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Art of the Bar

I recently stumbled across a full-page spread in the August Bon Appetit devoted to a former friend from my days of bartending in Boston.

from Bon Appetit Magazine

I knew Misty as a hard working, spunky brunette that worked long hours at Toad, the Cambridge restaurant/music club we both worked at. Back in the day, when I wasn’t writing screenplays and she wasn’t attending classes at Harvard’s Divinity school, we would commiserate over late night Manhattans and talk about what our lives would look like once we got out from behind the bar. They were hopeful days filled with big ideas and limitless possibilities.

Photo, circa 1997. My last night working in Boston. Celebrating with Misty, and all of my Toad friends

In the years since I came to Los Angeles, Misty decided to put her Divinity schooling behind her and dedicate herself to the art of the bar. Her devotions went from the teachings of God(s) to a new kind of religion: celebrating classic cocktails, via the Boston based chapter she founded called the Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails. Now she runs the bar program at Drink. The Bon Appetit article reminded me just how influential those early years in restaurants really were for people like Misty and myself.

And that’s when it hit me. We restaurant people really are a different from most people. We don’t share the same wiring of the nine-to-five, business suit wearing set. We work odd hours, dream in cocktails and recipes, and share a secret language that is truly unique. For many of us, making it in the business of food and drink isn’t about the money. Success is being able to create truly great product–drinks and food and service–and do it night after night. Success is consistently great product that people from all over the world stop and take notice of. Success, for many of us in the restaurant business, is about getting street cred.

Street cred may not pay the rent, but it certainly does has its benefits. Respect from restaurant brethren equals a table at a busy restaurant, a spot at the front of the line at the bar, a dish on the house, or a handshake from the person in charge. Witness a restaurant pro with a lot of street cred walk into a restaurant and you will see something akin to the way Italian restaurants cater to the Mafia. It’s a beautiful thing. A full page spread in a food magazine is, without a doubt, the print version of street cred.

The Nomad, The Bartender and The Writer

I belong to the service branch of the restaurant business. Servers, bartenders, runners, bussers are the mercenaries and carnival people that make up the front of the house–or service unit–of restaurants. We are a nomadic group with a touch of the performer in us. We rely on a toolbox of skills and a range of talents that are always required because every day is filled with a flurry of difficult and trying situations.

Bartenders are a small subsection of the service branch. Equal part technician and server, bartenders offer a level of service very different from waiters. Not only do they act as a liaison between the guest and the kitchen, but bartenders must be able to create cocktails in the manner that a chef creates food—they must be consistent, have good technical skills and understand their ingredients. Despite the fact that bartenders often offer the same services as the waiters, life behind the bar is a very different place than on the floor.

Which is part of the reason why I am so excited to start work behind the bar again. For just a few nights a week, I will step behind the bar at Osteria Mozza to bartend, serve and fine tune the technical skills to create amazing drinks on the fly. Bartending is an aspect of the restaurant business I have missed greatly—ever since the good old days when Misty and I were just starting out in Cambridge and finding our way in the world—via restaurants.

In order to give more time to my freelance work as a frequent contributor to Squid Ink, LA Weekly’s food blog, I have made the difficult decision to leave my full time job at Tavern Restaurant.

Now I must sadly say goodbye to Suzanne Goin, Caroline Styne, and the inspiring team of people I had become a part of. The dedication, tenacity, fearlessness and attention to detail of Goin and Styne was a constant inspiration that made me want to be better at what I do. They are, without a doubt, two incredible women that deserve every bit of their enormous street cred.

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The Perfect Fruit by Chip Brantley, a Book Review


While pursuing my undergrad and masters degree in writing, I consistently heard the advice that the life of a writer is one that should be avoided, if at all possible. “Do anything else if you can,” the teachers begged. But despite their warning to turn back from a life of hard work, no respect, and very little (if any) financial reward, I persevered.

Turns out, artists aren’t the only foolish ones with careers that don’t always pay off. According to Chip Brantley‘s book, “The Perfect Fruit: Good breeding, bad seeds and the hunt for the elusive Pluot,” fruit breeders are also part of a cursed bunch of men and women shackled with unfaltering passion, a blinding desire to create something, and a life of hard work that doesn’t necessarily offer any financial reward.

