Posts Tagged: greek
Kokkari Stars
crispy zucchini cakes with cucumber & mint-yogurt dressing - $8.75
Beet salad with dill
Grilled octopus with lemon, oregano & olive oil - $11.75
It turned out a little different than I had expected it would, than any of us expected it would. Not that I didn’t have high expectations. I did. I have been hoping to dine at Kokkari for a long time. We just never quite seemed to be able to get it together. But when we saw Jim and Kelly a couple weeks ago, we all talked about getting together soon in the new year, and I suggested Kokkari as a possibility.
That suggestion stuck with Kelly, and she made reservations only the day before. So, the earliest we could be seated was 8:15. What a fateful decision that was.
We arrived, waited a few moments for our table, and then were led through the restaurant and around to a round booth near another large table with a party of eight or so. After a few minutes we noticed something distinctive about the large party.
In the meantime we ordered and started drinking our first bottle of Greek wine. By the time the appetizers came, we were giddy. We started out with crispy zucchini cakes with cucumber & mint-yogurt dressing, oven-baked giant beans with tomato sauce, olive oil & herbed feta, grilled octopus with lemon, oregano & olive oil, and beet salad with olive oil and dill. They were all fantastic. The octopus was perfectly cooked, tender, delicately charred and nearly transcendent.
It is true that we had started with wine back at house, and wasted no time getting going at the restaurant. But that’s not exactly why we were giddy. Nor was it the appetizers. Rather, we determined that one of the people in the large party at the next table was Nancy Pelosi. She may not be the Speaker of the House at the moment, but her star power is utterly undiminished!
Nancy Pelosi at the table next door
But before our entrees arrived, someone else did: Gavin Newsom and wife stopped over for a brief hello with the Pelosi party.
Gavin Newsom
As the introductions went around we discovered that the gentleman sitting with his back to us was former Senator Christopher Dodd, chair of the Senate Banking Committee. By now we were beside ourselves.
Retired Senator Christopher Dodd
Grilled sea bass
Dry-aged rib-eye
That’s when the entrees came. Sarah and Kelly each had the Mediterranean sea bass. Jim had the dry-aged rib-eye. And I had the grilled lamp chops. I ordered them medium-rare and they came perfectly cooked. I managed to eat every bit, though all the portions, appetizers and entrees alike, were quite ample.
Lamb chops
Heavenly galatobouriko
Baked apple with mastica ice cream
Finally, we finished up by sharing a couple desserts: a spiced baked apple served with mastica ice cream, and galatobouriko, which was absolutely transcendent. The house brought us a round of muscat dessert wine from the island of Samos.
As we were finishing the politicos got up to leave and as they did, Chris Dodd, turned to us and said, “I hope weren’t raucous and bothersome.” That was all the opening we needed to engage him in conversation. We talked about his young children, and his trip here working on the financial reform. When I thanked him for his service, he said “that’s really nice to hear, thank you”, and seemed genuine and sincere. Ms. Pelosi shot us a smile and a wave, too.
Finally, as were leaving the restaurant, the group was still stuck at the entrance, and with the secret service detail thrown in, it was a traffic jam. I took the opportunity to say to Ms. Pelosi also, “thank you for your service and great work.” She thanked me and shook my hand. We burst out into the cold night air still giddy and more than satisfied with our selection of restaurant, the fabulous food, and the stunning star sighting.
Misty Mountains, Mystical Morning
Looking south from St Nicholas Ranch into the Kings Canyon area of the Sierra Nevada.
Last week we attended the Winter Family Camp at St Nicholas Ranch. The ranch, run by the Greek Orthodox Metropolis in San Francisco, is located in Squaw Valley near the entrance to Kings Canyon National Park. It was the first time I had been to the retreat, after hearing about it for years.
We had a wonderful time at the family camp. The weather was perfect, but with moments of drama as above. We met Greek families from all over California, from the Bay Area all the way down past Los Angeles. We ate, drank, talked and played. It was great to experience the Sierras again; I have always loved those mountains and been missing them for a couple years. Saturday was spent sledding at Grant Grove. The kids loved that, but I was happy just seeing the giant sequoias, the biggest living things on the planet. They are simply awesome, in the original sense of that word.
