GRUB
One of our favorite things to do while on our rides is
to stop and eat. In fact, we make a point of it. Mostly breakfast
and lunch stops. We try to vary the kinds of establishments we frequent
and have discovered a whole new set of circumstances for defining
what's "good to eat", .....so carry on with your reading and bon
appetite!
Ride Safe,
Ed
Cafe Sarifornia
by Brian Agron
Leave it up to a politician to screw it up, and a
drunk one at that. Politicians have not changed much in the last
130 years or so, apparently. Back in the 1880s, there was a town
in the northern end of the Napa Valley that wished to incorporate. It was
known then for its health spa’s and
mineral baths and it apparently reminded a number of folks of Saratoga
in New York State and this was the name chosen for the town. So,
come the day of the official christening of the town and the local politician,
pioneer, entrepreneur, and one time leader of the ‘Committee of Vigilance’ (vigilantes)
in San Francisco, 
Sam Brannan, who had apparently somewhat overdosed
on ethane hydroxide, had meant to call the town the Saratoga of California
but, being under the influence, in his speech to the cheering throngs,
referred to the town the “Calistoga of Sarifornia”. The name
stuck, and today we are blessed with the town of Calistoga, a major
tourist and motorcycle destination.
After we (the Ex and I) met our new son- in-law for
the first time, we took him on a tour of "The Wine Country" (I
hate that title by the way). He hails from back east, New York
in fact, and though he has lived in and traveled to many exotic
foreign destinations (is Azerbaijan exotic)? He had never been
out here on the left coast of California, so a tour of the Napa
Valley and wineries was definitely in order. And where did we take
him for lunch? Was it some overpriced snooty restaurant named after
some sort of hot dog condiment? Or perhaps it was an overrated pretentious
Frenchified tourist trap? Nope, it was the most unpretentious, un-exotic,
un-touristy, hole in the wall "greasy
spoon" joint we could
find... The Cafe Sarifornia in Calistoga, California. (I dare you
to say that fast ten times!)
The Cafe Sarifornia is located at 1413 Lincoln Ave.
(the main drag) in Calistoga, just two buildings east of the Hydro
Grill which is on the corner of Lincoln and Washington streets. The
name is painted on the front awning of the building, making it is
easy to find. At peak hours, parking is not an issue (Editor's note:
only if you have a motorcycle) and expect to see people waiting on
the sidewalk to get in. The interior is not in the slightest way
pretentious, there is a mural of the town on one wall, Sam Brannan’s
famous quote is on another wall and several posters decorate the
rest of the room. Tables and chairs are simple and ordinary. The
six of us were seated at a table not big enough to accommodate us,
but the friendly waitress brought out a table extension made of wood
and 1 inch plumbing pipe. Simple. Obviously the attraction here is
not the decor. It was Sunday noon and 100 degrees outside but somewhat
cooler inside, though not markedly so. Basically the Cafe Sarifornia
looked like any other diner or dive one might encounter anywhere
in the grand ol’ US
of A. So what would be the reason I would choose to bring my new
son-in-law here? Why would people wait outside just to get in when
there are so many other choices available to the hungry diner? Be
patient, Grasshopper...
The breakfast menu was the standard fare of pancakes,
omelets, biscuits and gravy, huevos rancheros, but, alas, no chicken
fried steak. Nothing exotic, nothing fancy (are eggs benedict fancy)?
I ordered the huevos rancheros as did Ed (no surprise here) and
in a reasonable length of time our food was brought to us. This is
not fancy-smanchy "California Cuisine" here,
it is a hearty and generous serving of "Sarifornia Cuisine".
Big plate full of eggs topped with cheese, tomato salsa and avocado,
with hash browns filling the remainder of the plate. I took a fork
full of the hash browns (close your eyes Grasshopper, clear your
mind of all thought) and when the fork full of hash browns hit my
tongue, it was as if the bottom dropped out of the bucket and my
taste buds achieved Nirvana. Beethoven's 9th symphony, Ode to Joy, The
Dali Lama blesses me, that wonderful scene in Ratatouille where the
food critic, Anton Ego, first tastes Remy’s
Ratatouille, I grock... These hash browns do not need the usual dose
of catsup or tabasco sauce to make them edible, they stand on their
own.