In fruit breeders, Brantley found a kindred spirit. It’s no wonder that a single piece of fruit, and the history of its breeder would eventually become a subject so compelling Brantley would dedicated a couple years of his life to tell the story. One bite of a ripe Flavor King plum was all it took to ignite an obsession in Brantley, a journalist and founder of Cookthink. In what could be described in movie terms as the cute meet, Brantley’s stone fruit encounter was so thrilling and exciting it changed the course of his life forever.

An obsession is born

Brantley’s research lead him to the fruit of his of his affections: a Flavor King Pluot. A relatively new hybrid created by a man named Floyd Zaiger, the writer tracks the history of the fruit through its creator’s lineage. From the fields of San Joaquin Valley, California, to the text books of early American fruit breeders, Brantley leads us through the meandering path of plant husbandry. He unravels the history of the hybrid and tells the stories of the growers responsible for creating obsession-worthy fruits. What results is a mostly compelling story of dedication, competition, invention, and an undying passion to create a perfect piece of fruit.

Brantley spends time in the field with an array of fruit breeders: an interesting bunch that have hybrids on their minds and an insular culture that keeps the group rather off the grid. Brantley navigates the world of the plant breeders and corporate fruit buyers as an inquisitive observer that would happily spend a full day wandering around a field to taste hundreds of juicy plums.

With the growth of interest in fruit that tastes good, Brantley shows readers why breeds such as the Dapple Dandy and the Flavor King are now just starting to make it on the buying public’s radar. And with the popularity of farmers markets growing by the week, Brantley is only able to guess at the affect of local consumer demand on stone fruit farmers.

Brantley’s “Pluot” is a must-read book for food lovers, plum obsessives, and any writer that has ever felt alone in the world of struggle. Thanks to Brantley’s research, it becomes clear that one can find artistry in just about any field of work. Take for example one fruit breeder’s desire to grow fruit. In his mission statement for growing fruit, he states that he hopes his plums will illicit a response equal to “a first kiss, a grandma’s smile, the last day of school, and outside fastballs over the right field fence.”

And maybe, if you’re a food blogger with a dream of someday making enough money to do nothing but write about food, consider this: it took Floyd Zaiger, the creator of the Flavor King (Brantley’s perfect fruit), twelve years before he saw any profit from his labors. The amount that he made after twelve years of planting, cross breeding, and creating an intricate system of tracking genetic crosses only resulted in a small check for just two hundred and fifty dollars.

Brantley’s research has a way of filtering into a food lover’s mind (mine) and affecting buying choices. After reading about the passion it takes to grow delicious plums, I couldn’t resist the eat-over-the-sink juicy plums at my local farmers market. As the season comes to a close I will enjoy every last, anti-oxidant rich bite.

According to Brantley, most Americans eat only one pound of plums a year. Since reading “The Perfect Fruit,” I am well on my way of breaking the record for average plum consumption.

Photo courtesy of Bloomsbury

The Perfect Fruit
Good breeding, bad seeds and the hunt for the elusive Pluot
Published by Bloomsbury

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Thick as a brick chicken

There are little stories we tell ourselves to make it past the little things we do that might not be so noble. The guilt associated with a late night ice cream run is easily assuaged by the internal voice of you deserve it and who’s gonna know?

Then there are other little lies we tell, like when you bump a car on your way out of a parking space and the voice in your head tells you, it’s not your fault. They were parked too close. Cut in front of someone in line and the voice barks, what’s their problem? Why were they dawdling?

In the world of blogging there are plenty of white lies people tell themselves to get away with certain things. Why can’t I write about this box of food they gave me? Who says I have to say I got it for free? The borrowed phrase, the lifted post, the stolen photo it happens every day. Writers, bloggers, and photographers stumble upon instances where strangers with a need for content have taken what they want without regard for others. Who’s gonna care? I’m not making money off this blog. Perhaps people steal content out of pure ignorance, but maybe people know better and convince themselves otherwise, with their own set of little white lies.
I like to think of myself as a somewhat intelligent person. But sometimes, I think my brain is as thick as a brick. Things that are obvious to some people take me a while to figure out. Which is why, when I started blogging, I decided to spend a lot of time reading up on what other bloggers did and how they thought things should be done.