The site also has a monastery with a dozen or more nuns. Thus, Sunday started out with the Divine Liturgy in the chapel at the monastery. This was an amazing thing. One enters an incense-filled cavern of gold, marble, and medieval iconography, and hears the etherial voices of the nuns. Huddled over to the right of the altar where you can’t quite see them, they stand and sing for hours, occasionally shuffling and moving things. Softly but quickly they weave their way through the liturgy. Colored light streams in from above. The mysticism of the Orthodox Church transforms everything. Suddenly, a pair of nuns emerge with small incensors the size of a genie’s lamp and fitted with sleigh bells, their faces dimly visible beneath their black scarves; shaking bells in time like a chant, they quickly and precisely float around to each of the icons stationed around the chapel, shimmying the smoking bells as they bow before each one. Just as suddenly they disappear behind the altar screens. The singers continue spinning their soft cloud of sound. Outside the fog slowly lifts.
First of the 2009 harvest
Dried Oregano from the Garden by neocles, on Flickr
We’ve had a few things from the garden so far this year, although it has been rather a disappointing one so far. A couple other people I talked to reported the same thing: things just didn’t seem to grow much through the spring. In my case, peppers, eggplant, basil and even some radishes, just didn’t really do anything. My guess is that we had too much fog this spring. (Never mind that today begins a little NorCal heatwave.)
Some other things, however, are doing fine. I have already dried about a quart and a half of Greek oregano. Many, many years ago my mom managed to bring back some oregano shoots from Greece and planted them at the house in Fresno. I had forgotten all about that, But when we were moving her up to the bay area, one of the things I noticed was a scraggly clump of oregano way in the back of the yard, past the grapevines. I was pretty sure this was the stuff from Greece, so I dug it up and planted it in my garden here. It is definitely different from the leafy stuff you get that the nurseries here. The leaves are very small, usually sparse, on long leggy stems. I understand that the Greeks don’t use the leaves much. They cut the stems when they are loaded with unopened flower buds and dry the buds. It is intensely aromatic. Maybe commercial oregano here is done the same way. I don’t really know.
Apricot Stilts by neocles, on Flickr
The fruit trees are all happy this year, and of course the first crop to come in is the apricots. The tree got pretty loaded with fruit again this year, and again I couldn’t bring myself to thin it. But I was determined to avoid broken branches this year, so, I made some supports. It looks kinda greek hillbilly but it gets the job done. I think I’ll have enough for a few pints of jam.
Efrosini Holding Neocles
Efrosini Holding Neocles, originally uploaded by neocles.
My earliest memories go back to the house my parents lived in when I was born, at 818 “S” St. in Fresno CA. We were Greeks on the edge of Armenian Town. I don’t quite remember living there, since we moved when I was about two years old. But I almost do. I remember being at the house, although I think it was when my parents were going back and fixing it up to sell when I was about three and half years old.
I remember the look of the old wooden house, the wood floors, the old door knobs, the pulley clothes line that stretched from a window to the far reaches of the back yard. I remember the feel of the hot, powdery dirt in the Fresno summer, and the way it smelled when the water from the bib fell onto it, making dusty explosions that turned to mud. I vividly recall, even now, the smell of the cellar we retreated to for lunch once the sun was high and hot. We sat at a card table and ate in near darkness, the only light streaming in from the cellar door at the top of the stairs. There was a certain musty smell of damp concrete that I encounter every few years, and when I do I am transported back to that cellar more fully than any sci-fi invention could ever achieve.
I toddled around the front yard and wandered into the yard next door. There I encountered the old Armenian woman who lived there. She was very old and bent over, wrinkled and gray. In my memory, she was wandering around her garden tending to her plantings, she wore nothing above the waist and her breasts hung low and flat. She spoke to me in Armenian and I understood nothing of what she said to me. I stood and stared up at her, a little afraid, but not too much, perplexed by the sound of this language. She smiled as she spoke and chuckled around the edges. My mother called and I turned to go, running through the powdery dirt that burned my feet. The smell of Sycamores wafted by as I scrambled up the front steps.
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