Yea, it is that good.
Greasy Spoon American (huevos rancheros are now officially
American) cuisine taken to heights only once occupied by the gourmet
creations of a skilled French chef (been there, done that, more than
once). I do not know how they made the humble hash brown into this masterpiece
of taste, but this pedestrian spud dish has only been experienced at
this level by me once before in a tea room in the quaint town of Battle
in England. Fortunately Calistoga is closer and cheaper to get to. The
eggs were perfect and full of flavor that was somehow wonderfully enhanced
but not with the addition of spices or flavor enhancers. This was rich
natural flavor, in fact all of the food had this quality. Perhaps it
was just plain fresh or ‘natural’ or ‘organic’ or
whatever buzzword is used to explain flavor, but such terms were
not used in the menu. The flavor speaks for itself. I wondered what the
source of the eggs and other items that the Cafe Sarifornia serves up.
They are on to a secret here and it shows.
Don’t believe me? Go there yourself and check
it out. If you disagree with me after you do eat there, then I suspect
you somehow got your taste buds shot off.
The Hoffman House
Wherein we again visit an old and all too overlooked friend
by Brian Agron
We have often stopped
at the Hoffman House in Geyserville for brunch, and yet for some inexplicable
reason I have never written about it. Then for the first ride in March,
we again chose the Hoffman house as our destination. A cold and overcast
morning broke to a sunny and ‘warm’ spring day, perhaps the first decent
riding weather for the year. The Hoffman House, built over 100 years
ago by the Hoffman family (really? I would not have guessed) has been lovingly
preserved and turned into this local landmark. I have a fondness
for old rural California buildings and the Hoffman House hits the mark
for me. It is ‘Old
School Wine Country’ ambiance and I feel right at home here. This
is quite important in several ways. Sometimes when a group of scruffy
looking aging motorcyclists show up on their iron horses, the staff
politely accepts our business. Here we were embraced as welcomed
neighbors and by no means out of place. We were accepted as family and
this really is important to me. Two brownie points to the Hoffman House.
GPS Coordinates:
38 42 47.8 or 38.71328
-122 54 55.7 or -122.91547
Hoffman House Cafe
21712 Geyserville Ave.
Geyserville, CA 95441
Phone: (707) 857-3264
www.hoffmanhousegeyserville.com
From 101 in Geyserville, take the Canyon Road exit
and go East. Turn south on Geyserville ave/128. Just 0.2 miles
south, on your left, will be the Hoffman House |
We seated ourselves outside and rearranged
the tables somewhat to suit our numbers. No problem. As we sat there perusing
the menu, it dawned on us that it was still rather cold and with a slight
breeze, our food and ourselves would cool all too rapidly to thoroughly
enjoy what was soon to come. So by group consensus, we put aside our macho
ability to endure the unendurable and moved onto the porch and under
the radiant heating that had been set up for the customers to both
eat outside and not freeze their cojones off (editor's note...I don't
think Brian is being sexist here, just lacking in spanish vocabulary).
We may be macho, but we ain’t
stupid...
Our waitress (wait-person? Serving wench? [editor's note...well,
maybe he is being sexist.) seemed genuinely happy to see us and handed
out the menus, and in doing so, presented us with a delightful dilemma.
What to order... It all looks so good! I am a sucker for seafood
and their Crab Cake Benedict called to me in the worst way. Dungeness
crab, poached egg and Gruyere cheese... I salivate as I write this!
But wait! There is the Breakfast Burrito which lures me quietly,
a delicious concoction of eggs, bacon, Monterey and Jack cheese,
Sausage, potatoes, salsa, and sour creme wrapped in a green (spinach?)
flour tortilla. At $8.50, I cannot pass this one up, besides I can
compare it to the other breakfast burritos I have written about.