I was uncertain on the rules of what was proper and what was not. If a story inspired me to write a post I wasn’t sure if I needed to link back in order to acknowledge how they motivated me. Maybe I didn’t use their words, but their ideas inspired me. Isn’t that a kind of borrowing? There were recipes I tried out and modified, but I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I wasn’t sure how much of the recipe was theirs and how much of it was mine. I searched the internet for information that would educate me on what was fair and reasonable, and what was considered downright wrong.

Thick as a brick

Over time I began to understand the basics. I learned:

—Don’t use any photographs that aren’t yours (unless the photographer says it’s okay).
—Attribute recipes to the original source, even if the recipe is modified.
—Link back to stories and sources that are referenced within the text.

Okay, so those are some pretty obvious rules, right? But then why did Saveur Magazine use (steal) one of my photos without asking for my permission? Why did they fail to give me proper attribution? I look forward to getting the answer from their online editor (to be continued, I hope), but I can only guess the writer that contributed the story told himself a little white lie that putting the name of my blog and offering no link was attribution enough. Should I be mad? Yes. Have I learned something? Yes. We all make mistakes.

I recently stepped into a bit of an ethical mud pie when I started work on a freelance article. I didn’t see it at the time, but the story was too close to my personal life to write about it. It took a serious nudge for me to realize–light dawns on marble head!—that I had written a biased piece. Once I saw how flawed my choice was, I was embarrassed. I told myself a little white lie about how my proximity had nothing to do with the story and I believed it. I was ashamed at my own lack of judgment and my ability to see the truth. I felt like I had kicked myself in the chest.

It took me a while to dust myself off and get my thick as a brick head on straight, but I think I have a much better understanding of what I need to do. There are easy to understand rules of etiquette of online writing, and there are slippery slope ethical issues that blur and bend the more you look at them. Freebies, bias, and lack of transparency are all issues that require thoughtful consideration, daily. I can’t allow myself to get caught up in the rush to tell stories without contemplating all the potential pitfalls.

As someone that has publicly stated a desire to uphold a higher standard in on line writing, I should know better. The thing is, I am flawed. I am like every other human out there, I make mistakes.

In the world of what’s right and what’s wrong in writing—both online and on the page—there are a whole lot of in between areas and spots that come in and out of focus. The topic of ethics in social media, self-publishing (blogging) and journalism is a constantly morphing. Maintaining a code of ethics requires time, thought, and lots of soul searching.

It’s easy to have high ideals. But actively upholding all of those ideals is something much more difficult. We are flawed individuals. Mistakes will be made. Whether or not we learn from those mistakes is our choice.

“May he without any fault cast the first stone,” a famous religious figure once said. I say, take more than a moment to consider if you’ve told yourself a little white lie before you hit publish.

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Thick as a brick chicken (AKA Chicken al Mattone)
Inspired by a recipe from Sfoglia Restaurant as published in this month’s Bon Appetit

1 3-pound chicken
1-2 tbs of kosher salt
2 lemons, juiced
3 tbs olive oil
4 tbs chopped parsley
2 garlic cloves, chopped
fresh rosemary
black pepper

special equipment
a tinfoil wrapped brick

Using a sharp pair of kitchen scissors, cut as close to the back bone–from the butt end of the bird to the neck—as possible. Repeat the process on the other side to remove the back bone. Reserve the back bone and neck for stock. Rinse the bird and dry thoroughly with paper towels.

Using a sheet tray, open the chicken up like a book–making sure to put the cavity of the bird down onto the tray. Drizzle the bird with half the juice of the lemon, the sliced garlic, rosemary (2 sprigs worth, removed from the twig) 2 tbs of olive oil and 2 tbs of parsley. Cover and refrigerate over night.

