how I feel about my stove.  Ah…the sound it makes when those convection fans switch on.  Vroom…vroom….It isn’t in my kitchen because its design is sleek, although it is.  Or because its technology is a wonder.  But it is pretty amazing. It’s in my kitchen because I use it.  Seriously use it and have fun the entire time.  It connects me to food and family and friends.  Creativity and learning.  Tradition and new cuisine.  It provides the peace of mind that diligently proceeding through a set of steps can provide, and at the end of them all, have my taste buds sing.  Could I have all of this without my particular stove?  Certainly.  But it just wouldn’t be the same.  It weighs a bit more than my Mac at about 1,000 lbs. so it isn’t exactly something I can ever take with me if I go.  But I’d find a way to get another.  Trust me.

    My Mac.  It has one little plug that connects it to my house.  One.  But it connects me to so much more than I can possibly be connected to otherwise.  Ironically, I’m writing this on the MoH’s laptop, and it’s fine, but it’s not my Mac.  I could make due with a different computer if I didn’t have a Mac.  I can buy just about anything I want, read (which would be another thing I wouldn’t do without because it’s like breathing), travel, learn, listen, create…But it wouldn’t be the same.  Iwouldn’t have my lovely screen, or sleek white lines, or easily swiveleing-thingy-ness.  I wouldn’t be able to waste copious amounts of time with iPhoto, or click open my Finder services for the Oxford dictionary (the Webster widget doesn’t come close…).  And photobooth, and iChat (which I’ve just learned to use).  Pathetic, isn’t it?  Don’t even argue with me about this.  I’m a goner.  And iTunes?  Well.

    Rod wants to know what’s on my playlist.  I don’t have an iPod (solitude, remember?) but I do happen to have three whole playlists on in my iTunes library which are organized very specifically.  And when I check the list of songs I’ve played most, the following come up.  They’re supposed to say much about who and what I am, or what I’ve been thinking.  But I’ve developed an odd habit at this point in my life.  I don’t listen to the words of songs.  I listen for the melody.  I listen to whether it’s written in a major or minor key, whether it’s sung by an uncomplicated voice and a single instrument, or an energetic voice and a band.  And it’s all connected to mood.  I listen when I have to write.  When I have to sit at the computer and am easily distracted.  I play it loudly, singing along — whether there are words or not.  So I’m not sure what these particular songs say about me.  I’ll have to think about it.  But I’ll have to figure out what the words are first.

    She Is     The Fray     (40)

    Snow     Red Hot Chili Peppers (37)

    Betty     Kate Walsh  (26)

    Savin’ Me     Nickelback (25)

    If it Makes You Happy  Sheryl Crow  (25)

    In Need  Sheryl Crow  (24)

    What About Now  Daughtry  (23)

    When the Lights go Down  Faith Hill  (23)

    Photograph  Nickelback  (23)

    Over You  Daughtry  (22)

    Squeeze Me  Diana Krall  (22)

    You’re Still Here  Faith Hill  (22)

    Slow Like Honey  Fiona Apple  (22)

    Tonight  Kate Walsh  (22)

    Nearness of You  Norah Jones  (22)

    This post was sponsored by Robert of Miscellaneous Ramblings who inquired about “Three Things I Wouldn’t Let Go,” and Rod of Inside Rod’s Head who insisted that “Our Players Don’t Lie.”  The links provide the directions which are blissfully uncomplicated.  Yes!  There is a meme god in the sky.

    What do you think chick, vanessa, paisley, meleah, mel, jenny, phil, rj, scott, and micki (whom I know has a “meme-free” zone, but am asking the question anyway)?  It’s an interesting exercise combining the two…I’ll have to do some analysis on it after I figure out the words of the songs I’ve listed.

    Have a splendiferous weekend.

  • Okay, I kind of like it here. Sometimes.

    A couple of weekends ago, we went downtown to see the Red Bull Air Races. It seemed too interesting to let pass by. Besides, it was free.

    We walked out past the Midway to the embarcadero to stand on the pier with everyone else and gape at eight tiny planes fly at amazing speeds pulling heavy g’s through huge inflatable pylons arranged in an obstacle course. Red Bull Air Race IV

    It was incredible. Go figure.

