Laura Sings

sing. Back in the 1990s, my sister Laura and I had a country-rock band which featured me on lead vocals and rhythm guitar, and Laura singing the harmonies. We were called Electric Range, and aimed for a sort of “Everly Sisters”-meets-Rodney Crowell sound. (Click here to go to our ex-bass player’s website, which has a photo and excerpt from one of the songs off our CD.)

I had previously sung in a new wave band (Enigma) with my brother Richard back in the early ’80s, but for Laura—who had sung choral music in college—this was her first foray into the pop music scene. I soon discovered that my baby sister had a real talent, not just for singing, but also for composing innovative and melodious harmonies for the songs I wrote for the band.

The group eventually broke up, but the two of us continued singing—both joining the choruses of our local community colleges (Laura left Santa Cruz to pursue her masters in French at San Jose State). As regular readers of this blog know, I still sing alto with the Cabrillo Chorus. For several years, Laura too sang alto—with the De Anza chorus (where she now teaches)—but then a few years ago, she took a jazz singing class at De Anza.

She was hooked from day one.

Since that fateful day, jazz singing—both as a solo voice and as part of an ensemble—has become Laura’s passion and vocation. She has studied with the accomplished musician, clinician and instructor Roger Letson, has sung with the elite six-part ensemble Vocal Flight (which has garnered 10 DownBeat magazine student music awards), and has been a participant at jazz-singing clinics in France.

Laura in Paris, learning a chart with guitarist Aliocha Thévenet

(you can tell they're speaking French from the position of their mouths)

Several years ago, Laura started performing as a solo jazz vocalist around the Bay Area, including gigs at Tarragon in Sunnyvale, Sumika in Los Altos, and the Octavia Lounge in San Francisco.

Laura performing at Tarragon (photo: Richard Karst)

I am so proud of my sister. She was always a terrific singer, and has a remarkable ear. But of late, I’m also noticing a level of nuance and control that only the best vocalists possess. Here are a couple of YouTube clips (from a recent concert at Sumika) of Laura singing “Guess I’ll Hang My Tears Out To Dry” (Styne-Cahn), and “Little Did I Dream” (Frishberg-Mandel).

And now the big news: Laura is going to record a CD! Robin and I (and no doubt other of her fans) are thrilled, as we have been encouraging her to do so for several years now. Her plan it to go into the studio after she gets back from a jazz clinic in Crest, France, late this summer.

album-cover-style photo of Laura in the Marais, Paris

Don’t worry: I’ll keep you updated, and when the CD is done, will give you info on how to purchase copies.

Allez, Laura!

Duck Dinner Recipes and Photos

As promised, here are the recipes:

Mussels Steamed in Beer, Mustard and Tarragon
(6 first course, or 2 main course servings)

2 lbs. mussels in shells, rinsed and beards (if any) removed
1 T olive oil
2 large shallots, chopped
4 sprigs thyme
1 bottle ale or dark beer
2 T butter
2 t Dijon mustard
1 T chopped tarragon
S&P

Heat the oil in a large stock pot, add garlic, shallots and thyme, and sauté until softened.

Add butter, mustard, beer and tarragon, and stir well. Cover pot and bring to a boil. Add mussels and cover, letting them steam—stirring a couple times—for five to ten minutes, until they’ve all opened. (Discard any that have not opened.)

Divide mussels into bowls, and pour sauce over them. Garnish with tarragon sprigs.



Salade Lyonnaise (6 servings)

½ lb. bacon, cut into thin strips
1/3 cup minced shallots
½ cup red wine
2 T red wine vinegar
2 t Dijon mustard
1 t sugar
S&P
6 eggs
1 head butter or escarole lettuce, washed, dried and torn up
croutons (optional)


Fry the bacon slowly in a large heavy skillet, rendering the fat, until the bacon is browned. Transfer bacon to paper towel, and pour off most of the fat (save for other use).

Sauté the shallots in the remaining fat, ’til soft but not brown. Stir in the wine, vinegar, mustard and sugar and whisk until completely mixed in. Simmer for a minute or two, and season with S&P. Set aside until ready to eat.

Poach the eggs (no more than 3 in each pot). While the water is heating for the eggs, place the lettuce in large bowl and toss with the dressing. Divide the lettuce into 6 portions on salad plates, sprinkle the bacon on (reheat for 15-30 seconds in microwave first), and top each salad with a poached egg. Garnish with croutons, if desired.



Manka Inn's “Shut Up” Duck Legs and Breast (serves 4)
(adapted by Leslie)

4 duck legs, visible fat removed
1 whole duck breast, cut into 2 pieces, fat scored with a knife
1 t kosher or sea salt
S&P
1 t olive oil
1 medium yellow onion cut into ½-inch dice
6 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed with the side of a knife
3/4 cup red wine
1/3 cup orange juice
1 t Dijon mustard
1 1/2 t minced fresh thyme
1 ½- 2 cups duck or chicken stock


Season duck legs and breasts on both sides with salt and pepper. Put the pieces on flat racks and set the racks on a tray so that air circulates all around the duck pieces. Refrigerate uncovered for 24 hrs.

Legs

Preheat the oven to 350º. Heat a 14-inch ovenproof skillet over moderate heat. Add the oil and swirl to coat. Add the duck legs, skin-side down. Cook until the skin is well browned and most of the fat has rendered; 15 to 20 minutes, pouring off the fat as it accumulates.

Set the duck legs aside on a plate. Add the onions to the skillet and cook, stirring, until they are softened, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for a minute or two to release its fragrance. Add the wine, raise the heat to high, and simmer until all the wine has evaporated. Add the orange juice and simmer until it is reduced by half. Stir in the mustard, thyme and 1 1/2 cups stock, whisking until the mustard dissolves and the stock is simmering. Return the duck to the skillet, skin-side up. Cover with a round of parchment paper and a lid. Transfer the skillet to the oven and cook until the duck legs are tender when prodded with a fork, about 2 hours.

Set the duck legs aside and pour the sauce into a measuring cup. Let the sauce settle for 10 to 15 minutes, then skim off fat (if there’s a lot; but this is hard to do because of the floating onions). If there is not enough sauce to go around, add a little duck stock.

Breasts

About 15 minutes before service, start the breasts frying, skin side down, over medium heat in a heavy skillet, in which a teaspoon of olive oil has been heated. Pour off fat as it accumulates, and brown the skin. Turn the breast over to finish cooking. They should be rare—still quite pink inside—when done. Set them on a paper towel to drain and cover with aluminum foil. Let them rest 5 minutes.

While the breasts are frying, preheat the broiler. To crisp the duck leg skins before serving, set the legs on a broiler rack about 8 inches from the element. Broil the legs while the breasts are resting, watching constantly, until the skin is crisp.

To serve the duck, reheat the sauce in the microwave, and spoon a little sauce onto each plate and top with a duck leg and slices of breast.