When ready preheat the oven to 400º. Sprinkle the chicken with a tsp. of kosher salt and black pepper. Heat the remaining olive oil in a skillet over medium high heat. When the oil shimmers (and isn’t smoking) add the chicken, skin side down (this will take a little adjusting of the legs of the chicken). Cook until golden brown or approximately 6-7 minutes. Place the tinfoil wrapped brick onto the chicken and place in the oven in the middle rack. Roast for thirty minutes. Remove brick and chicken from the oven. Flip the bird over and replace the brick on the chicken. Cook for another 15 minutes or so—or to the point that an internal thermometer reads 165º. Remove the chicken and its brick from the oven. Place the chicken on a platter. Drizzle chicken with the remaining lemon juice and remaining rosemary. For an extra kick sprinkle with hot chili flakes.

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Julie and Julia: one food blogger’s review

Image courtesy of Sony Pictures

“Don’t get too excited. It only leads to disappointment.”

That’s what a weary Bostonian told me one night when I expressed giddy enthusiasm before tasting her food. Her warning hasn’t stopped me from being eager about a lot of things, but her words have definitely stuck with me.

Julie & Julia is a much hyped movie I’m glad I maintained my cool about. I did my best to keep my excitement to a minimum and enter the theater with a general sense of calm. As a food blogger and child raised on Julia Child (our local, public television station was WGBH), I really wanted the film to be great. But the more reviews I read—one critic suggested that Meryl Streep’s Julia Child was reason enough to see the film but the food blogging story line was so boring it required a penlight and reading materials–the more I began to worry. Perhaps the narcissism of Julie Powell and the sickly sweet impulses of Nora Ephron would ruin the film. Would Julie & Julia be another hokey romantic comedy that would make me shiver with revulsion every time I passed by its movie poster?

In the hands of other actors, Julie & Julia could have been a disaster. But the honest and impressive artistry of the cast make this a savory film, rather than sickly sweet. The casting of Meryl Streep, Amy Adams and Stanley Tucci is compelling enough to propel this movie into Oscar territory. Streep and Tucci as Julia Child and her husband, Paul, spark with chemistry. The simple moments—Streep’s darting eyes when she slices open an envelope holding potentially important news, Tucci’s physical comedy when he is forced to confront a mound of sliced onions, and Adam’s commitment to feel the frustrations of a sleep deprived woman cooking through the night—make watching the film a real pleasure. Despite real life Julie Powell’s flaws (she is nagging, bratty, selfish, narcissistic and oddly food-phobic), Adams manages to make her true-life character (somewhat) appealing. It is with lesser actors—Adam’s boss and best friends—that the weakness of Ephron’s scripting and direction become more obvious.

In Hollywood, Ephron is the go-to writer for stories of bitchy women that come to their senses after a run around the romantic comedy wheel. Julie & Julia requires from Ephron the use of an entirely different writing muscle. Since the two books she adapted for this film both have story lines with pre-existing husbands, Ephron is unable to fabricate her usual cute-meet scenarios. Ephron the screenwriter is bounced from her comfort zone and is forced to create something new. What results is a romantic movie that celebrates the existence of love, the art of cooking and the delicate dance required for a successful marriage.

What’s even more impressive to me—as someone that struggles with mastering the art of screenwriting—is how Ephron easily captures the art of writing on film. In what could be sappy diary writing, Ephron is very careful in how she shows Powell at the keys. Writing as a story point, isn’t very exciting, especially when the writing is blogging–a field relatively new to many. But thanks to Ephron’s script and direction, the moments when Powell (Adams) sits at the computer to write, does double duty for the story—making the audience feel like they are part witness and part blog reader. Creating a compelling writing scene for a writer on her laptop is not an easy task–just watch the pilot episode of Sex In The City and you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.

Julie & Julia may not be a perfect movie, but it is a keeper and a must have film for any food blogger’s DVD collection. So if you haven’t seen Julie & Julia yet, be sure to see check it out. But don’t go in expecting too much.

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Expert advice on essential pantry herbs


Every home cook has basic items they always stock in their kitchen’s pantry. Requirements slide up and down a varying scale of basic essentials to gourmet necessities. While some gourmands require jars of caviar, blocks of chocolate and imported espresso beans, I like to keep things simple in my little kitchen. My cabinets stocked with cans of tuna, sardines, plum tomatoes, chicken stock and bags of pasta, granola, cereal and nuts. Nothing too complicated.

