Suzie's an Aunt!

More importantly, Johanna and Nick are parents! Suzie and I flew to Detroit and immediately crossed the border to Windsor, Ontario to visit Johanna, Nick and Avery (born November 17th). The little guy is getting along swimmingly, and his parents, while exhausted, were doing fine too. Within moments of arriving, Suzie was holding Avery, and held him almost without pause during our entire weekend visit.

While Suzie was tending the little guy, Johanna took a welcome chance to go for a walk and get some fresh air, despite the near-zero temps. Here she is in front of her neighbor's house, which--it being December and all--looked like a yard sale for cheesy seasonal lawn decorations.

Sunday morning, I finally introduced Suzie to my closest friend, Dave, and his wife Amy. They drove down from north of Detroit just to meet us for brunch, and it was great to have the chance for them to meet Suzie (and Suzie them). It was a great trip--it was Suzie's first visit to Windsor and my second--and we look forward to doing it again very soon!

The Devil's Kids Fly Coach

Anna Wintour, of course.

But we'll get to that.

First, our Heathrow adventure.

I admit it: I'm an angle-shooter sometimes when it comes to air travel. Look, traveling--even when comfortably ensconced in a forward cabin--can be a drag. So I've become a, shall we say, well-informed and savvy member of the flying public. Maybe too well-informed. I've learned many of the tips and tricks to making the trip as easy and pleasurable as possible. And I had two doozies in mind for this trip. First: use Virgin's double-super-secret premium security line. Second: lounge access.

So there Suzie and I were at Heathrow Terminal 3, yesterday morning. The flight was absolutely chockablock, and since Suzie and I had booked our tickets separately, our seat assignments couldn't have been further apart.

But we'll get to that.

Following check-in, I steered Suzie to Virgin's little-known premium security screening area, an oasis of calm tucked away from the main screening area, far from the traveling hordes. As coach travelers with no Virgin status, we had no basis for using the premium line, other than my feigned ignorance as a BMI Gold status holder. But we successfully sped through the premium security line nonetheless, avoiding the 45+ minute wait at the main security line.

My BMI Gold status may not have entitled me to use the premium security line, but it did give me a HUGE perk with Virgin: use of the Virgin Clubhouse, the swankiest airport lounge there is. But with a HUGE caveat.

But we'll get to that.

Okay, we can get to that: basically, my BMI Gold status gets me in, but I cannot bring a guest. Of course, I'm traveling with Suzie, and we're newly engaged, so no way I'm going in without her, right? Wrong. My angle-shooting luck came to an abrupt halt--the lounge reception desk would not allow an exception to the "no guest" policy. Despite my proffered willingness to forgo lounge nirvana, Suzie told me to go ahead, and she patiently sat at the entrance while I went in to (a) try to get us seats together and (b) gorge on food. Hey, she wasn't hungry anyway.

Short story long: after tucking into gravad lax, stilton and various other comestibles, I spoke with the Virgin VIP agent in the club about moving our seats together. I innocently let her know that I was newly engaged (thus the need for seats together), and that I had to leave Suzie outside since my status didn't let me bring in a guest. Well, as soon as the agent heard this, she immediately strode out the door and whisked Suzie in. WHICH HAS RUINED HEATHROW FOREVER. Why? Because the lounge is freakin' amazing, and Suzie loved it and will want to use it from now on whenever we're in London. And I don't think I can pull that off again...I'm an angle-shooter, sure, but not that good an angle-shooter.

Oh, and the seat assignments? The angelic agent called ahead to the gate and somehow they arranged to get two single passengers to move so we could fly together.

And the angelic agent? We thanked her profusely and next saw her later at the gate, escorting a VIP entourage that I was certain was Anna Wintour, her boorish husband and their two kids. (I know!...and I don't even read Cosmo!) Suzie, however, didn't think it was Anna Wintour. But after we arrived at JFK, while we were waiting patiently at baggage claim--right next to the Prada-ish Devil herself--Suzie changed her tune.

So how do I know that Anna Wintour's kids ride in coach? Because they were seated three rows ahead of us, and she only came back once to check on them.