It is right up there with the best of the breakfast burritos, too.
Ed had the Ranchero Omelette, an equally enticing concoction of
chorizo, onions, peppers, monterey and jack cheese served with pinto
beans. He would have ordered huevos rancheros but that was not on
the menu. What the other riders ordered, I did not note as I was
too happily involved with my own choice. For those folks who would
rather start their day with granola and fresh fruit, that is offered
too. Pancakes, French Toast, three egg omelets and you choose the ingredients.
Whatever you may choose, you will be delighted. The portions were
perfect too, more than enough but not so much as to turn sport eating into
an endurance contest.
I believe the Hoffman House arguably has
the highest quality for the most modest price and with that combo,
you cannot go wrong. Another plus in their review is that the parking is
ample with oodles of room on the side and in back. Often in more urban
settings, a half dozen or so motorcycles will have to scramble to find
parking in various places, not the case with the Hoffman House. That is
also a big plus for me. Though conveniently just off the freeway, it does
not feel like it is just off the freeway. There is no freeway motor noise
to contend with, it seems as if it is located on some back road known only
to the locals. Another benefit of its location is its proximity to Dry
Creek Road and the Lake Sonoma recreation area to the West. Or take 128
East into Calistoga. The Hoffman House is centrally located along many
good motorcycling routes.
I definitely like this place and when we come back again (and we
always do) I will order the crab cakes.
Geronimo!...out
to San Geronimo for another Sunday brunch.
A Review of the Two Bird Cafe
by Brian Agron
photo by Ed Berland
We have been to the Two Bird Cafe in San Geronimo twice
before, but somehow they have slipped past my discerning reviewer's
eye. Not this time. The Cafe is located at 625 San Geronimo Valley
Drive in (duh!) San Geronimo. Now this is just about 10 minutes from my
home in Fairfax, so I did the only logical thing that only a motorcycle
afficianado can understand. I spent a good hour riding up to Santa Rosa
to hook up with the usual gang of graying chow hounds only to ride all
the way back to the cafe.
No
matter what route you choose, it is going to be a scenic ride to
this West Marin destination. It is located just off Sir Francis Drake
near the intersection of Nicasio Valley Road and Drake. Should you
be coming south on Nicasio Valley Road, just cross Drake and make an immediate
right turn onto San Geronimo Valley Drive, if you are traveling via
Sir Francis Drake, turn south on Nicasio Valley Drive and hang a right.
Can’t
miss it as it is just down the road a tad. Easy parking, too.
The Two Bird has a woodsy ambiance and a friendly atmosphere
and is well populated with customers. You might consider reservations,
if you are going to show up with a significant head count. You can call
them at (415) 488.0105 to set that up. They are set up for indoor and outdoor
dining, but being this was a cool autumn morning, we were seated indoors
this time. Our waitress did not seem at all stressed by the pressure of
serving her customers, in fact she seemed to enjoy the opportunity. Unusual
attitude, which would have another manifestation at the end of the meal.
Their weekend breakfast & brunch menu (8 a.m.
to 3 p.m.) was not oriented to the two dozen ways to serve eggs
and sausage you can find at other breakfast joints. This menu was
crafted by a chef, not a cook and was in the $9.95 to $12.50 range.
Eggs Benedict, Eggs Geronimo and Eggs Raquel were the first offerings
and I did not know the composition of the latter two. There was a
yummy variety of omelets offered, ranging from Trout with an organic
pumpkin seed crust to a Baja Omelet which was composed of roasted sweet
corn, a roasted pusilla chili, Sonoma jack cheese and fresh salsa. Tempting!
I think Ed ordered that one. I was torn between the Yosemite omelet
with sausage, roasted Anaheim chiles, sweet onions, cheddar cheese
Ned chipotle sauce and the Combination omelet. This tempting beauty was
made with fresh crab (the Dunginess crab season had just opened so this
might be a seasonal offering), shrimp meat, chives, avocado and pepper
jack cheese with hollandaise sauce. I ordered the latter and wondered if
I have some sort of strange desire for seafood omelets. The memory of the
fly infested Hangtown fry was still in my memory and my palate needed to
be sated for the seafood fix. I was not to be disappointed.