Almond Wild Rice (serves 10)
Mark Trinklein (from allrecipes.com)

5 ½ cups chicken broth, divided
1 cup golden raisins
6 tablespoons butter, divided
1 cup uncooked wild rice
1 cup uncooked brown rice
1 cup slivered almonds
½ cup minced fresh parsley
S&P


In a small saucepan, bring ½ cup broth to a boil (or heat it in microwave). Remove from the heat; add raisins and set aside (do not drain).

In a large saucepan, bring 3 cups of broth and 2 T butter to a boil. Add wild rice; cover and simmer for 55-60 minutes or until the rice is tender (drain if necessary).

Meanwhile, in another saucepan, combine the brown rice, 2 T butter and remaining broth. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 35-40 minutes or until rice is tender (drain if necessary).

In a skillet, sauté the almonds in remaining butter until lightly browned. In an oiled casserole, combine the wild rice, brown rice, raisin mixture, almonds, parsley, salt and pepper.

A half hour or forty minutes before service, put the casserole—covered with a lid or aluminum foil—in a 350º oven to reheat. Take the cover off 10 minutes before it’s done, to brown the top.


Roasted Leeks (serves 6 as a vegetable side)

3 medium to large sized leeks
2 T olive oil
garlic powder
S&P
vinaigrette (optional—recipe here)


Preheat oven to 350º.

Cut off leek roots and the top three inches of the dark green end, and slice them down the middle. Wash off the grit and mud from between the layers. Chop the leeks into four sections, and pull them apart.

Place the leeks in a roasting pan, drizzle with olive oil, and season with S&P and garlic powder.

Bake for a half hour to forty minutes (they can go in the oven at the same time as the rice dish) turning them occasionally with a spatula, as the bottoms will brown first.

Drizzle with a vinaigrette right before service, if you like.

Here is a photo of our main course:



Green Tea Panna Cotta

As I mentioned yesterday, I wasn’t terribly happy with this dessert, so I’m not going to bother giving you the recipe. But I do think a green tea panna cotta would be delicious if made with a regular (i.e., not buttermilk) recipe, such as this one. Just substitute 3 t matcha (a fine, powdered Japanese green tea) for the vanilla.

Here’s the dessert we had:


By the way, there’s a good summary of the first 100 days of the Obama administration’s agriculture policy in today’s Obama Foodorama post. Finally, a president who gets it!

Duck Redux

eat. Once home from the farmers market, the first thing was to get the legs going.

Braised Duck Legs

I browned them skin side down, pouring the fat off into a ceramic bowl as they rendered unto me their precious fluids.

I set the browned legs aside on a plate, poured off most of the remaining fat into my duck drippings bowl, and fried up some onions and garlic. To this you add red wine, and cook it all the way down. Next comes orange juice. I was able to use fresh, as we have four Valencia orange trees in our yard. Finally, it’s time for Dijon mustard, fresh thyme (also from my garden—it had cute purple flowers on it), and stock. You’re supposed to use duck stock, of course, but this being my first time making duck, I had none on hand. So I used chicken stock—no one seemed to notice the difference.

simmering duck sauce

I placed the legs back into the skillet with the sauce, covered the pan, and put it in a 300º oven, where they would braise for 2 hours. Once done—they should fall apart when prodded with a fork—you take the pan out of the oven, remove the legs from the pan, and pour the sauce into a Pyrex pitcher, for reheating later.

The legs should be placed under the broiler to crisp the skin immediately before service, and the reheated sauce poured over them and the sliced breast (or the duck pieces set on top of a small pool of sauce—the more elegant, restaurant-style way).

Wild and Brown Rice Casserole

Time for the rice. I had decided on a recipe I had found on-line for wild and brown rice cooked with almonds and golden raisins. First I cooked the two kinds of rice in chicken stock and butter. You have to make them separately, because the wild rice takes almost twice as long to cook.

While they were simmering, I dropped the golden raisins into some chicken stock I had heated in the microwave, to let them sit there and plump up.

Next I sautéed the sliced almonds in some butter, ’til they had browned nicely. (You have to watch them, as the start to burn quickly.) Lastly, I chopped up some flat leaf parsley I had bought at the farmers market. I usually have it in my garden, but my poor plant fell victim to a hungry gopher last autumn.

Once the rice was cooked, I mixed all the ingredients together in a greased casserole. This could now sit, and be reheated in the oven a half hour before service.

rice casserole, with duck legs after braising

Roasted Leeks

I prepped the leeks by cutting off their roots and the top three inches of greens, slicing them down the middle, and washing off the grit and mud from between the layers. Then I chopped them in four sections, and pulled them apart. Toss them in a roasting pan, drizzle olive oil on, and season with S&P and garlic powder, and they’re ready to go. Pop them into the oven at 350º a half hour or forty minutes before service (along with the rice dish), turning them occasionally with a spatula, as the bottoms will brown first.

The main course was now prepped. On to the first and second course.

The Salad

I sliced up the bacon, and cooked it slowly, to render its fat. When it was browned, I took it out with a slotted spoon and let it drain on a paper towel, and poured most of the grease off into another ceramic bowl. (A whole lotta fat rendering going on for this dinner, I know. I guess I’ll be making a gang of potatoes fried in duck and bacon drippings over the next few weeks, which should make Robin—who loves potatoes—mighty happy.)

Into the pan with the remaining bacon fat go some diced shallots. My, of my! These cook until they’re soft, and then you pour red wine, red wine vinegar and Dijon mustard into the pan, and whisk it all together. Simmer for a minute, and then season with S&P. This is your dressing. Pour it into a Pyrex pitcher, and reheat it in the microwave right before time to eat the salad.

Next I washed and dried, and tore up the lettuce leaves—butter lettuce which I had bought that morning at the farmers market. I rolled these in a paper towel and put them in a plastic bag in the fridge. Finally, I took five eggs out of the fridge, so they’d be at room temperature when it was time to poach them.

When it’s time to eat the salad, reheat the bacon and the dressing in the microwave, poach the eggs—best to do two or three max per pot of water—toss the lettuce with the dressing, sprinkle the bacon on, and top each with a poached egg. You can use croutons too, if you like. The egg yolk, when pierced with a fork, dribbles down into the lettuce and becomes part of the dressing. Heaven!

The Mussels

I always get my mussels at Stagnaro’s, on the wharf. I bought them Saturday morning, took them home and rinsed them in cold water, put them in a colander over a bowl, covered them with the crushed ice that Stagnaro’s had given me, and put them back in the fridge. Two pounds were plenty for five people for an appetizer.

I prepped the ingredients for the mussels, which would only take a few minutes to make: shallots, thyme, butter, Dijon mustard, tarragon and dark beer or ale.

sautéing onions, garlic and thyme for mussels

The Dinner

I know you’re dying to hear how it all came out. We started with cocktails and nibblies: chili-lime cashews (from Trader Joe’s—they’re quite spicy), and a selection of olives from the Whole Earth olive bar ($10/lb.—ouch!—but they have a great selection to choose from).

