Food for Thought

So. I fear I am mildly obsessed with food these days. If there was a self-help site where you could yes-no-maybe your way through psychological questions to determine if you were mildly obsessed with food, I think I would qualify.

I'd wager I have officially qualified as mildly obsessed with something only two times in my life. Now, as aforementioned, and at age 14-16. Obsession: Keanu Reeves. I was convinced he was the hottest actor on the planet. The only problem? Turns out he's not much of an actor. And hotness, well, it has that tricky trick of kind of fading doesn't it? (Just ask my skinny jeans of 2 years ago... you can find them at the bottom of the jeans stack in my closet, taunting me, judging me, and probably laughing at this post thinking, "cause and effect m'dear. cause and effect.") After failing to somehow pick up on my mental prayer to him every night pleading for him to visit my small lakeside town in Oregon, and buy something at the Rite Aid at which I worked, and then exchange witty banter with me, invite me to Hollywood and live happily ever after with me (after we attended my Prom together, of course) my love for Keanu waned. And now I can barely stand the guy in movies. So there you go. Something to chew on.

Back to food. I'm reading Alice Waters and Chez Panisse, a biography, by Thomas McNamee and I've had to stop reading it at night before bed because it literally makes me too hungry. Aside from reading an actual cookbook, I'm not sure how else to be this tantalized by words about food. And getting up at midnight to make a winter vegetable soup stock or plum tart is not really ideal when one has to be up early for the gym and work. I'm not too far into the book yet, but oh how I love learning about Alice Waters and her brave and confident forge into the American food scene, all intermingled with proprietary recipes too good to ignore. Before her, there were no cappuccinos being served here, no goat cheese in salad (salad without goat cheese? blaspheme!) and even croissants were hard to find. An America I would not enjoy as much, that's for sure. (Insert cackling of 2006 skinny jeans here.)

This weekend involved a new food adventure, so I'll report. As part of a birthday celebration, some beloved ladies and I headed for a night away in Carmel, the neighboring town. I've blogged about Carmel before, with its hobbit-like houses and high-end shops. It's also the site of Katy's Place, which, coincidentally, was on the itinerary for this weekend's fare as well. For Friday's dinner, however, we ended up at Forge in the Forest, a charming restaurant (aren't they all when dining in Carmel?) that offered what might be my favorite appetizer to date: the sourdough bowl of fondue served with an apple and mustard seed sauce, green apples, and strawberries. It sounds a little wacky, I'll give you that. But oh. Dip some San Francisco sourdough into the steamy creamy cheese, scoop on some of the applesauce infused with dark and mild mustard seeds, and add just a bite of crisp green apple... flavor explosion. Dizzingly good. And, as evidenced by this shot, very popular at our table.


Since we had a moment to study the specials as we waited for our table, I was compelled to try the dish that immediately caught my eye: an organic tomato and mixed greens salad with a provolone cheese tower. Like my theory on bacon hats, anything involving a cheese tower pretty much scores with me. So what if I downed a cheesy appetizer? I was going for round two. Besides, it was on a salad. Um, that's practically the same thing as working out. (See? Do you SEE what I deal with? -Skinny Jeans)


To be fair, Amie and I actually shared the salad and her entree, the roasted eggplant and mozzarella sandwich with garlic fries. Delicious, but way too much food for those of us who had consumed our weight in cheese.

Back to the hotel, and laughter and talking ensued, as did a fruit tart with a deliciously buttery crust and void of that yucky fruit tart I'm-so-shiny gelatin that always makes me grimace. Capped off with a cup of delicious peppermint tea, the night was a resounding culinary success, and I daresay a social one as well. Grandma didn't make it past 10, but the rest of us chatted until almost midnight, courtesy of the fun questions Megan provided. Everything from "what do you always need help on" (my taxes) to "what makes something intimidating" (the number of legs it has) to "what's your idea of a perfect surprise" (no idea, but it would probably have to involve a cheese tower now.)

The hotel's "continental breakfast" was touted by its online brochure, but it turned out that by "continental breakfast" they meant coffee and pound cake. I'm not sure which continent pound cake is from, but either way, the allure of Katy's Place was not one to be ignored given the alternative. So off we went. California Benedict has become my favorite and unflinchingly solid choice. (I can't veer. Not even for the blintz special they advertised.) It involves fresh turkey breast and avocado and inappropriate amounts of Hollandaise in which, I presume, to dip the hot skillet potatoes accompanying the meal. Hot chocolate Katy's style could not be skipped given the gloomy rain of the morning. Then, with full tummies and hearts, we ended our girlie weekend and went our separate ways to do normal Saturday things-- and digest.