The food arrived neither too soon or too late and
much to our surprise, a sincere effort had been made to make the
presentation visually pleasing. This is almost unheard of in a brunch meal.
The food was not just put on a plate, it was ‘arranged’. Most
notably was Ed’s
omelet which had its offering ringed by triangular corn chips,
almost like a flower. I have not seen this sort of care and pride before.
The taste and quality were good, too. My crab and shrimp
omelet was just as I had hoped, perfect would be a good word, and
one that I do not over use in my reviews. The ingredients were fresh
and flavorsome and I was reminded of the fresh flavors of the food
Ed and I had enjoyed in the Normandy region of France. The chef knew
his stuff, and that was obvious. The portions were not huge but considering
the richness of the food, it was more than enough to satisfy the
strongest appetite. Besides, they also offered desserts, such as
tiramisu and creme brulee, the latter I will always order. But not
today because for me, creme brulee just does not go well with seafood
in the morning.
When it came time for the check and the usual arguing
and bickering over who owes what, we were presented with separate
checks without even having to ask. That has never happened before
either. We all dislike being stuck with the “18% gratuity applied
for parties of six or more” and
the Two Bird Cafe did not play that bu%%#*it game with us. I have
always detested that custom. Why should we be penalized for bringing
in customers? Not a problem here. I like this place and for those
of you in Marin or who want a very scenic long bike ride should definitely
make the Two Bird Cafe your destination. I would be very comfortable
taking a date there. We will be going back again.
The Two Bird Cafe is open from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. weekdays
and from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. on weekends. Dinners are from 5:50 to 9:30
p.m. weekdays through Sunday. You can reach them on the web at www.twobirdcafe.com, if
you are so inclined.
A new feature I am going to include in my reviews of any restaurant/cafe/dive
in Marin, is to look up their health inspection reports. A check with the
Marin Environmental Health Services Food Facility Inspection reports shows
that they were last inspected on August 8th of this year and there were
no violations found. Always a good thing!
Now lest you think no violations is a common thing, I also
looked up the San Francisco Yacht Club in Tiburon, perhaps the most exclusive,
expensive and snooty place you can find in Marin County. They had six critical
and four non-critical violations. These included hands not being properly
washed, food contact surfaces not cleaned and sanitized properly, garbage
and refuse not being properly disposed and toilet facilities not properly
constructed, supplied and cleaned. And that was the third inspection of
the year, the previous two also had violations.
Quickie Restaurant
Review:
Downtown Grill - Windsor, CA
by Paul Albert
Photos by Paul Albert
Quick review..Service was very good. Separate checks were
not a problem, always a plus with me.
When one meal was sent back
the waiters and waitresses kept coming back to tell Jeff his meal
was on the way. Genuine concern.
Breakfast was good, never felt rushed,
food was delivered hot, prompt, large portions, and they did not
wait for all the orders to come up before serving. However I found
the coffee cake a bit disappointing, dry and uninteresting.
In my opinion,
worth another visit in the future.
Fearless Restaurant Reviewer: Flies in the
Face of Fear!
A Review of the Cape Fear Cafe
by Brian Agron
Photos by Paul Albert
Sunday
was one of those perfect ride days that rarely happens. It was warm
without being hot, but with the whisper and promise of an autumn
chill in the morning air. It smelled of fall and change. Our destination
this ride was the Cape Fear Cafe in Duncan Mills. Go west young man! Our
ride took us through the wonderful redwood lined Russian River country,
which is always a good ride. Perfect weather, perfect conditions and you
could smell the proximity of the sea as we pulled into Duncan Mills. It
is a spiritual thing, I must always live within a day's walk of the sea
and Duncan Mills fits the bill. So does Fairfax, which is why I live there,
but I digress.