Robin had a Manhattan, I had a Negroni, Avron had fruit juice, and Lisa and Shirley both had Martinis. (Shirley is not much of a drinker, and about half way through her Martini, she was already tipsy.)

Here’s my mise en place, before I started the mussels. From left to right you can see the duck sauce; the herbs; lemon for my Negroni; beer, shallots, garlic and thyme for the mussels; the eggs for the salad; the duck breasts; and the bacon (also for the salad).


And in this picture, you get a better view of the breasts, as well as the eggs, the salad dressing, the duck fat bowl, the bacon, and the duck legs (ready to crisp up in the broiler).


I got everyone seated, put the rice and leeks in the oven, and whipped up the mussels.

I served them with a crunchy baguette from the Acme Bread Co. of Berkeley, courtesy of Lisa. (You just cannot buy a good baguette in Santa Cruz, to my mind.) We had a 2006 Beringer Sauvignon Blanc with the mussel course.

Next I poached the eggs, and tossed, composed and served the salads.

We sat for a bit after the salad course, to rest. Robin opened the 2000 Sebastopol Vineyards Dutton Ranch Pinot Noir that Shirley and Avron had brought. I got up to sear the duck breasts, while they talked. Once browned, I let them rest for a few minutes, then sliced them thinly and plated up the main course.

Unfortunately, we were all pretty full by this point. Tiny Shirley—who only weighs 105 pounds—was a clean-plater, the only one of us to do so. But it was all quite tasty, I must say. And I will definitely make the duck again.

You may have noticed I haven’t talked much about the dessert: the green tea panna cotta. Robin immediately voiced her dislike for it—to acidic, like yoghurt (it was the buttermilk). Shirley and I finished ours, but we were the only ones to do so. It was okay, but I don't think it was thick enough, and would probably be better without the buttermilk—as a regular panna cotta. Though the matcha flavor was lovely.

All in all, a most enjoyable evening. And the leftovers have been delicious!

(Tomorrow I will provide the recipes, and photos of the finished products.)

Chicken About Duck

eat. I have long loved to order duck in restaurants, but until the day-before-yesterday, had never had the nerve to try cooking it at home.

I am pleased to say I have done the deed, and conquered my fear.

And I now wonder what all the fuss is about, as it was really quite simple. (Okay, so there was a fair amount of spattered fat to wipe up the next morning. But that’s not difficult—just messy.)

My law school friend Lisa was coming down from San Francisco for the weekend, and since she’s been such a fabulous hostess to us over the years, I wanted to cook her a special meal. We decided to invite our friends Shirley and Avron too. Shirley is a foodie extraordinaire and sometime instructor at Cabrillo College’s culinary arts department, so that set the bar that much higher for my dinner. Plus, it had been a while since I’d cooked a “fancy,” multi-course meal, and I decided it was high time to do so again.

Pondering the menu, I quickly settled on duck. It had been on my mind of late, as it was something I had never made, and it seemed like a fun project for me to finally learn how to do it. And, I decided, I’d prepare both legs and breasts, which require completely different cooking methods: The legs are traditionally slow braised until they fall off the bone, and the breasts seared quickly and eaten rare.

I know, I know... But I don’t have any photos of ducks.

I went on line to search duck methods and recipes. They were all pretty similar: Season the duck with a dry rub and then dry it out by letting the pieces sit, uncovered, on a raised rack in the fridge for 12 to 24 hours. Then, for the legs, brown them slowly in a heavy skillet, rendering as much fat as possible; and then braise them in the oven for 2 to 3 hours. For the breasts, pan fry them rare, let them rest, then slice thinly for service.

The recipe that most attracted me was one that the chef at the Manka Inn (in Marin County, near Point Reyes) had made for Charles and Camilla when they visited. It used red wine, orange juice, Dijon mustard, garlic, onion and fresh thyme. Duck requires a recipe with a certain amount of acid, to cut the fattiness of the duck skin. But lots of folks also make theirs really sweet—to cut the acid, I guess—which I do not like. This sauce, however, seemed like it had a good balance of acidity (wine and o.j.), sweetness (the o.j., again), and savory (onion, garlic and mustard).

I had a bag of wild rice in my cupboard that I had purchased during a trip to Wisconsin, which seemed like a good starch to serve with the duck. I’d mix it with brown rice, for a better texture. For the veg, I decided to see what was for sale at the Saturday farmers market, and get whatever looked good.

Flipping through my recipe binder for ideas for the other courses, my eyes were drawn to a clipping about Lyonnaise salads—made with lardons (bacon), red wine and a poached egg—that I had saved. Yum! One of my favorites.

What about an appetizer? I remembered a recipe I had cut out of the New York Times several months earlier, for mussels steamed in beer with Dijon mustard and fresh tarragon. Perfect. Quick, easy to make, and a traditional sea food first course.

Lastly the dessert. I’m not big on baking, as it’s too exacting and scientific for my cooking style. I prefer making things that you can taste, fiddle with the ingredients, and play with as you go along. But I did want to make something, rather than buy a dessert. And it needed to be light, given all that would proceed it.

Turning the pages of my blue binder, I saw a recipe for green tea panna cotta, made with matcha (a Japanese green tea that’s almost like powder, used for tea ceremonies) and buttermilk. Interesting. I noticed it could be made the day before. Okay, that was it.

On Thursday I set off to buy groceries for the meal, and immediately was hit with a snag: None of my usual stores had duck—not even frozen. Une catastrophe! Sitting in my car, I regrouped and thought. Who would have duck? As soon as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer. I’d have to go to the new Whole Foods, which had just opened in Santa Cruz last month.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s actually a wonderful store: full of an incredible array of food items and a drop-dead gorgeous produce section. But it’s taking business from our local grocery stores, who for years and years carried the torch of providing local, organic, and sustainably raised foods, only to have this behemoth come in after they had created the market, and try to push them out. Not to mention, it’s really expensive.

But I needed duck for my dinner, so there I went. And yes, they did have it—frozen legs and breasts. (I had hoped to score a whole duck so I could use the back for stock, but now resigned myself to the fact that this would have required either a long drive, or better planning so I could have ordered one.) They were not cheap: $5 a pound for the legs and $15 for the breasts. Oh well; it was still a lot less than in a restaurant.

I thawed the duck in the fridge overnight, and the next day I seasoned it and set it on racks to let it dry out.


Saturday morning after my bike ride, I went to the farmers market. I bought some eggs from TLR Ranch for the Lyonnaise salad, and then went in search of a vegetable for the dinner. I was hoping to find some spring peas or snap beans, but no such luck. A couple vendors did have favas. I considered buying them, but then decided against it, given how labor intensive they are to prepare; I already had a lot of prep work ahead of me. I settled on leeks. I’d roast them in my usual way.

Tomorrow I will continue the saga of the duck dinner, with descriptions of the prep and of the meal itself, and I’ll give you the recipes. Don’t switch that channel!