Whisky, Whisky Everywhere, and Many a Dram to Drink

On Friday we ran a few errands, including a visit to Berry Bros & Rudd (a shop that is fast becoming--I hope--a mandatory stop whenever we're in London). Suzie, patient as ever, settled in by the fireplace in this cozy 300+ year-old shop. Me? I headed straight for the whisky room.

Customer service is a rare thing these days. It is, however, alive and kicking in London. At Berry Brothers in particular, what I love is that the shopkeepers take the time to give personalized attention--inquiring as to what whisky styles, flavors and distilleries you favor, and then make suggestions tailored to your taste, preferences and budget. And you don't buy blind: sample tastes are readily offered, even of the spendier drams.

Sure, Berry Brothers does not always have the absolute lowest prices on all their offerings, but they are very competitive, especially when it comes to the more unique and extremely rare bottlings from current and shuttered distilleries. One of the best reasons to patronize them, in fact, is that in addition to their broad and deep selection of distillery-bottled whiskies, Berry Brothers offers "Berrys' Own Selection" whiskies, which are bottlings produced exclusively by Berry Brothers from prime casks they've acquired direct from the distilleries. These are not only exceptional, but also in many cases aren't even available from the distillery's own stocks. And at a great price.

In fact, I was hoping to buy a bottle of the 3rd Limited Release of Berrys' Own "Blue Hanger" vatted malt (a blend of single malts), which I regretted not purchasing during my last visit in May, and which I had heard was sold out. I hoped against hope that Berry Brothers still had a small stock remaining, but as it turns out, I was told that the 3rd Limited Release Blue Hanger was forever gone. They now offered a new version of Blue Hanger--it was delicious, but different, and alas, not what I wanted. I was a bit deflated. However, serendipity--not to mention good fortune--intervened, since at that very moment, a gentleman who happened to be walking by heard the disappointment in my voice. A few minutes later, while finalizing my ultimate selection with the shopkeeper, that same gentleman (who turned out to be the head of Berrys' whisky department) approached me and said, with a wink, "I hope this will help ease your disappointment." With that, he handed me their last remaining sample bottle (although already open, half full!) of the long-gone prior version of the Blue Hanger. On the house. Needless to say, I was incredibly grateful, and this generosity cemented my goodwill as a Berry Brothers customer.

Both times I've visited Berry Brothers, I've bought single malts that are not available in the US at any price, including, during my visit last May, an extremely limited Berrys' Own bottling of a fantastic 25-year-old Islay from the long-silent Port Ellen distillery. (In fact, I only bought that bottle six months ago, shortly after it was released, and it is already completely sold out.) This time, I chose a rare 18-year-old Longrow from the Springbank Distillery. Needless to say, I am a Berrys' customer for life, and look forward to many more visits in the future.

My Goose was Cooked

But the turkey wasn't. Okay, so I got the bird in the oven a little late. And I had a little trouble figuring out what the oven temperature was in Fahrenheit when using a British gas cooker that only has "gas marks" on it. And the consensus among three reputable culinary reference texts was that we probably pulled the turkey at the early end of the allotted roasting time. But it was getting a little late, and the natives--not to mention Pippin, Louise's adorable guide dog (that's him desperately trying to reach the stove)--were getting a little restless.

I'll spare you the gory details (and mercifully omit the photographic proof), but let's just say that carving a definitely-the-wrong-side-of-done turkey is a little difficult, a lot gross and very...shall we say...juicy. The meat did not exactly fall off the bone. But we persevered and tossed the whole lot back in the oven for a little quality time with the BTUs, and after a fashion we had ourselves a grand old Thanksgiving...even if we did so at about the same time that most of you on the Eastern Seaboard--five hours behind Greenwich Mean Time--were just getting 'round to your third helping of pumpkin pie.

Below is a portrait of the fruits of our labor and the end result of a LOT of waiting. From left to right, we've got: Suzie's homemade, tuckus-kickin' cranberry sauce; roasted root vegetables; 100% U.S.-made, store-bought, just-add-water stuffing and a few slabs of white meat slathered in my lump-free, patented turkey gravy.

If Sarah Palin Heard About this...

...She'd want to hold a press conference in the kitchen. (Too inside?)

