Steve Martin Short, San Fran, the Good Food Awards

Y'all cut me some slack on this post because not only am I typing furiously on my phone a la Lisbeth Salander during her recuperation in the hospital in book 3 but also I tasted approximately 2,000 jams today and am sugared to the max. In a great way, but dang. 

Let's go chronologically because that makes easy sense to me right now. 

On Friday night, Tom (just back in town and tired from four days away) and I (gaga tired and slightly frazzled because of his four days away) dropped the boys at his parents' house and headed to Wolf Trap, an outdoor concert venue, for a picnic and a few hours with Steve Martin and Martin Short.  

I adore both men, as comedians and actors, and admire Martin also as a writer and banjo player.​ They did not disappoint. Oh my gawd, did we laugh and laugh. 

"It's more than a thrill to be here;​ it's an obligation," deadpanned Steve. They roasted one another, took swipes at Hollywood and a few named celebrities and politicians, Martin sang and put on an absurd show that involved him stripping down to a flesh-colored onesie bedecked with Sharpied muscles and (generous) genitalia, and Steve slung a banjo over his chest.

I have always considered Steve such a handsome man, and that estimation was enhanced considerably when he began to play. He was later joined by an incredible bluegrass band out of North Carolina, the Steep Canyon Rangers, whose fiddler is a masterful genius. It is unclear to me how he can play with such sustained and racing intensity; I wonder if he's just so good and has been playing so long that fiddling is like breathing- you don't think, you just do.

We made our way home and I threw a few last items into my suitcase before throwing myself into bed and willing myself to sleep. 

For at the crack of dawn on Saturday, it was west, young man.  

Gorgeous, huh? That's Utah, the Hanksville area if my GPS is right. 

Touch down in San Francisco and my aunt Renee is waiting for me.  We head straight for Golden Gate Park, as she generously honored my desire to see the Art of the African American South exhibit at the de Young museum and then putz around the park. We wandered through the Japanese Tea Garden and ate lunch and a separate dessert too before I faded and had to call it a day. 

the drum bridge in the garden

One of the several stone pathways across various creeks and ponds in the garden. 

I slept like a baby until 4:30 this morning. Still on east coast time, I took advantage of the quiet, early morn to tear through much of Everything I Never Told You, the 2014 novel by Celeste Ng. It was her debut work, and my god is it stunning. The only reason I willingly inserted my bookmark between late pages was my need to get to the Good Food Awards on time. 

Unsure about what to expect, I shyly entered Impact Hub, the multi-story Mission District site of today's blind tasting.  It was abuzz- registration, a line for fresh pour-over coffee, breakfast provided by local joints. I met a dynamic food and spirits writer with great style and gratefully took the spot next to her on a couch. A half-hour in and we were checking each other's teeth for post-bagel poppy seeds. 

She headed to Spirits and I to Preserves, and the games began. 

In my judging trio were a cheese aficionado from Austin and one of the owners/founders of Petrichor Vineyards. Both were utterly delightful, and I couldn't have more enjoyed spending today and 900 jams with them.

Nicholas, me, and Margaret

Jam

More jam

More. Also I think we each drank 90 liters of water today and spit as much jam as possible. We were jam sommeliers, y'all. You want to try and avoid getting drunk on sugar! OMG, the heady headachiness that sugar can impart. 

It was SO.much.fun. The finalists are well-deserved.

Afterwards, after submitting our rating forms and hugging goodbye, I simply had to walk.  I took 15th to Guerrero to 18th and spent some time at Bi-Rite Market, knowing that as much as I wanted to attend the GFA after-party, I was too sleepy and in need of some solo time. So, take-out, top-quality dinner. And wine. 

Then for a stroll through the Mission and to Dog-Eared Books, via 18th and Valencia and past the Women’s Building, too.

I meandered languidly through the aisles, deeply content with the luxury of slow time that was just for me. My hair and teeth hadn't been brushed for hours, a recyclable bag of takeaway and Edible Marin and a gifted cookbook hung from my right shoulder, my phone battery was nearing dead, and I was utterly content.

Me too. :( #stillwithHer

And then, back to my hotel. For a bath, some dinner, finishing one book and starting a new one, and packing up to head home tomorrow. What a rich and satisfying three days. 