Stop-Don't Stop

ride. The May issue of Bicycling magazine premiered a new column called “Road Rights,” by attorney Bob Mionske, who discusses legal issues concerning cyclists. In his first column, he addressed the topic of cyclists running stops signs.

This has been a pet peeve of mine since I started seriously riding again (after a 20 year hiatus), three years ago. You know the ones I mean—zipping through stops without slowing a whit, not even deigning to glance up. This all-to-frequent habit annoys me because I know how much drivers hate cyclists. I’ve had guys—and yes, they’ve always been men—purposefully swerve to their right for the sole purpose of scaring me—and yes, it works. And several times a month someone yells out their window: “Get off the road!” Even some of my own friends, who know I ride, bitch about those “damn cyclists in their lycra” on the road, blocking their way on narrow, windy roads.

So I feel as if I’m a representative of “every-cyclist” each time I climb on my bike. Because an angry driver is dangerous to cyclists, I want to show them that we are in fact responsible citizens, not to be despised or resented.


When I first started riding again, I stopped at every stop sign I came to. But we all know this can be a real drag, especially if the stop is at the base of a hill. So, I admit it: I started to slide. I now come to a complete stop only if there are cars at the intersection; if not, I’ll roll through (but I always look and listen before proceeding).

As I see it, there are two factors regarding stop signs that we cyclists need to consider: First, we should remember that the purpose of the sign is to prevent collisions. Therefore, if there are motor vehicles, other cyclists, or pedestrians present, we need to yield the right of way as is legal and appropriate. And in order to truly know if there are in fact others present at the intersection, we need to slow down and look.

Second, we need to be conscious of our roles as ambassadors for all cyclists. This does not mean we have to be perfect. I believe that if we act reasonably given the situation, motorists will not resent us. Thus, slowing down considerably and looking both ways before proceeding through a stop will usually be sufficient. It’s the whizzing through as if the sign weren’t even there that pisses drivers off (me, included). But if you’re on a country road with no one around for miles, it seems reasonable to go ahead and roll through the stop (if there truly is no one around—but you’d better be absolutely sure, because as between a car and a bike, the bike’s gonna lose).

Mionske’s column discusses the question of how a group of riders should deal with a stop sign. As he notes, if each one stops and then goes through separately, it will take a long time for everyone to pass through the intersection. If I were driving and had to wait while this happened, I’d get annoyed. So if it’s safe to do so, it makes sense to me for the whole peloton to stop as a group, and then pass through together as a group. It’s not technically legal, but if it’s safe and is the least annoying method for drivers, that’s what should count. (Okay, don’t do this if there’s a cop car present.)


Highly Illegal and Dangerous Cycling: You’ve got to check out this video that my friend Harriet sent me. Is this guy crazy, or what? But I am in awe of his talent.

Mom's Pork Roast Dinner

eat. When Robin and I were in Santa Monica last weekend, I told Mom I’d cook her a dinner of her choice for a belated birthday present. She decided on roast pork, twice-baked potatoes, and spinach salad. When I asked what she wanted for dessert she said she’d like to pick something from the bakery at the grocery store.

I have a problem with pork roast: It’s usually dry and tasteless. For this reason, I prefer to slow cook or braise large cuts of pork, and make pulled pork, rather than a roast. So how to ensure that the roast would be tender and juicy? A crust would help. And a fatty cut, like Boston butt. And I had to make sure it was not overcooked. Do you and Dad like your pork a little pink? I asked Mom, hoping she would answer in the affirmative. Yes, absolutely, was the answer. Good.

The Pork Roast

I went on line and looked at a few herb crusted pork roast recipes, and went to work. First I crushed up some saltines:


I dumped the cracker crumbs in a bowl, and added various ingredients I found in my mom’s kitchen: powdered garlic, dried sage, herbs de Provence, black pepper and salt. Then I drizzled olive oil into the crumbs until the mixture was wet enough to stick to the meat. I patted the crumbs onto all sides of the roast, and set it on a rack in a roasting pan. (Yes, they do tend to fall off; but the finer the crumbs, the better they stick. Scoop up any crumbs that do fall off, so they don’t burn on the bottom of the pan.)


We were planning on eating around 6:30, so I got the roast started in the oven at 4:30, at 300° F. (As you will see below, I turned the oven up when I put in the potatoes—about 40 minutes before dinner.)

When the pork registers 140-145° F with an insta-read thermometer inserted into the middle of the roast, take it out of the oven. (This will give you a pink roast, as can be seen below. If you insist on it being more well done—which will result in tough meat—leave it in until it registers 160°. But note that if it’s trichinosis you’re worried about, it’s killed at 140°. Moreover, it’s exceedingly rare in this country in any case, so not really worth worrying about.)


Leave the roast in the pan, covered with aluminum foil to keep warm. Let it sit at least 10 minutes before slicing, so that the juices get reabsorbed into the tissue. I was quite pleased with the roast—it was tender and very juicy:


Twice-Cooked Potatoes

I baked large Russet potatoes the morning of the dinner, until they were very soft (as you would for a baked potato). I took them out when they were done, and just left them on the sink whole, to cool. This turned out to be a mistake, as they ended up being wet inside when I did finally cut into them. So next time I will—and you should—cut them in half as soon as they come out of the oven, and fluff them a little with a fork, to allow all the accumulated steam to escape.

Spoon out the inside of each potato into a bowl, leaving enough behind so that the skin is stong enough to hold the mixture when it’s put back in. For my potatoes, I added melted butter and half-and-half to the mixture, as I would do for mashed potatoes. But I also added a package of cream cheese (which was plenty for our 5 large potatoes). Season with salt and pepper, and anything else you want (e.g., garlic, herbs). Spoon the mixture into the potato skins. I topped each with some grated parmesan cheese and a sprinkling of herbs de Provence.

About 40 minutes before you want to eat, put them in a 350° oven. (This is when the pork roast got turned up, too.) When the pork is done and taken out of the over, turn on the broiler to brown the potatoes. Watch them, as they brown quickly. Once brown, turn off the oven and let the taters sit there until service, to keep warm. (Sorry this photo is out of focus. In my defense, I’d had two cocktails by the time I took it.)


Spinach Salad

For the spinach salad, I used baby spinach, dried cranberries, toasted walnuts, grated parmesan cheese (bleu cheese would work well too), and my Dijon vinaigrette (see end of post at link) house-dressing.


Whippy Cake

Mom picked this for her dessert (and yes, the name did influence her decision—who could resist such a thing?).

All in the Family

sing. Robin and I just returned from a weekend visiting my parents in Santa Monica. While there, we took in Achim Freyer’s controversial production of Die Walküre—the second of Wagner’s four Ring cycle operas—at the L.A. Opera.