We parked our bikes in front of the restaurant (making the usual
"statement" here) and walked inside and were offered a table outside
in the back. Al Fresco dining! A perfect day, so being outside is
perfect, too. Expectations were appropriately high. Everything is
flowing so well.
Our waiter promptly
brought us our menus and the first thing that struck me was that
Hangtown Fry was the first item on the menu. Now this is a rare offering
and it is a benchmark by which I can judge the finesse of "Le Chef".
Problem is, they also offered several variations on Eggs Benedict,
which was the strong suit of the CazSonoma Inn (see previous review)
so my dilemma was what to choose. I went with the Hangtown Fry. Now
for you neophytes, a Hangtown Fry is an oyster omelet, an extremely
rich offering that is easy to screw up into a fishy, salty, gooey mess
or lift it up to a rich exotic offering of the gods.
Our breakfasts were served to us in a timely manner and a
yummy plate full of omelet, breaded oysters and fried potatoes were put
before me, along with two julienne cut slices of toast to slather in butter
or jam. The oysters were done perfectly, not gooey, not like rubber bands
either. They tasted of the sea, as did the morning air. Perfect... well,
almost perfect if it was not for the fly that also took a liking to my
Hangtown fry. Uh... make that two flies, or was that three flies? Not the
large biting deer flies that can be found out in the country, these were
just the small ordinary housefly type of varmint.
I could not take a stab at my meal with my fork without first having
to shoo away the flies, which would immediately return to my food as I
whisked the fork up to my mouth. These little suckers were practicing touch-and-go
landings on my omelet! I was not alone in this misery either, as all of
us seemed to have our own personal serving of flies to torment and distract
us from our meal. Were they some sort of airborne garnish for our eggs?
We looked like a half dozen leather coated middle aged orchestra conductors
waving our invisible batons to the rhythm of some sort of mute symphony.
Shoo flies, cut of piece of omelet, shoo flies, stab piece of omelet with
fork, shoo flies, raise fork to mouth, shoo flies, rapidly clamp down on
food less one of them should follow the food into your mouth.
I began to consider just where those fly feet have been before they
were walking around on my oysters. There were no horses nearby, so perhaps
there was open garbage cans stored nearby, or was it a dead dog or some
rancid roadkill raccoon on the other side of the wall? Dog poo? Ruptured
septic tank next door? I did not want to really know, but having to deal
with these images while trying to enjoy my meal was almost more than I
could take.
I looked around and could not see any electronic fly zappers or even
old fashioned fly paper. This is taking "natural and organic" just
a bit too far. Maybe the Cape Fear Cafe did not care, and as a result,
neither did I. No matter how good the Hangtown Fry was, it can't
be enjoyed by having to share it with insect vermin that like having
sex in dead things. My recommendation? Fly on down the road to Bodega Bay
or Jenner and check out some other place.
Editor's Note: While I agree with Brian about
the plentitude of buzzing insects, don't make that your only criteria
for passing up the Cape Fear Cafe. The food was good, the service
was exemplary and the al fresco dining was nice. I'll be back...maybe
with a fly swatter, in hand.
The Birthday Breakfast
by Brian Agron
Photos by Paul Albert
I am evolving into an expert on breakfasts. I have indulged in this pastime
on two continents and one reasonably large island nation over the years
and I believe it has given me a degree of expertise in this matter. I have
shelled out way too many Euro's for some couteux et ennuyeux puff pastry
in Paris, reasonable handful's of Kiwi dollars for some politically correct
breakfasts in New Zealand and for a few pounds put on a few pounds with
the finest hash browns and sausage (and fried tomatoes) in a 16th century
tea room in Battle, England.
So, our breakfastly sojourn has Ed turning 61 and he wants to be
treated to breakfast at some obscure joint way out in the boonies
in Sonoma county. His call, sounds good to me and we all get a good
ride on the iron horses to work up a good appetite for this event.