To California and the Good Food Awards

Y'all, guess where I'm going tomorrow? San Francisco! For two nights. By myself. And do you know why? Because after my strawberry-cardamom jam scored exceptionally well in last year's Good Food Awards, I was asked to be a judge this year. So enthusiastically, I said "YES!"

The GFA believes that "For a long time, certifications for responsible food production and awards for superior taste have remained distinct—one honors social and environmental responsibility, while the other celebrates flavor. The Good Food Awards recognize that truly good food—the kind that brings people together and builds strong, healthy communities—contains all of these ingredients. We take a comprehensive view, honoring people who make food that is delicious, respectful of the environment, and connected to communities and cultural traditions."

I'm going to spend all day Sunday tasting the delicious entries in Preserves. My co-judges sound like fascinating people, the other categories are as fabulous as preserves (think: charcuterie, cheese, oil, beer...), and there's an after-party at The Perennial that I can't wait to attend.

I leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow, will spend a few hours with my aunt Renee once in SF, and fly home Monday. A whirlwind and an exciting one. Woo-woo!

BARE Vestland restaurant in Bergen, Norway

Yesterday, Tom and I had one of the best meals of our lives: lunch at BARE Vestland, in Bergen, Norway. We’d read about the restaurant in the New York Times recently, and with a free day in Bergen decided to take advantage of the noontime hour.

Bergen, the second largest city in Norway after Oslo, sits on a peninsula on the country’s southwestern coast. It is by far the most urban place we’ve visited and has a distinctly coastal and also industrial feel. It boasts an historic city center and a thriving fish market, and is surrounded by seven mountains, or fjellene.

After taking the funicular to the top of one, Mount Fløyen, Tom and I left the kids with the rest of the family and headed back down the steep face. First stop, Det Lille Koffe Kompaniet.

​Run by a mother and daughter who bore a striking and beautiful resemblance to one another, Det Lille was the best cup of coffee I’ve had on this trip so far. Raccoon, in Alesund, and a tiny stand in Amsterdam on day 1, were solid seconds, but Det Lille, you are doing it right and with charm. Three lovely cakes still in warm, aged springform pans sat on the counter. A man had just delivered them from a nearby kitchen. They looked as if they'd just sprung from Nanny's oven. I ordered a slice of the pistachio almond cake but when the mother went to cut it, she found it wasn't quite done. We shared a laugh, she refunded my money, and the man wrapped the cake back in its pan and outer layer of foil and hurried it back from whence it had come. This would never, sadly, happen in America. I loved every moment. As it turns out a slice was $9 US so I probably didn't need it that badly. Norway is stunningly expensive. 

As we sipped and sighed happily, we strolled through Bergen’s Bryggen area and made our way to Vågsallmenningen, near Fresco Hall. Three steps down to a door in a subtle exterior and through into a dark, sleek yet cozy interior.

​Bare Vestland is a hyper-locally sourced small-plate establishment. And it offers an extensive selection of beer, which felt as if they’d be perfect matches with the menu. I chose a Porter style and Tom a Saison, both made by 7 Fjell bryggeri. They were sublime.

To go alongside them we ordered the: sourdough bread and oxtail butter; radishes, turnips, and tarragon cream; lightly smoked fish with cauliflower, lemon, and dill; chicken confit with broccoli and lovage; and Plukkfisk, a Bergen specialty of mashed potatoes whipped with white fish and topped with bacon and leeks. Each was a revelation.

Every bite was better than the last, and we cleaned our plates. The turnips and radishes were bright, tangy, devoid of bitterness and fibrousness; utterly fresh and of the season. I wanted to bathe in the tarragon cream.

The fish was so lightly smoked that the center of each piece was raw. The exterior was speckled and shimmery from heat, the whole like a work of sashimi art. Green dill oil slicked it elegantly.

The chicken confit was sublime: tender, moist, completely chickeny in the best way (it was a local organic chicken). And the Plukkfisk was of the gods. Highbrow comfort food that I will most definitely be replicating. 

Stuffed, we nonetheless ordered dessert: almond cake with strawberry, rhubarb, meringue, and sour cream. 

Truly, we were blissed out. While Bergen had some lovely sights, it didn't speak to my soul in any way except at BARE Vestland, where food and the love of preparing it thoughtfully and with great attention to detail and locality gave me a marvelous sense of place and character.