It’s controversial because the staging and costumes are really weird: For instance, Wotan (the head god) looks like Uncle Fester from the Addams Family with a wire basket over his head; Fricka (his wife, the goddess of home and marriage) has arms that hang down to her feet, with glowing hands; and odd little creatures, reminiscent of escapees from a Fellini circus, parade around the stage. (see photos here; highlights clip here)

There were those in the audience who clearly did not appreciate this “Euro trash” version of the opera, as demonstrated by the numerous empty seats at the start of the third act. But I generally liked the production (with exception of the freak show parade bit, which took me out of “the moment”). It had a definite Star Wars feel—with all the swords and Wotan’s staff looking just like light sabers—with a bit of Kabuki, Addams Family and Fellini thrown in for good measure. I particularly liked the valkyrie costumes: dark, creepy, winged creatures with dresses that looked simultaneously sexy and skeletal. (ride. Plus, I must add, their horses had bicycle wheels for rear legs.) And the use of lighting to create different effects was highly innovative and—dare I say it—really trippy.

But to spend too much time angsting over the visual aspect of Walküre misses the point, because—notwithstanding Wagner’s notion of Gesamtkunstwerk (total work of art)—to my mind, it’s really all about the music and libretto.

I will not attempt here to explain just why Wagner’s music is so beautiful and moving. I leave that to others. (Robin—who is passionate about Wagner—plans to start a Wagner blog [a Wlogner?] early next year, and this is one of the topics she will no doubt cover.) But I will note that, unlike other operatic composers, Wagner wrote orchestral scores that are equally as important (and sometimes more so) than the singing. One of his favorite devices is to have the voice express what the person thinks to be the case—their conscious thoughts—but at the same time have the orchestra expressing their true feelings—the subconscious, as it were.

Wagner the Feminist

Die Walküre revolves around two primary stories: the love between Sigmund and Sieglinde, long-separated twins fathered by the god Wotan; and the relationship between Wotan and another of his (many) daughters, the valkyrie Brünnhilde (the namesake of the opera). Volumes could be—and have been—written about both these plot lines, so I will limit myself to a few words about the father-daughter story.

Wotan and Brünnhilde finger puppets created by my mom Smiley

The valkyries’ job is to ride their flying steeds to battlefields and carry off fallen heroes to Valhalla, the palace of the gods. In Wagner’s opera, Wotan tells Brünnhilde—his favorite valkyrie—to make sure that Siegmund defeats Hunding, Sieglinde’s cruel and barbaric husband, in battle. Wotan loves Siegmund, and he also has plans for him to wrest back the famous ring from the dragon Fafner (which Wotan may not do, because he is bound by a contract).

But then Fricka—who is appalled that Wotan would allow an incestuous relationship to prevail over the sanctity of wedlock (and who, let’s face it, is sick of Wotan’s philandering ways: none of Wotan's children in this opera are Fricka's offspring)—intervenes, and forces Wotan to agree to have Hunding prevail and Siegmund die. The beaten-down and depressed Wotan goes back to Brünnhilde and tells her that he has changed his mind, and that she must now ensure that Siegmund is the one who dies in the battle.

Brünnhilde is baffled by this change in plans, because she knows how much Wotan adores his son. Nevertheless, she rides to the battlefield and tells Siegmund of his impending death. When told that his beloved Sieglinde will not be in Valhalla with him, however, he refuses to go with Brünnhilde. Overcome by his courage and love for Sieglinde, Brünnhilde relents and takes his side against Hunding.

During the ensuing battle, Wotan appears, furious that Brünnhilde has disobeyed him. He shatters Siegmund’s sword, and Hunding skewers the now unarmed hero. Wotan then strikes down Hunding as well. So ends the second act.

The third act starts with the famous “Ride of the Valkyries.” Brünnhilde’s sisters wait for her after collecting their dead heroes. But after Wotan appears, angrier than they have ever seen him, they dare not defy him, and flee, leaving the wrathful god with his disobedient daughter.

He passes judgment. She is to become mortal, and will be put to sleep upon the rock on the mountaintop where they stand, bound to the first man who discovers her:

In deep sleep I shall enclose you.
Whoever wakes you, defenseless,
Has you as wife when you awake.

And here is one of the reasons I love Wagner. As Robin will discuss in detail in her upcoming blog, of all operatic composers, Wagner was without question the greatest feminist. This is the worst fate that Wotan (i.e., Wagner) can think of to punish his brave and independent daughter:

She will never ride again on horseback,
With [the other valkyries] through the air....
A husband will win her womanly favors.
To this domineering man she will henceforth belong.
She will sit by the fire and spin,
The topic and butt of all jokers.

No, no! her sister valkyries cry, “spare her this lamentable disgrace!”

Brünnhilde implores Wotan: She was but carrying out his true will; for she knew how he loved Siegmund. “Was it so shameful what I did that you punish my misdeed so shamefully?” She begs him to temper his decree:

If enchanting sleep is to bind me fast,
The feeblest man’s easy acquisition,
One thing you must grant and I beg it in solemn fear:
Let my sleep be protected by terrors that scare.
So that only a fearless, unrestrained hero
May one day find me here on the rock.

“You ask too much,” Wotan responds. But we can tell he is softening:

Farewell, you bold, wonderful child! ...
If I must reject you,
And may not lovingly greet you again with my greeting,
If you may no longer ride beside me, or bring me mead at table,
If I must lose you whom I have loved...

He relents [and this is the part that never fails to make me cry]:

Then a bridal fire shall burn for you,
As it never burned for any bride!
A blaze of flame shall burn ’round the rock,
With devouring terror let it scare the fainthearted,
Let cowards run away from Brünnhilde’s rock!
For only one shall win the bride,
One freer than I, the god!

(Here is a clip of "Wotan's farewell" without supertitles; and here is a concert version with English subtitles.)

We know—from the leitmotif that accompanies this speech—that that “one” will be Siegfried, the son of Siegmund that now grows in Sieglinde’s womb. Wotan lovingly puts Brünnhilde to sleep and kisses her. The opera ends with leaping flames sprouting up in a circle around the sleeping—now mortal—woman, protecting her from all but the most brave.

Makes me get all verklempt just writing about it...

Cauli, by Golly

eat. Cauliflower is a much under-appreciated veg. Maybe because it’s white (though there are now bright purple, orange and green varieties), or perhaps because it can have a bit of a smell when cooked—especially if it’s boiled. (Cauliflower is in the same family as cabbage, Brussels sprouts, kale, broccoli, and collard greens, so this explains the smell factor.)

I love it. I’d buy it more often, but it tends to be a bit expensive. Cauliflower is difficult to grow: In order to keep the head (called the “curd”) white, the green leaves have to be folded over it and tied, to prevent the sun from turning it green. The heads also tend to get those unsightly (but harmless) brown blemishes if moisture or condensation is allowed to collect on them, so their storage and transport is difficult. Which all translates to expensive.

One thing I like to do with cauli is to purée it, and use it as a mashed potato substitute. Cut the head into about 10 or 15 pieces, and boil it for a long time—until it’s so soft that it’s almost falling apart. (You can steam it if you prefer.) Then drain it, and treat it as you would boiled potatoes for making mashed potatoes.