Blessed bird safely home, I pulled giblet and bath duty on our little darling. Suzie set to preparing homemade cranberry sauce, as well as roasting parsnips, carrots and sweet potatoes. I prepared stuffing and got the main dish ready for her roasting-pan debut.

We put the kabosh on pumpkin pie (much to my chagrin), but the fact of the matter is that the only place I could find pumpkin was at Selfridges in the West End, and a tiny tin of Libby's suitable for barely one tartlet was poshly priced at £3...too spendy for even a devoted fan of the pie such as me. (Suzie on the other hand was fine knowing that pumpkin would not be on the menu.) Anyway, the photo below was midway through Hurricane Mittens' turkey preparation, and the dirty dishes were beginning to pile up!

Mission: Impossible?: A Thanksgiving Turkey in Hendon?

Improbable, maybe. But with a kosher butcher up the road, 47 quid (!) gets you just shy of one stone's-worth (~12 lbs) certified heckschered gobbler. Thank goodness Thanksgiving only comes but once a year!

Acquisition of over-priced, clergy-approved barnyard fowl accomplished!

Come On You Spurs!

I happen to be a fan of Tottenham Hotspur F.C., a Premiership football club in North London, famous for their loyal fans and Wrigley Field-like stadium, White Hart Lane. It turns out that our visit was timed perfectly for me to attend a home game today against the Blackburn Rovers--but only if (a) I could scrounge a ticket and (b) find a way to cart my tuckus out to the Lane. Well, thanks to the generosity of Suzie's neighbors up the road, success on both fronts! The weather this morning was typical London: cold with intermittent showers. But during both halves of the match, the weather cleared and the sun peeked out.


Since I knew I'd be outside in the cold, I took the opportunity to get myself kitted-up in the Spur's giftshop. I found myself a proper Tottenham scarf and knit cap, both of which I wore with pride whilst chanting along with the other Spurs faithful. At halftime, I fortified myself with a Cornish pasty (lamb mincemeat, potatoes, carrots and other mysterious and unknowable delicious bits) and a hot chocolate. Despite the brief but torrential rainshower at the half, the Spurs held on to win it one-nil. C.O.Y.S.!

I Love Pie!

We're spending Thanksgiving week in London with Suzie's dad--Suzie flew out midweek and I arrived this morning. After a quick kip to get over the jet lag, I awoke to the delicious smell of baking pie. I love pie! (It's delicious, y'know.) Suzie had also been busy preparing sea bass filets, mashed potatoes and veggies. Then we tucked into the aforementioned apple pie (with fresh apples from her dad's back garden) and topped with perfect meringue. It was, needless to say, sensational.

Best. Day. Ever.

She said yes. Right here, in the portico of Olana, in Hudson, New York.

Our Parents Meet!

Suzie's dad was visiting from London and my parents were in from Columbus, so we all arranged to spend a weekend together--first in Princeton, then later during a New York harbor cruise to celebrate my uncle's birthday.

Whither Goest Thy Cliche?

Ah, yes...there it is. Trip complete!

What a Day

Suzie and I took advantage of the absolutely capital weather to do a little walking around San Francisco. We wound our way from the Mission up to Pac Heights and down through the Marina.

After working up an appetite we headed out to Richmond to an out-of-the-way, tiny italian spot tucked away in a quiet residential neighborhood, called Pizzetta. Barely able to fit four small wooden tables, this little pizza restaurant serves food that is worth the wait (even on a quiet afternoon, there was a short wait). We had the cheese and salad plate, as well as two pizzas: one with anchovies and one with fresh heirloom tomatoes, squash and ricotta.

Brunch at Tartine with an Old Friend

We met up with one of Suzie's old friends from San Francisco, D.R., who works for Mozilla, in a senior role developing Firefox (my browser of choice). D.R. met us at an amazing French bakery in the Mission District called Tartine. Again, hate to get all epicurious on you, but the baked goods were astounding. We had a Gougere with gruyere cheese and fresh herbs, fresh leek quiche and various other french pastry. True to Suzie's predictions and a testament to the quality of the place, the line was out the door and around the corner. Luckily it moved quickly.

Really, it *is* all about the food...

