Cali, Final Edition: Keller Unbuttoned, Greasy Burritos, and Barbecued Oysters

Nick's Cove: gorgeous views and fantastic oysters

By Mollie Chen

And finally, five last reasons to love California. Now I can stop procrastinating and get started on all the very late copy I owe our Production department.

  Liberty Farms duck at Ad Hoc

11. At Ad Hoc, Thomas Keller takes a step back (he isn't even digitally present in the kitchen) and lets you serve yourself from family-style platters. The menu is scrawled on a blackboard (Liberty Farms duck breast encircled by a cheery heart) and the servers claim to be the best-fed staff in town (their staff meals even include dessert). Plus, unlike at many star chef-run restaurants, the patrons seem like neighborhood folks and not rabid foodies with to-eat checklists.

12. In tiny, crunchy Point Reyes, the Tomales Bay Food Company only has a few tenants but they are an impressive bunch: Cowgirl Creamery, which has a display kitchen where you can watch cheesemongers making Mt. Tam; the Cowgirl Cantina, where you can get a scoop (or three) of the to-die-for Three Twins cardamom ice cream; and Little Shorty's small but wonderful produce stand.

13. The corner of Mission and 25t St. in San Francisco: within a few storefronts radius, you can have a delicious burrito at La Taqueria, a gooey pupusa directly next door, or a slice of homey pie at Mission Pie (the retail outlet of Pie Ranch, an educational farm in Davenport, CA).

14. When you order a fruit salad, whether at the hippy-ish Homemade Cafe in Berkeley, where we stood out as the only non-tattooed clientele, or at the self-consciously sleek SolBar at the new Solage Resort in Calistoga, the fruit actually tastes like fruit and not like water. I believe bountiful is the word: strawberries that were bright crimson in the center instead of white; firm, happy persimmons, oozy figs, and sweet-tart plums.

15. A crazy, serpentine drive from San Francisco, recently opened Nick's Cove occupies a surreally gorgeous stretch of Tomales Bay. Sit in the light-filled patio, where you feel like you're floating over the crystalline water, and order the oysters - raw, barbequed, and fried. Slurp them noisily, then lean back and enjoy the view. If you can afford it, rent one of the cabins that are perched on stilts over the rocks -- then you can settle into your own rocking chair for the sunset.

More Reasons to Love California: Dancing Cows, Au Courant Dishware, and Loveable Neighborhood Grocers

Brand-new Spruce has style and substance

By Mollie Chen

I had strawberries yesterday and it was a sad reminder of what we on the East Coast are missing. Even as I am excited to cook my favorite fall soup (green apple, squash, sweet potato, turnip, and any root vegetable you can think of - roasted, then pureed with maple syrup and cayenne), I am still stuck on California.

6. In Napa Valley, you can have fresh-baked goods at any number of stylish, overpriced breakfast spots. Or you can pull off Hwy 29 at the ten-foot tall dancing cow that marks Taqueria La Vaca and have a belly-busting meal of red hot chilaquiles with hand-mashed guacamole. Don't leave without posing for a picture with the aforementioned cow. Smile big.

7. Peet's Coffee. On every street corner, cheaper than most Manhattan deli cups, and without the guilt that accompanies your Starbucks latte.

8. Barely larger than my corner bodega, Bi-Rite Market in the Mission District is packed with all manner of natural, organic, sustainable, responsible, and local foodstuffs. I left with Kika's Treat's caramelized graham crackers with dark chocolate and a jar of June Taylor blood orange marmalade and then walked up the block to their sister shop, the Bi-Rite Creamery. I'd heard about their salted caramel ice cream and it didn't disappoint - with a deep, just shy of burnt flavor and pronounced saltiness. The malted vanilla with peanut butter is a close second.

9. No Styrofoam anywhere, just biodegradable bowls, cups, and utensils. They're understated, minimalist, sturdy -- just the thing for all of us Al Gore groupies who can't give up our ice cream and coffee breaks.