It’s also delicious prepared as a curry, sautéed with onions, and garam masala, coriander, and turmeric.

The other night I had a few pieces of cauliflower that needed cooking, so I threw together a dish made with it, some chicken breast, and some leftovers. Here are the ingredients: the raw cauli, sliced raw chicken, left-over roasted leeks, left-over roasted potatoes, sliced raw fennel, crumbled bleu cheese, and fettuccini noodles.


I started by getting the water boiling for the pasta, and sautéing the cauliflower in some canola oil.


When the cauli was browed and starting to get soft, I added the chicken and continued frying until it was also browned.


Time to dump fettuccini into the boiling water. Next, I added the chopped fennel and potatoes to the sauté pan. These didn’t need to cook long (raw fennel is delicious in a salad).


Finally, I threw the bleu cheese into the pan, and stirred everything up so that the cheese melted.

When the pasta was al dente, I drained it, put it back in the pot, and then added the contents of the sauté pan. I stirred this all up, poured in a bit of ½ and ½ (because I love cream), and plated it up:

Seek the Leek

eat. Je le confesse: I have a thing for leeks.

Sitting comfortably in the plant world somewhere between a leafy vegetable and an onion, the leek seems to me to be the perfect combination of savory, flavorful, green goodness.

Leeks are associated with the Welsh, who—legend has it—wore them in their caps to distinguish themselves from invading Saxons in the 7th century, and thereafter were victorious over their enemy. I have a fair amount of Welsh blood (on my mother’s side), so perhaps this explains my passion for this particular vegetable.

As noted on the Eat the Seasons website:

Leeks have been cultivated at least since the time of the Ancient Egyptians and are depicted in surviving tomb paintings from that period. The Romans considered the leek a superior vegetable and Emperor Nero got through so many he gained the nickname Porrophagus (leek eater); he is reported to have thought that eating leeks would improve his singing voice [another reason for me to eat them—ed.].

The leek season is unfortunately fast coming to an end, so I have been greedily snapping them up at the farmers’ market, and cooking them several times a week.

The first way I learned to cook leeks was to sauté them in butter with a little chopped ginger root and then add a bit of orange juice near the end. The sweet and tart of the orange and ginger compliment well the earthy flavor of the leek. This dish is good as a side with something simple, like roast chicken and potatoes.

Recently, however, I’ve been roasting the leeks in the oven, drizzled with some olive oil and sprinkled with salt and pepper.

leeks midway through their roasting

This method, which allows them to become caramelized, brings out their sweetness and gives you crispy green ends (remember: textures are as important as flavor). I like to serve them drizzled with Balsamic vinegar and topped with pine nuts:

finished leeks accompanied by pan-fried pork chops and roasted ’taters

Then, a few days ago, I roasted up another batch of leeks. But this time, I made them into a sort of pan-roasted casserole, which we had as a one-dish meal:


Roasted Leek Casserole (serves 3 or 4)

3 or 4 medium sized leeks
3 or 4 medium sized Russet potatoes
1 lb. package of soft/silken tofu
½ cup grated cheddar (or Parmesan or Romano) cheese
olive oil
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Cut off two or three inches of the dark green leek tops (save these for making stock), and slice the leeks down the middle. Wash them thoroughly (making sure to get rid of all the mud and grit between the leaves). Cut each half into four sections. Pull the leaves apart, so they’re only one or two layers thick.

Toss the leeks into a large roasting pan, drizzle them with olive oil and salt and pepper, and put them in the oven.

While they’re roasting, wash the potatoes and make couple of small slices in each side with a paring knife. Leave their skins on. Microwave them for 6-10 minutes—until they’re starting to get a little soft in the middle (test them with a fork). Cut them into bite-size pieces, and fry them in a large heavy skillet in olive oil until they’re browned.

Add the browned potatoes to the leek pan and continue to roast, to allow the potatoes to cook all the way through.

When the potatoes are fully cooked, take the pan out of the oven and crumble in the tofu. (Silken tofu doesn’t need draining like the hard kind does.) Stir this all together, and then sprinkle the whole lot with grated cheese. Put the pan back in the oven and continue roasting until the cheese is melted.

YouTube Symphony

sing. Robin asked me yesterday if I’d heard about the YouTube Symphony Orchestra. I had not, so I went on line to investigate.

I discovered that last fall, YouTube—in conjunction with the London Symphony Orchestra and Michael Tilson Thomas (aka MTT)—put out the word that they were accepting audition videos of musicians in order to create a new orchestra. As explained on the YTSO website,

[we] invite you to celebrate the Internet’s unprecedented diversity and collaborative possibilities and the power of music as a shared global language. We hope the [YTSY] will bring people together from all over the world, and serve as a venue for established musicians and emerging talent to collaborate joyfully and creatively in a new way.

Musicians were asked to submit two videos. The first was of them playing their instrument’s part for a piece written for the YTSO by Tan Dun (the composer of the Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon soundtrack) which would be compiled into a collaborative video to be featured on YouTube. The second video was of them performing a piece in the public domain, which would constitute their audition for theYouTube orchestra. Those chosen for the orchestra are to play a concert at Carnegie Hall.

That concert, it turns out, is tonight.

I got to perform at Carnegie Hall the summer before last, with the Cabrillo Chorus. We went as a sort of tour group, through a company that organizes summer concerts at the Hall. The groups pay to participate (and it was not cheap), but they must audition to be eligible. Even though it was a sort of vanity-concert, I was thrilled to get to sing at “America’s Concert Hall.”

yours truly (with the grey hair) singing her heart out at Carnegie Hall

Getting back to the YouTube orchestra, the website is lots of fun: You can watch the video of the Tan Dun piece, see the audition videos, hear MTT talk about the project, and meet the folks who won spots in the orchestra (this is my favorite bit, as you click on pictures of the various instruments in the orchestra to see who ended up on which part).

Break a leg tonight, y’all!

Bikes in the News

ride. Windy. Really, really windy. That’s what it was like this afternoon on my bike ride. At one point, it truly felt like I was making no forward progress whatsoever. I don’t like riding in the wind. It’s too...well, windy.

photo by my sis Laura

Good exercise, though. So maybe I’ll allow myself to have some dessert tonight. (It's now after dinner, and yes—I did have dessert.)

There were a few cycling stories in the news in the last few weeks that caught my eye, along with the food stories related in my last blog. To wit (as we lawyers like to say):

(1) Tracking the economic downturn via bike sales, NY Times, 4/8/09. (story here) At Cadence, a high-end bike shop in Tribeca, “[yo]u can pinpoint the traumatic events [of the financial world] with our drop in sales,” says the co-founder of the shop. Apparently, the store—which sells bikes costing as much as $20,000, and which caters mostly to the Wall Street set—has experienced a significant downturn in sales in the last six months. As a result, they’re going to start offering Cannondale bikes as well as the pricey Cervélos they’ve been hawking. So that’s where all those bonuses were going...