    The nicest thing about it was that it was a gorgeous day and it was relaxing to yet again remind myself that I am developing a sort of fondness for the place where I’ve lived for nearly four decades. A tiny one. Begrudgingly. But only once in a while.

    Sure, the city coffers are empty, the city attorney is a complete lunatic, the Padres lost again, the Chargers can’t remember how to play football, and local paper thinks publishing too-lengthy-for-what-it-is pieces on cracked sidewalks, potholes in the road, and exposed tree roots are news, but hell.

    The weather’s great.

    San Diego Bay Bridge The vistas are gorgeous.

    The public art is interesting Public Art even if it isn’t exactly perfect.

    Public Art: Carlsbad, CA And at least one person has a sense of humor, caught here by Tom Mallory, a reporter for the San Diego Union-Tribune. It seems the locals don’t exactly think this particular piece of public art accurately depicts the stance of a surfer.

    Dudes. Get over it.

  • Suburban Posers Get Nailed

    Suburban Posers Get Nailed

    The highpoint of carpool duty today was seeing 10–yes, 10 city motorcycle cops looking buff and spiffy in their black boots and uniforms standing on the side of the road during the morning carpool jam. An Urban Commando Unit* car-pooler most likely cracked one of her NUTs and called the city of Paradise’s Finest to rat on non-rule-following car-poolers.

    If someone had actually planned this particular area of road, you might be able to call it an intersection. Imagine a capital X with the center being offset. Then try to picture two traffic lights so close together that only two cars can actually sit between them. Now for entertainment value, add a bike lane. That would be the real reason the cops were out today and holding a ticket pad instead of a donut. They were giving out citations for Flagrant Display of Egocentric Behavior.

    The morning dance of the carpools is the result of a middle and high school sitting within spitting distance of one another, and a huge number of parents who drive their kids to school. That’s about 3,000 teenagers. Why aren’t students walking to school like their parents — through the snow without shoes, carrying all their books, and a healthy lunch? Because a large number of them live more than five miles away, and those miles are anything but flat. Why not let them take the bus? In Paradise, if you live in the geographical boundaries set for a particular school, there is no transportation provided by our urban school district. Well, that is unless your child lives outside the boundaries, and attends a school classified by No Child Left Behind as “under-performing.” Then transportation is provided so your child can escape the horrors of his own hood and attend L-T-D Middle or High School instead. There’s another group involved in the mix: the uber smart people who live in a McNeighborhood outside of L-T-D Land, and who somehow have found a way to “get in” by joining one of those school boundary laundering houses that create phony utility bills and other documents that will help authenticate that their Prince or Princesa really does belong in the local schools. It is this last class of car-poolers who, after coming quite the distance and are so close to their final destination that they can smell it, make use of the bike lane to whiz past the rule-following, tolerant, resigned to this morning ritual, car-poolers. And today, these suburban posers got nailed.

    The coppers stopped the bike lane hemorrhage by halting the interlopers and spreading down the line like they were taking remote orders for In-and-Out burgers and shakes. And would you like that with grilled onions? Bah-dah-Bing! Oops! Gotcha!

    The second group that were, like, well, so totally caught today were the entitled folk coming down the hill from one of the more the exclusive neighborhoods in Paradise. They like to block the first intersection by swinging their au-tos around the commoners already in line to cruise through the bike lane because, well, their time is more valuable than mine and the 45 cars behind me.

    I’m thinking Paradise took in some serious cash today.

    *Urban Commando Unit (UCU) — A vehicle that seats more than four passengers, more than one of whom be seen putting make-up on, or finishing homework, and usually transporting the family dogs, which has either a car or truck chassis, sits above a normal car’s height, and sports a number of stickers on its posterior, advertising everything the occupants are advocates of or interested in. Driver is predominantly female (about 90%), blonde with hi-lites (about 85%), and usually on a cell phone, blocking traffic with merge turn signal on, but is more engaged in talking and not merging. Car-poolees are spewed out into the street, so as not to lose premium space in traffic by pulling over to curb. Is extremely adept at being focused on not being focused.