After the stress of the last week, things are starting to get back to normal around here. Petra is slowly regaining the weight she lost during her ordeal, thanks to creamy cottage cheese, steamed chicken breast and peanut butter “truffles.” Her ouchies are beginning to heal, but she still has enough bumps and bruises that I’m dressing her in a moss-green coat before we go out walking, lest people think she's being abused.
Our bodies are finally back on West Coast time, and we’re sleeping through the night. At mealtimes, we’re craving comfort food.
We’ve been back at our favorite stools at the counter at Ten Ichi, feasting on uni and saba and hot, spicy soup laced with kim chee and tofu. The chef that took Kazu’s place is a young man named Johnny. He’s bright and eager, and loves to try his hand at new things. He obviously paid close attention as Kazu’s right-hand man over the past couple of years; he’s doing great work, and we gobbled his creations down as fast as he set them in front of us.
On Sunday, we took a leisurely drive to Napa. It was almost-but-not
quite warm, and the mustard
flowers were in bloom. In many areas, they grow between rows of grape vines, and the
hillsides
are gorgeously decorated with strips of blazing yellow.
While other people prepared for the Big Game, we stopped for a late lunch at Bistro Don Giovanni. They have the best pizzas for miles around, and their pastas are always spot-on. I love their frito misto, and they have fabulous side dishes, like cannellini beans in an olive-oil broth, or Brussels sprouts braised in brown butter. I had the rigatoni with cauliflower and pecorino on Sunday; the pasta was perfectly al-dente, and the cauliflower was meltingly tender.
For my money, this the best spot for an indulgent lunch in the Napa Valley. It’s not exactly a secret; the place is packed almost all the time, and not without reason, because the kitchen consistently turns out superb, satisfying food. Every time we go, we say that we won’t get the trifle for desert. And then we do. It comes in a parfait glass, one decadent bite after the next. A layer of sticky caramel laced with toasted almonds topped with whipped cream, followed by a layer of brownie bits, followed by more caramel. I still maintain that I’m not a desert girl, but this one gets me every time.
I made a roast chicken the other night for dinner; tonight, I’m wrapping the leftover meat into thick corn tortillas and topping it with fresh-made guacamole.
We’ll venture into new and exciting again soon. For now, tried and true is what we’re hungry for.
