CHEZ PANISSE: YOU CAN’T GET ANYTHING YOU WANT AT ALICE’S RESTAURANT

There are probably two restaurants here in Northern California that are on the gastro tourists “must do” list.

One is Thomas Keller’s French Laundry and the other is Alice Water’s Chez Panisse.

Well, I have tried Mr Keller’s cooking a few years ago at Per Se and think I summed it up as “perfectly OK, some brilliance, lousy cheese” So, when it came time to choose a last meal for my latest leg of the EAT MY GLOBE trip, it seemed only right that I would choose the other option, that most iconic of Californian restaurants,Chez Panisse. Thanks to the efforts of my chum, Alexandra, I was able to get a reservation a month in advance.

First though, a spot of breakfast in another outlet in the CP empire, Café Fanny which, despite being named after a woman’s front bottom is a hugely popular place for breakfast in these here parts.

I am afraid it was a sign of things to come as, despite the fact they looked the part, the hot chocolate was neither hot, nor particularly chocolatey and the muffin was bullet hard and suffering from a paucity of fruit.

Mind you, given my naturally optimistic personality (no sniggering at the back) I still held out high hopes for my supper, particularly following a quick tour around the kitchens of CP at lunchtime in the generous company of pastry chef, Sam which included a quick viewing of the lamb which was on the set menu for the evening.

I was actually due to have two suppers that night. My chum, Alex had invited me to her house where her relatives had brought a cooler full of Dungeness crabs from Northern California for us to try.

So, ever the brave little soldier, I girded my ample loins and sat down to a plate of exemplary seafood and the merest sliver of cake before heading down to Chez Panisse to meet my new chums Tamar and Carolyn for supper number two.

I wish now that I had stayed for some more crab action. Not because of the company which was exemplary, but because of the food which would be placed firmly under the word “mediocre” in the dictionary if I was being kind and which, I suggest, would barely pass muster in a London gastro pub if I was not.

It is a set menu schtick at Chez Panisse . You get what you are given and it is predicated on the very best ingredients prepared simply to display their natural flavours.

Such things depend on two things. Great provenance and great execution. Unfortunately, on this showing we got neither.

First up a plate of grilled leeks with beets, house cured pancetta and vinaigrette that would not have been out of place at “ Abigail’s Party” and was as insipid a dish as I can recall paying money for in as long as I can remember.

Next up, Lamb. Now, don’t get me started on American lamb. I have yet to find one good example in all my time eating in restaurants in the US. It is invariably flavourless and the chefs have not clue number one how to cook it. I am sorry to say that here, at this most famous of restaurants, was no different. If the meat had any flavour to begin with then it was smothered in a sauce so salty they should have served it with statins on the side to save me getting my blood pressure checked when I get home.

A herb soufflé was perfectly fine, but the “vichy-style” carrots were cooked to the point of school dinner mushiness.

As bad a dish as I have experienced on the whole of this part of the trip.

Quite why we chose to go for a supplementary cheese course, I don’t know. I always think that America is where good cheese goes to die. But, choose it we did. What we were presented with was three small slices of non descript domestic cheeses, two from California and one from Wisconsin. All I can say is that they should all hang their heads in shame. The “cheesemakers” for producing and the restaurant for serving.

Finally, the pudding. A poached pear tart with a Muscat sabayon. I am not sure if it is just a matter of US tastes but, again, the pears turned to mush in the mouth, the pastry tasted burnt and the sabayon would need some sort of scientific instrument to detect the Muscat.

It is rare for me to leave any food on my plate. I am after all a good northern boy. But, I let much of this meal remain untouched, which speaks volumes.

Despite the charming company, I kept wishing I was back eating more of that spectacular crab simply dressed with Meyer lemon rather than this meal which merely served as a means to extract $110 from each of us without ever delivering at any level on food or service which was perfunctory and without charm. A bottle and a half of Spanish wine were not overpriced but equally insipid. As much my fault for choosing as theirs for offering.

I would cross oceans to eat more of that crab. I would not cross the street to eat at Chez Panisse again.

Ho hum

SANTA CRUZ: THANKSGIVING, ALL IN THE FAMILY

I am almost at the end of this leg of the EAT MY GLOBE trip and to be perfectly honest, I am running on empty at this point. Admittedly, the fumes I am bumping along on are filled with the pleasing scent of all the BBQ, Hot Dogs, Tacos, Po’ Boys and Philly Cheese Steaks I have consumed in the last two months, but fumes never the less and the last few days of the trip are proving quite tough.

So what better, when one is tired, than to be welcomed into the bosom of a family for that most American of celebrations, Thanksgiving?

This was not my first experience of a Thanksgiving meal but it was the first time, in all my many visits to the USA, that I had found myself in the country on the day itself.

This, however, was no ordinary Thanksgiving nor, indeed, was I going to be joining an ordinary family.

When I first floated the notion of heading off around the world to stuff myself silly, the very first invitation I received was from my new chum, Tana Butler, to join her and her extended circle of friends and family in Santa Cruz, the weirdest of Californian cities.

Dinner was to take place in her friend, Laura’s house that evening. But, first I found myself at Tana’s place helping to lug around a 25lb turkey ( yes, I said 25 lbs) and preparing her other contributions to the night’s meal, devilled eggs, dressing and shitake gravy.

We cooked, we talked, we played with Tana's little grandson, Logan and we listened to Louis Prima. I did quite a bit of drinking too, both of the incredibly view from her back yard and from a bottle or two of quite decent pinot. It was all incredibly restorative and by the time the bird was cooked, I was ready for the full blowout.

First of course, the best bit of the whole turkey, the giblets which Tana’s husband, Bob and I shared before we drove over in a car over burdened with Thanksgiving delights.

We were greeted by nearly thirty people all of whom had brought their own contributions to the meal. Cranberry sauce, creamy mashed potatoes, stuffed squash and enough other things to feed about double the number of people who would be sitting down to share this meal.

As I said, this “family” was no ordinary family with ex wives sitting down with ex husbands, half sisters sitting down with step sisters of third marriages etc etc. All very confusing, but all incredibly welcoming to the latest stray to turn up for a meal. That’ll be me then.

It was noisy, raucous and all enormous fun. Guitars appeared, people sang and I returned to the heaving buffet enough times that I have spent the whole night dreaming of high strength Zantac.

At the end of the night, I was invited back for next year’s celebration. I have it in the diary already

Right now, I am just giving thanks for a memorable day and for the fact my stomach did not explode.