Saturday night, we went to one of Suzie's favorite restaurants in town. Despite having no reservation, Suzie was batting 3-3 when she approached the maître d' at Nopa. We snagged the last walk-in table before the crowds descended upon this justly popular restaurant. But enough talk...the night was all about the food.

The amuse bouche (charentais melon with mint, basil and sea salt), along with Suzie's cocktail (sherry with house-made sour cherry syrup):

My heirloom tomato salad with Shaft blue cheese:

Suzie's chilled Early Girl tomato soup with yogurt and cucumber:

My Moroccan tagine with home-made lemon yogurt:

Suzie's outstanding burger (with more of that Shaft blue cheese and pickled onions)...sorry for the blurry photo, but I was hungry:

Dessert was also grand: Suzie had a trio of sorbets: pluot, nectarine and Gravenstein apple; I had a stone-fruit cobbler with smoky whiskey ice cream. No photos...they didn't last long enough.

More Ferry Plaza Market

A few more photos from our visit to the market at the Ferry Terminal. Suzie bought an enormous woven shopping basket, perfect for trips to the Park Slope Co-op (or for Lucy's naps). Above you can see her with the basket, checking out the cake stands for sale at a great little patisserie. Below is one of the pastries available--a Princess Torte, which is a favorite in my family.
Also, Suzie had her eye on this luscious panna cotta, but we were both still stuffed from grazing at the farmers' market:

Frida Kahlo

After perusing the Ferry Plaza Market, we headed over to SFMOMA for a retrospective of Frida Kahlo's work, assembled in honor of the 100th year since her birth. The exhibit was quite impressive--I'll admit, I haven't really seen much of her work, but it was enjoyable. The crowds, however, were not. The gallery space was clearly much too small to accomodate the throngs of people eager to view the exhibit. Despite using timed-entry tickets, we felt it was much too crowded. The part of the exhibit I found most interesting was a collection of hundreds of snapshots and photographs that Kahlo collected over her lifetime--many showing candid moments from her life, including her marriage to Diego Rivera, perhaps the best-known Mexican artist of the period.

Ferry Plaza Market

After our long day of travel, we turned in early on Friday in order to be well-rested for Saturday. We arose to a fog-bound city, and after I puttered around the room for a bit, we headed out to the first destination of the day--the Ferry Plaza Market. Every Saturday, there is a colossal farmers' market. As you may imagine, given San Francisco's ideal location with respect to California's central valley and other agricultural regions, as well as the city's well-known reputation for being a foodie mecca, the selection of produce, meats, cheeses and other comestibles at the market was second to none.

Once we got to the Ferry Terminal, we made a bee-line for the back of the market, closest to the water, where Suzie knew of a great Mexican food stall. There we were treated to farm-fresh scrambled eggs, refried black beans and tortillas tossed in a red mole and topped with sour cream, fresh cilantro and beautiful avocado. We washed our breakfast down with blackberry mint ade, and headed to the stall for Blue Bottle Coffee, Suzie's favorite coffee place in San Francisco (and the place where Jamie, the barista/owner of our favorite coffee place in New York, Abraço, got his start). The line was long, the coffee great.

After the caffeine fix, we wandered through the market. We stopped by the stall for Frog Hollow Farm, a well-regarded fruit orchard. The farmers ain't no dummies--they know the fruit practically sells itself, so all they had to do was offer free samples and sit back and collect the dough.

We loved the peaches and nectarines, but what really sealed the deal were the three different varieties of pluots: Flavor King, Flavor Heart, and the best of them all, Dapple Dandy. This wasn't fruit, it was candy.

There was produce of every variety, but what really stood out, because of color, variety and season, were the tomatoes and peppers. But mostly it was the tomatoes.

I brought my appetite to San Francisco

We were so exhausted and hungry by the time we arrived in San Francisco, that I completely forgot to take a photo of the bay and the city as we approached for our landing. A shame, too, because the weather was spectacular, and the sky was a crystalline blue. We rode into town on the BART and walked a short block or so to the St. Francis hotel on Union Square. After a quick run up to the room to drop our bags and freshen up, we headed out for lunch (dinner to our internal clocks, since we missed lunch somewhere over Nebraska). Suzie had a lovely place in mind--an eclectic mediterranean-influenced restaurant on Market Street, out towards the Castro.