Our destination was the CazSonoma Inn ( cazsonoma.com 707-632- 5255 )
which you can reach by taking the River Road/Guerneville exit from 101
and head about 15 miles west on River Road. This will merge with highway
116 in the town of Guerneville. Stay on 116 through Guerneville and Monte
Rio and into Cazadero. Slow down when you see the sign on the right for
Austin Creek Road. Take the next right onto the Cazadero Highway, proceed
about 2.6 miles to Kidd Creek Road and the sign for CazSonoma Inn. take
a left and follow the dirt road for one mile. Yea, a dirt road. When you
cross the small wooden bridge (a little hairy on a bike... do you traverse
it on the wood or the space between?), you are almost there.
You are rewarded by an almost fairy tale grounds
an buildings at the end of a small valley bordered by redwood trees and
steep hillsides. I understand it used to be a railhead for the logging
industry to bring redwood logs from ‘the field’ to Duncan
Mills and ultimately San Francisco. Lots of local history here. In any
event, the grounds and buildings are well worth exploring.
The kitchen is open from May through Thanksgiving
and Sunday brunch is served from 10 am until 2 pm. The menu changes
to reflect what is locally available. We were welcomed as important
and valued guests (leather encased graying elderly biker trash that
we are...) and seated on an outdoor patio. Breakfast consisted of
several courses, which include fresh fruit, muffins, yogurt and a
cucumber-mint 
Jell-O thingie. Normally I would have politely passed
on the latter (cucumbers make me burp and they taste nasty) but this
concoction was quite edible and I finished mine and some of Mel’s
too. It was exotic and delicious. Omelets and eggs benedict are their
specialty and there are many variations to choose from. Whatever
you select will be elegant and there is no point of writing about
what my choices were. It was excellent and full of flavor, reminding
me of the better part of the spectrum of flavorful French food. Not
that eggs benedict is French, but the richness of the flavor was
comparable. This is locally grown organic faire and it shows. All
this for $20! Don’t
pass this up!
The CazSonoma Inn would also be an excellent location
for a wedding or romantic get away. Throw the babe on the back
of ‘da Hog’ and
spend a weekend at this place. She will love it. You will love it,
too.
Now if I can just find a willing babe...
How (not) to Run a Restaurant
or
A Review of the Amsterdam Cafe and Ristorante Italiano
by Brian Agron
I have been remiss of late and have not contributed lately to our web
site, probably because we have not had our traditional brunch at anyplace
worthy of writing about. That is not exactly true, there was a great place
west of Sebastopol which needs to be reexamined, but I digress somewhat.
It was a chilly November morning and the published
ride was to leave Santa Rosa and make our way to the quaint town of Fairfax
(more like South Park on acid...) to have breakfast at the Amsterdam
Cafe located on Broadway, just east of Bolinas road. Since I live in
Fairfax and it is about a 5 minute walk to said destination, riding all
the way up to Santa Rosa just to turn around and ride all the way back
was an opportunity I could not pass up. If you don’t ‘get it’ then
you do not yet understand the joy of motorcycling.
We arrived in Fairfax just before noon and found
a parking space right outside the Amsterdam Cafe which I took to be a
good sign, and it was, though not in the way I had envisioned it. All
four of us were hypothermic to the core and in dire need of some hot
beverage ASAP. We stepped inside and stood there for a moment or two
until we seemed to interrupt the ‘stream’ of
consciousness (more like a little creek) of what was perhaps the waitress,
who asked the four of us how many were in our group. “Four” someone
replied and we were told to sit anywhere we would like, though she pointed
to a table, which only had three chairs, a subtlety the ‘waitress’ seems
to have missed, so as she walked away, we took a chair from another
table and sat down.
Nothing happened. Zero. Zip. Nada.
Odd.
Ryder finally asked her for menus and because Zeke
had taken off to the bathroom, she gave us three xeroxed sheets of paper
with the cafe’s
offerings printed on them in a frilly serpigonous font worthy of
some high end snotty french restaurant called La Maison des Moutons Attrayants
(note to Ryder... cut and paste the name into any internet translator).