(2) Between 1996 and 2005, 21% of NYC cyclists who died in bike crashes had alcohol in their blood, NY Times, 4/10/09. (story here) But only 3% who died were wearing helmets (see next entry, below). This isn't in the story referenced, but it's an interesting side-bar: About a year ago, David Byrne (of Talking Heads fame—an avid cyclist) famously had a spill while drinking and riding in NYC, and suffered two broken ribs.

I’ve been guilty of drunk riding. More when I was in my twenties (when we all do countless stupid things), but once, I admit, in the last five years. Robin and I wanted to go to out to the wharf for drinks, and I suggested we ride our bikes so we wouldn’t have to worry about drinking and driving. We were rather tipsy when we left, and Robin had an unfortunate encounter with a “traffic calming” curb extension, and went down. (In her defense, she did not have the drunk-riding experience I had gained as a reckless youth.) It was rather unnerving, as she was not wearing a helmet (I was), and she lost consciousness for a few moments, which scared the bejoogers out of me. She turned out to be fine, and you’ll be glad to know we haven’t engaged in any drunk-riding since that time.

(3) Helmet use needs to be better, Santa Cruz Sentinel. 4/8/09. (story here) According to a recent “bike observation study” in Santa Cruz County, only 36% of teens and 30% of young adults are wearing bike helmets (compared to 65% for kids and 43% for adults 25 and up). Now, I’m not normally much of a proselytizer, but I’ve become born again regarding bike helmets of late, after a bike accident last February.

I was cruising along, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I heard this crack, and I was thrown to the ground. Hard. A kindly woman in a car behind me stopped to see if I was okay, and told me “You were riding along, and then all of a sudden...you were on the ground.” Turns out the bolt in my seat post broke. So I hadn’t done anything dangerous, nor had any car. It just happened.

When I got home, ditzy and shaken, I saw that there was a crack in my helmet, right at the left temple. This is a bad spot to hit your head. I imagine I could have suffered grievous injury—or worse—had I not been wearing a helmet. (Since my crash, and also due to a couple of women at her job who have been nagging her, Robin has now started wearing a bike helmet.)

My other pet peeve about helmets—besides folks not wearing them—is how so many wear them the wrong way. I’d say at least a quarter of the people I see with helmets are wearing them at an angle, with their temples exposed. (They should be worn parallel to the ground—not tipped jauntily up, like Sinatra’s fedora.) If you’re gonna wear it, wear it so it does you some good, okay?

Lastly—a shout out (when, exactly, did this phrase become so prevalent?) to Big Tom Boonen, for winning his third Paris-Roubaix last Sunday. Allez, Tom!

Catching Up

eat. As I mentioned yesterday, being back at work has wreaked havoc on my normal routines. One of those is the newspapers. We take the Santa Cruz Sentinel and the New York Times, and if you don’t stay with them on a daily basis, they can pile up. Well, the last two weeks I really let myself go, and I spent several hours this morning catching up. Here are some food-related news items from the past couple of weeks that caught my interest:

(1) Op-ed in the NY Times, 4/10/09, “Free-Range Trichinosis.” (click here) This piece—by a non-scientist who proposes that that pork from pastured hogs is more dangerous than that from factory-farmed pigs—really annoyed me. Rather than attempt a reply myself, I direct you to a thoughtful and thorough rebuttal by Rebecca Thistlewaite of TLC Ranch, on her blog Honest Meat.

(2) Animals not E.coli source, AP story reported in Sentinel on 4/9/09. (click here) Early results from a study at UC Davis show that less than ½ of 1% of the 866 wild animals from the Central Coast of California sampled tested positive for the bacterial strain that caused the 2006 spinach contamination. If these early findings prove to be true, this is important news, in that—since the spinach outbreak—many farmers (especially the large, corporate ones) have been creating barriers to try to keep all wildlife out of their fields, a development that I find rather frightening.

(3) Actor Jeremy Pivens (Ari, on Entourage) blames mercury poisoning on illness that caused his sudden exist from Broadway play, AP story reported in Sentinel on 4/11/09. (click here) He says he’s been eating fish (mostly sushi, I gather) twice a day for over 20 years. Okay, I like sushi too—but twice a day? For 20 years? I mean, c’mon; wake up and smell the wasabi, Ari. Not only is it common knowledge that predator fish (like yellowfin, ahi, etc.) are excedingly high in mercury, but also that—unless they’re pole-caught, which is unusual—they’re on the no-no list if you care about sustainable seafood. My sympathy is not super high on this one....

(4) White House hosts seder, NY Times, 4/10/09. (click here) President Obama (whom the Times notes “is not Jewish”—oh, really?) last Thursday hosted what White House officials believe to be the first Passover seder dinner ever held by an American president. Glad to hear it. But I must say, I was surprised to hear this was the first. Jeez, do we ever have a Christian bias in this country.

(5) NYC mayor Bloomberg announces that city is starting “nationwide initiative” to pressure food industry to cut salt intake by half over next decade, NY Times, 4/7/09. (click here) This, even though studies show that—although cutting salt intake can lower blood pressure in some—it also can raise it for others, and that eating salt can improve mood and combat depression. Plus, who is Mayor Bloomberg to tell me I can’t have that extra salt on my fries?

Happy Easter!

PB&J, Every Day

eat. Bon weekend à tous! Robin’s listening to the Met broadcast of Die Walküre, I’m back from my Saturday morning ride (up to UCSC and then out to Wilder Ranch), I’ve been to the farmers’ market and have a big pot of chicken stock simmering on the stove, and now I’ve got my coffee by my side and am ready to write.

You may have noticed that I haven’t posted as much as usual these last two weeks, and that some of them have been mostly just photos. The reason is, I’ve been back at work, and truth be told, it’s hard to find time for activities such as blogging when you’re working (and cooking, and singing in a chorus, and cycling three times a week). I don’t know how all you bloggers with full-time jobs out there do it, but my casquette is off to you.

Robin retired from her job at UCSC two years ago, and I followed suit last summer. (Yes, we’re both pretty young for retirement—she’s 54 and I’m 52—but we saved our pennies, invested about a third of our incomes every year, and don’t need that much to live on.) I worked for 20 years at a law firm in Watsonville as their research attorney, which is kind of like researching and writing a term paper every day of your life.

But given the recent stock market decline and the general economic condition, we’ve both gone back to work part time. Mine is really part time: I come into the office for about two weeks every couple months to do a special project or two. The last two weeks I’ve been working on an opposition to a motion for summary judgment. (It’s an interesting case arising from a plane crash—don’t worry, no one was killed—involving questions of federal preemption and superseding cause.)

(Just stopped writing briefly, to get my oatmeal cooking.)