We sat down at a corner table nestled by the window, and perused the menu. Famished, I immediately ordered six pacific oysters. Suzie raved about the restaurant's signature dish, a whole roasted chicken served over a panzanella-style salad, with rocket, pine nuts, currants, shallots and torn sourdough croutons. The dish, pictured above, is made-to-order, and takes an hour. (It was worth the wait.) But in the meantime, we staved off hunger by ordering a caesar salad and a gem lettuce salad with olives, feta and heirloom tomatoes. Despite the salads, it was still a long wait for our entree. When it finally arrived, not a moment too soon, the chicken was succulent and crisp on the outside, and the panzanella salad was a perfect accompaniment--we devoured both...in fact, Suzie only reminded me to photograph it after we had already tucked into it.

Somewhere over the west

On our way to San Francisco...

Suzie and I are heading to San Francisco for Labor Day weekend. She is over the moon about the trip...she has been aching to take me and show me the town. I'm really looking forward to it--I haven't been in some time. Hopefully we'll have enough time to cover all the places she wants to visit--she's already made a list of more "must eat" restaurants than we'll have time (or meals) for!

We left this morning at o'dark-thirty. La Guardia was practically deserted at 5:45am, but we got to watch the sun rise over our plane.

Lovely Day for Sitting in the Park

Suzie and I wound up our day by lounging in St. James's Park and enjoying a cone of ice cream. The weather all week has been sensational, and it was capped off by the postcard-perfect afternoon we had in the park. After a long day of walking, including picking up Suzie's umbrella and my mid-afternoon hangover, the candy-striped deck chairs were a welcome sight. We stayed long enough to soak it all in (or at least until the attendant came and asked us to pay the £1.50 each for the use of the chairs).

We headed home, with a final stop at Suzie's favorite grocery, Waitrose. There, I stocked up on Colman's mustard, crumpets and HP sauce. I didn't go too crazy on the sundries--no need to, since after all, we will be making many many more trips to London together in the future.

Bottoms Up!

My friend Adam, with whom I worked at my old job, met us for drinks Friday afternoon. Given the heat, it was the perfect occasion for me to try my first Pimm's, and it was a very refreshing drink. It was not, however, a scotch. For that, Adam urged me to drop in to Berry Bros. & Rudd, and seek out the salesman with the ruddy complexion and an eagerness to pour out a dram or two to sample. So today Suzie and I returned to St. James's Street and paid a visit to Berry Bros. It did not disappoint. Of the three or four salespeople, it was obvious which one was our guy--Ed (that's him, below).

Ed graciously spent at least 45 minutes with me, pouring out several samples of unique and hard-to-find scotches. As Ed explained, Berry Bros. goes 'round to the many distilleries in Scotland and selects the finest individual casks of single malt, buying the casks for themselves and bottling the whisky under their name. These particular casks are chosen for their quality and character. Thus, as Ed pointed out, while a distillery attempts to aim for consistency of product for their customers year in and year out by carefully blending the various thousands of casks produced each year, Berry Bros. specifically tastes and purchases casks which meet their criteria for their limited production boutique bottlings.

Interesting bit of trivia--Berry Bros. is housed in a storefront hundreds of years old (the back wall dates from the 1500s), with creaky floors and not a plumb or square line in the joint. In fact, apparently during the Blitz a German bomb exploded up the street from the shop, with the result that Berry Bros. storefront was pushed several inches further out into the street than the neighboring buildings due to the concussion from the blast. But back to our story...

So it was that Suzie, happy to rest her feet for a bit, watched as I sampled dram after dram, with Ed happily opening bottle after bottle. Needless to say, I was somewhat sozzled after all his help. And that bottle--which I at first had admonished him was way out of my price range--became more and more reasonable the more I sampled. In the end, in my whisky-clarified state I was able to lucidly rationalize that (a) I had easily consumed £10-20 worth of fine whisky and (b) I'd get the VAT back at the airport, so...long story short, my bag is slightly heavier for the trip home, and yes, it's the spendy bottle. Job well done, Ed.