10. In many ways, San Francisco's Spruce is just another irritatingly hip new restaurant: cool architectural quirk (former car garage); chic industrial decor (exposed steel trestles, textured, sisal-covered walls); and hot ticket menu items (burrata, foie gras, heirloom tomatoes, house-made salumi). But wait. There's a fat, juicy $12 burger served with top-notch fries and a refreshingly simple shaved zucchini salad, plus any number of other dishes worth coming back for -- tender Berkshire pork with just-shelled beans and a deep, dark chocolate fondant. At the canteen at the front, you can buy charcuterie (don't miss the decadent duck mousse), cheese, and other prepared foods.

Still more to come...

Conch Fritters Taste Like Childhood

Memory lane looks a lot like a Turks and Caicos beach

By Mollie Chen
This past weekend, in the Turks and Caicos, I was thrown into Proustian fits of nostalgia by a deep-fried ball of seafood, flour, and spices. For me, conch fritters will always mean Miami - or, more specifically, a single restaurant in Miami.

When my family first started going to Scotty's Landing it was just a scruffy little outdoor spot near the Grove Key Marina on Biscayne Bay. The most coveted seats were at the rickety picnic tables off to the side of the main dining area, itself simply a wooden platform with white plastic tables and chairs. The Chart House was right next door so while the adults were drinking beer and catching up, us kids would dash up the slope to the windowed dining room, make faces at the fancily dressed folks eating lobster, and then tumble down the hill. The only things I think were ever ordered were cheese fries (to this day, everytime she goes to Miami my sister goes directly from the airport to Scotty's for a double order of these), chicken fingers, fish n' chips, and conch fritters. As kids, we loved that we were allowed to order 20-ounce sodas and Snickers ice cream bars for dessert; later as teenage sailing camp counselors, we'd motor over to gas up our dinky skiffs and get snacks while we waited. Now Scotty's has put in a real deck with fancy striped umbrellas over the plastic tables and I hear the picnic tables look suspiciously like those in a Crate and Barrel catalogue. They're supposed to have a great blackened dolphin sandwich but ordering that would feel somewhat unfaithful to the Scotty's of my childhood.

The secret behind Scotty's lovability was that you knew what you were getting: great setting, straight-out-of-the-fryer food, and a blasé, shit happens attitude. Same goes for most of the Turks and Caicos' eateries. And, more importantly, Scotty's was where I first came across conch fritters.

Mexico: Corn Fungus and Cutting-Edge Design as Far as the Eye Can See

Chiles en nogada and mole poblano in Puebla
By Mollie Chen
By marvelous coincidence, the special Latino America-themed September issue of Gourmet arrived on my desk just hours before I was scheduled to fly to Mexico City. The charred tamales piled on a cheery azure plate seemed to promise four days of lively mariachi music and rustic and authentic food. I sped through the magazine on the plane, salivating over Robb Walsh's story of lesser known taco truck cities and flagging Junot Diaz's article about Dominican food in uptown Manhattan. By the time we touched down, I was primed for Mexican food and I wanted it right away, preferably prepared in front of me and subsequently gobbled while standing up.

In reality, my first Mexican meal was a packet of Primera Plus galletas (delightfully buttery, with a subtle sabor de naranja) on the bus. When we arrived in San Miguel de Allende three hours later, where we had come to attend the birthday party of an old family friend, my parents and I were grumpy with hunger and poised to attack the next unsuspecting tortilla maker. But because we were in San Miguel, which is charming and beautiful but dominated by expats, we met our friends in the lovely courtyard of the restaurant Bacco. In a setting reminiscent of a more modest Italian villa, we ate pizzas and drank copious amounts of red wine. For dessert: chocolate cake. I went to bed dreaming of poblano chiles.

Local Intelligence: Robertson Boulevard, Los Angeles

Jean Therapy: Paige Premium Denim is just
one of the celebrity haunts on Robertson
Boulevard in Los Angeles.