So, I’ve been back to my old work routines of late. One of those routines involves what I call my “school lunches.” Unless there’s some special event going on, I always make my own lunches to bring to work. First, I can keep working while I eat, and therefore leave that much earlier. Nice. Second, it’s expensive to buy your lunch every day; even if you eat cheaply, all those lunches add up. (For the same reason, I don’t buy Starbucks coffee to bring to the office like some of my colleagues do, since the firm provides coffee. It’s not the best in the world, but it’s free. You may now be getting why Robin and I could retire early—we’re thrifty.)

(The oatmeal’s now done; gotta be careful not to drip on the computer as I eat...)

My routine is always the same with my school lunches: I make two sandwiches—one sweet, one savory—every other day. (This reminds me of Alice and the White Queen’s offer of “jam every other day.” But unlike with Alice, my sandwiches aren’t for every other day, but rather, are made every other day.) I take half of each with me to work, and only need to make lunch every two days. (I tried making three sandwiches, but they were a bit on the stale side by the third day. Plus, three doesn’t divide into two, so it didn’t work out on the sweet/savory front either.)

The sweet sandwich is almost always PB&J—peanut butter and jam. When I have it on hand, I use my sister-in-law Tobae’s homemade blackberry jam.




Rosie is happy that I’ve been back in my morning sandwich-making routine, as I occasionally spill crumbs on the floor.


Next is the savory sandwich—often ham and cheese, but sometimes turkey, or leftover meat that I have around.


All finished, I pack them up in my Tupperware sandwich holders.

Once at work, the first thing I do is pour a cup of coffee. I allow myself two cups—any more and I tend to get the jitters. (My colleague and friend/fellow cyclist Bob drinks about eight cups of coffee a day; I don’t understand how he can do this.)

At 10:30—never earlier, as I have rules to which I must adhere—I eat the PB&J half:


And promptly at 12:30, I eat the savory half:

Who says Virgos aren’t anal retentive!

I Knew Him When...

sing. Several years ago Robin and I watched the Grammy Awards on TV. This was a bit unusual. Neither of us much follows pop music any more, and since they don’t give out—at least on the televised part—many awards for opera or jazz vocals, which is what we mostly listen to these days, we aren’t generally familiar with the people or music on the show.

This particular year, they did one of their rare tributes to classical music. There was this guy conducting an orchestra—I don’t remember the orchestra or the piece of music—and he seemed really familiar to me. I kept staring and staring at him, and then it hit me: He looked a lot like a guy I had gone to high school with.

This fellow I was thinking of was two grades behind me. He was a bit geeky, but kind of cute—in a geeky sort of way—because he was so into classical music. I remember he adored Mahler, and used to carry Mahler symphony scores around with him all the time (which might be considered cool in college, but most of the high school kids thought this to be strange behavior).

He played French horn, and since I played clarinet, he sat right behind me in orchestra. We also performed together in a woodwind quintet (yeah, I know it’s weird, but they do call it that even though one of the five is a brass instrument), and in the pit orchestra for the senior musical—The Roar of the Greasepaint, the Smell of the Crowd.

I befriended him, and we used to talk music together occasionally. He would rave about Mahler, and tell me about how he hoped to study conducting in college.

At the last orchestra rehearsal of my senior year, our conductor Gerry Anderson let him conduct the piece we had been working on all semester, Beethoven’s 8th symphony. We all kind of sniggered at the idea of this little sophomore conducting us, but—surprise, surprise—he was actually pretty good.

Then I left town to go to college, and didn’t gave him much thought again.

Until that night I watched the Grammys.

I turned up the volume on the TV to hear the announcer after the piece was over. The voice said his name: David Robertson.

Oh my god—it is him, I realized. He did it; he really did it.

Here is a photo of our high school orchestra, my senior year. You can’t really see me, but if you click on the photo to enlarge it, you can see David if you look really hard: He’s the second horn player from the left, standing in front of the brick wall.

The next day I Googled him, and discovered that it was only because I was obviously completely out of it with regard to the classical music world, that I didn’t already know that he had become a well-known conductor.

Turns out that he did study conducting in college (at the Royal Academy of Music in London), and went on to a series of high-profile conducting gigs, eventually landing in 2000 as Music Director of the Orchestre National de Lyon. In 2005 he became Music Director of the Saint Louis Symphony, and the same year he was also named the Principal Guest Conductor of the BBC Symphony Orchestra.

David—I mean, maestro—also guest conducts at all sorts of other places: including the New York Philharmonic, the Boston Symphony Orchestra, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, and the San Francisco Symphony.

Well. Good for you! I thought, after doing my research. I decided to write him a letter to tell him how happy I was that he had followed his dream and become such a success. I promptly did so, and gave it to my friend Lynn who works at the San Francisco Symphony. He was coming to conduct there shortly, and she assured me she could get it into his hands.

I never heard back from him. Perhaps he never got the letter, or maybe he did, but never read it. Or perhaps he did read it, but gets lots of fan mail, and so mine was just one of many. Oh well. I still am proud of you, David.

Since that time, I’ve been following his career with interest. The other day, Robin left out the Arts section of the Monday New York Times for me to see: On the front page was an article about David Robertson, and several pictures of him at Carnegie Hall, conducting and... singing and playing the kazoo.

Apparently, stormy weather in the New York area prevented the composer and vocal soloist of the piece (Frankenstein!!) that the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra was to perform last Saturday night from appearing for the concert. David gamely jumped in at the last minute and sang the part—after some quick cramming backstage beforehand—and played the kazoo and slide-whistle part as well. That’s versatility for you!

Here is his photo from our 1974 high school yearbook (when he was in 10th grade):
And here’s what he looks like now (hasn’t changed a whole lot in 35 years, has he?):

A Classic!

ride. I went to watch and photograph the Santa Cruz Classic Criterium this last Sunday. The race takes place each year on Beach Hill, and the course is (as described on their website) “a challenging loop with eight turns, including two hairpins, and several short, but significant, climbs and descents.” Each lap is just under a mile. The elite women’s race was 30 laps, and the men’s 50.

It was sunny and hot—probably around 75 degrees. Better than two years ago, when it rained. But I knew the riders would have preferred it to be about 10 degrees cooler.

Team TIBCO kicked butt in the women’s race, claiming all three podium spots. Alison Starnes was the winner, with local gal, UCSC grad Brooke Miller coming in second. Here’s a photo during the race,


and the sprint to the finish:


Next up was the elite men. Here they are in charge formation near the beginning of their race.


I can never get over the legs these cyclists have. Will ya check out the muscles on these guys:


Garmin-Slipstream, a ProTour team that will be racing in Tour de France for the first time this coming July, sent one rider to our small, local race, which I thought was pretty cool. And didn’t he do well: Twenty-one year old Daniel Holloway won the race. You can see him in this picture, near the front, in the blue and white kit.

Riding my bike home afterwards, I got a bit winded riding into the headwind that had been picking up all afternoon. It sure made me appreciate just how fit those racers all are. Allez, allez!