As for spices, I avoid the dried stuff in jars. As New York Times’ food writer Mark Bittman suggests my spice shelf should be dedicated to items that don’t go bad quickly. I stock dried red peppers, whole nutmeg, large sticks of Vietnamese Cinnamon (thanks White on Rice!), dried oregano from Italy, cardamom pods and a tube of harissa.

I have to admit that when it comes to buying fresh herbs, however, I am utterly uncertain what should be considered essential. Unless I have a specific recipe in mind, I’m often left wondering what I should or shouldn’t be buying at the farmers market herb stand. And sometimes, the thought of tossing another bunch of wilted (and yes, I admit it, moldy) basil into the garbage keeps me from buying anything at all.

But now, thanks to Lily Baltazar—the daughter of an herb grower and the person in charge of overseeing the family’s herb stands at farmers markets across southern California—I think I have a much better understanding of what an essential herb really is.

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Lily for my weekly column in the LA Weekly’s food blog, Squid Ink. Lily thrives on educating customers and teaching them how use herbs. After learning tons of great ideas on how to use leftover herbs (read the full story here), I decided to ask Lily what herbs she couldn’t live without. Here is what she had to say:

If you could only have a handful of herbs in your pantry, what would they be?

I would certainly pick Italian parsley, basil, thyme, arugula and cilantro. I like to think that we are all “home chefs” and although our flavor palates are different, these herbs provide an array of flavors.

I love Italian Parsley too! I think that may be the once thing I always buy at your herb stand with confidence. I chop it up and throw it in sauces, toss with bread crumbs and add to salads (especially my radish and sardine salad). Why is Italian Parsley one of your essential herbs?

It sparks up any meal, whether you are making tabouli, putting a soup stock together, or adding it to a carton of store bought soup, it will enhance the look of the dish, as well as the flavor.

And Basil?

Basil is another herb that works well with any dish. I want to get customers to think past Italian pesto. This beautiful herb can be used for so much more. Just add extra leaves to a sandwich, to top a pizza and add to salads. Chop up basil and add last minute to soups, use it in spring rolls. Or just add it in the place of cilantro.

Suzanne Goin likes to use muddle basil stems to flavor her vinaigrettes. That’s an ingenious use of leftovers, I have to say. And speaking of Suzanne, thyme seems to be the number one herb used in most of her dishes at Tavern. Why is thyme so important to you?

Thyme is the versatile herb that can be used in just about anything. Use it for marinades and meat rubs for grilling. Chop and use for mushroom dishes. Thyme is a must for salad dressing. This beautiful herb is now being used to flavor and garnish for drinks.

And what about arugula? Is it really an herb?

The nutty spicy green is gaining in popularity. Its nutty, peppery leaves go well with fish, sushi, spring rolls, chicken, beef. I like to use this green in combination with sweets. Try an arugula salad with fresh dates from the farmers market or fresh, ripe fruit like apples, pears, candied nuts…The list goes on. For extra flavor, add cheese to an arugula salad.

Sometimes when I run out of spinach I like to use any arugula I have and sauté it. I recently used it in an egg white omelet and loved how it gave the simple egg preparation such a nice peppery note…Why is cilantro on your list of essential herbs?

I like to chop it up and sprinkle it on just about anything. I like it for salsa, chutney, salads, sandwiches, burritos, quesadillas.

How do you suggest storing fresh herbs? Is there a way to prolong their freshness?

Keep pantry herbs all together in a plastic bag or in a plastic tub. I like to bring out all of my herbs together, to inspire experimentation and new uses. The only exception to this is basil. Basil is special and does not like cold temps. Wrap your basil in a dry paper towel and place in a separate bag. Put the bag in the cheese bin or the warmest part of your fridge. All my pantry herbs (except for basil) will last about a week in the fridge.

Lily Baltazar’s family business, ABC Rhubarb is based in Fillmore, California. I visit her every week at the Hollywood Farmers Market.