By Nandita Khanna

When I'm traveling it's not the guidebooks that I turn to, or even the area magazines (but I do buy them)-- it's the locals. Who knows where to eat, sleep, and hang out better than those who call the city home? Earlier this spring I headed to Los Angeles on assignment for the magazine's 20th anniversary issue. While I'd like to think I know the city well--I grew up there-- much like New York, things change in the blink of an eye. And while I insist that In and Out Burger is still the best place in town to grab a bite, I invited these three trend-setting women below--all of whom have taken up post on perpetually packed Robertson Boulevard--to share their favorite secrets and tips in the City of Angels.

The Wong Way

Chef Alan Wong and Dole Farm's cacao specialist (chocolate guru), Michael Conway

By Mollie Chen

Hawaii is one of the places where all the cliches come true. It happens the minute you get off the plane: you are greeted by sultry trade winds and the strumming of ukuleles; people smile instead of grimace; and the air smells of pikake and ginger. Because my dad's family lives in Honolulu I get to go out there almost every year -it is hands down one of my favorite places in the world.

Foodwise, the islands have an embarrassment of riches. You can spend your days blissfully gorging on pineapple and papaya, or you can delve into more gluttonous pleasures like malasadas, plate lunch, and spam musubi. But Hawaii also has a thriving gourmet culture, led by star chefs such as Roy Yamaguchi, Sam Choy, and George Mavrothalassitis.

The arguable leader of this group is Chef Alan Wong, whose eponymous Honolulu restaurant made Gourmet's Top 50 last year and whose other two island eateries--Honolulu's Pineapple Room and the Big Island's Hualalai Grille--consistently rake in the accolades.

A few months ago, on a whirlwind trip to Oahu, the Big Island, and Maui, I had dinner at the very busy Hualalai Grille at the very opulent Four Seasons Hualalai. (Note to potential suitors: although the way to my heart is through food, this resort is a close, close second.)

I loved his take on the "soup and sandwich"--chilled heirloom tomato soup with a foie gras, kalua pig, and grilled cheese sandwich (really you can't go wrong with slow-roasted pork and fattened liver) and spicy ahi tartare with avocado salsa. For dessert there was an absolutely ridiculous chocolate, banana, and peanu concoction that (for me) was happiness on a plate.

For our July Islands issue, Chef Wong told us about the best "tastes" in Oahu (check it out on newsstands now). A champion of local producers, he has gone so far as to take his kitchen staff to some of his favorite farms so that his chefs can meet the folks who grow their tomatoes. Here, he makes a strong case for booking a one-way ticket to the aloha state.

The Nation That Ate Everything?

By Mollie Chen

Last night, while talking to my sister on the phone, she proceeded to make me completely jealous with stories about her birthday dinner at Toro (which is quickly becoming her second home). "The foie was amazing," she said rapturously. "And the chef sent me out sweetbreads!" This from the girl who used to subsist on a diet comprised exclusively of bagels, cream cheese, and French fries. Annie has lost some of her culinary inhibitions and it would seem as though the American diner has as well -at least to some extent.

Recently, while researching a feature for our September issue (the super duper special 20th Anniversary issue), I got to do two of my favorite things-read about food and then talk to smart people about it. One of the things that kept coming up was offal - meaning all the "other" parts of the animal besides bones and muscle: tongue, feet, stomach, brains etc. Andy Smith, editor of the Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink, says that this really isn’t anything new. "Up until 60 or 70 years ago, that is what Americans would be eating anyway. I don't know when we lost that. Historically, nothing was thrown out - look at old cookbooks, they have everything in there from cow tits to anything they could possibly eat."

A Seat at the Table

Chef Gavin Kaysen gives San Diego Charger
Mike Goff a lesson in plating

By Mollie Chen

Ever since I (and seemingly everyone else in the English-speaking world) devoured Bill Buford's Heat, I have suffered a mild obsession with restaurant family meals. In it, Buford describes how Chef Mark Barrett effortlessly whipped up a fantastically good linguine with clams for Babbo staff one day. The same way that Calvin Trillin was convinced that all the best dishes in Chinatown were written in (to him) illegible Chinese characters on the walls, I too believe that the best restaurant food is being withheld from diners like myself. My suspicions were confirmed when my sister began working at Radius, in Boston, and promptly began planning her days around family meal - regardless of whether she was working that day or not. "Guess what I had today?," she would crow on the phone. "Terrine!" Other times it was a full Irish banquet or chicken stuffed with arancini. Buford deboned four boxes of ducks for his family meal; you, well, you only have to pay.

Eat Dessert First

By Mollie Chen

Along with small plates and farm-fresh dining, the food trend that I am most excited about is all-dessert-all-the-time. I'll admit, I have an abnormally large sweet tooth (must make up for my abnormally small common sense meter) - but this food revolution is one that even salty freaks can latch onto.

Dessert menus are getting more elaborate and more thoughtful, integrating complex flavors from the world of salty, savory, and spicy - for example, WD-50 (whose former pastry chef Sam Mason is poised to open the hottest restaurant of the summer) weaves ingredients like edamame and parsnip into its confections. Not to mention restaurants that shun entrees altogether, such as Room 4 Dessert, where Chef Will Goldfarb will happily talk you through his four-course tastings, and Kyotofu, a fantastic Hell's Kitchen spot where two former i-bankers have joined forces with a Japanese chef to produce ethereal tofu-based desserts.

The hardest working man in this new landscape of sweets is Chef Pichet Ong, who recently opened P*ong, in the West Village. The menu is divided into "savory," "sweet and savory," and "sweet." Many of the savory dishes are light - "I wanted to save the carbs for dessert," jokes Ong - even decadent-sounding offerings like the stilton souffle with basil-arugula ice cream.

Desserts are both experimental and accessible, displaying Ong's trademark Asian fusion - Vietnamese espresso and tapioca affogato is a twist on bubble tea, while the miso ice cream and evoo cake sandwich reminded me of light-as-air sponge cakes I used to pick up in Chinatown. Even more exciting is the forthcoming ("hopefully sometime late summer," according to Ong) Batch, which will open in the space next to P*ong and will sell baked treats and logs of cookie dough (labeled according to which "batch" they are). Once the shop opens, Ong says to look for the peanut butter or cherry spiral cookies. If that weren't enough, Ong has a brand-new cookbook, The Sweet Spot. The recipes are wide-ranging - from traditional Asian desserts like mango sticky rice and red bean ice cream to updated inventions like chocolate kumquat spring rolls and condensed milk poundcake - and are bound to inspire. Here Ong gives us his round-up of the best things to eat in New York, Los Angeles, and beyond.

When Only a $19 Cocktail Will Do

By Mollie Chen

Earlier this week I handed over four monstrously large checks - funds begged, borrowed, and parent-gifted - to secure my new apartment. Seeing that much cash flow out of my veins was disconcerting, to say the least. So what is one to do to console themselves in their newly bankrupt state? Pretend to be rich and fabulous, obviously.

Wednesday night, I tagged along with my roommate Allidah - the only person I know who can make 1950s school marm duds look chic - to the opening of the Whitney's "Summer of Love" exhibit. Allidah, who is equal parts domestic goddess, Southern loyalist, and art expert, works in the Whitney's Education department. We navigated the crowds of pewter-haired donors, glittering society madams, and consciously rumpled hipster/artists/groupies to get a glimpse of psychedelic album covers, Richard Avedon photographs, and Janis Joplin's wildly painted Porsche. After awhile the combination of multiple light shows and the flashing of diamonds and scarlet soles was enough to leave us dizzy and, frankly, in need of a cocktail. Thankfully, the Whitney is right by that bastion of Old New York - Bemelmans Bar, in the Carlyle Hotel. After the relentless hipness of the opening, it was refreshing to step into the cozy, dimly lit cavern.