Zeke returns from his potty sojourn and becomes immediately rankled by
the lack of the fourth menu, so we share. It does not take us long to
decide what we want because the menu is, after all, just a cheap 8x11
sheet of typing paper, not some oversized multipage satin cord bound
with tassels on custom paper sort of thing on which the fu-fu font would
be appropriate. We watch the two waitresses, both of which appeared to
be perimenopausal Marin hippie wannabes with too much make up and not
any gray hair, set empty tables and otherwise aimlessly wander around
completely ignoring us. I begin to suspect the stream... er, excuse me,
creek of consciousness just went dry, probably because it was taxed beyond
capability by having to count out four menus when there were only three
functioning brain cells left to count with.
Sadly I had the impression these two ‘waitresses’ never had
a real job of any kind before, nor had they ever eaten in an actual restaurant
(other than some sort of West Marin organic bean sprout bar) and were absolutely
clueless as to what to do, much less when to do it and why. We sat there
for twelve long minutes before Zeke had had it and announced to us one
and all that we were leaving. We all concurred and we all stood up and
left. I don’t think the Amsterdam staff were aware of our departure.
Just a couple of doors down we found the Ristorante Italiano, it had a
brunch menu so we went in. We were immediately greeted by a young waiter
who sat us at a table, got us some ice water and fresh warm bread and asked
us if we would like anything to drink as he handed us the menus. Four menus,
one for each of us, what a concept! Hot coffee and tea all around, forget
the ice water for now.
I ordered a ‘scramble’ of eggs, ground organic beef (very
flavorsome!) with spinach and potatoes, everyone else had steak and eggs,
Ryder with his usual ‘over easy and if you break a yoke, you will
die’, the others had scrambled. Food was quick in coming and it was
surprisingly wonderful. There was a green herb (parsley?) sprinkled
around the plate to make the presentation visually appealing. An effort
had been made for us, the customers. The potatoes had been cooked in (or
coated with?) a very garlicky olive oil, giving them a very delightful
comfort food flavor. The steaks were pure meat totally without any fat,
bone or gristle. We were fed, we were taken care of, we were warm inside
again. More warm bread, another cup of hot tea, ah... just what we had
wanted. Zeke noted that all of us had literally cleaned our plates of every
scrap of organic matter, something he noted did not often occur. A testament
to the soul nourishing Ristorante Italiano.
I asked our waiter if he was aware if the Cafe Amsterdam
was under new management. Pausing a moment to ponder if his answer should
be honest or diplomatic, he opined to me that he thought the Amsterdam
Cafe would probably close in a few weeks. It seems the previous staff
had all walked out suddenly, and there were ‘problems’ there.
I agreed wholeheartedly, which is why we were here and not there.
So if you ever find yourself in Fairfax and are hungry,
stand in front of the Amsterdam Cafe on Broadway, turn to your right
(facing west) and walk a few doors down to Ristorante Italiano. I may
return there myself for dinner, just to check it out. I won’t ride
all the way to Santa Rosa and back though, I will just walk there next
time.
The Great Breakfast
Burrito Quest
by Brian Agron
It is the start of the new new year and the weather has been crappy for
the last month. Rain, wind, floods and darkness, definitely not conducive
to riding the Beast. But by some strange quirk of fate, the clouds retreated,
the sky turned blue, the roads dried out, the air was warm (well... 60
degrees is warm compared to what we had gone through) and there were signs
that the flowers are about to start blooming and motorcycles are again
seen upon the road.
It is a portent of spring. Time to exercise The Beast again and get her
oil flowing after her winter stupor.
So the first ride of the season is planned from Santa Rosa to the tiny
West Marin town of Nicasio and breakfast at Rancho Nicasio. It was a great
ride through cold crisp air and sunlight that whispered of spring yet to
come. The hills were obscenely green with last years grass rapidly disappearing
like last nights dreams. You had to have been there.
Nicasio is just a bend in the road that encloses
an old church, a few houses, real estate office and it forces you to
slow down to maybe 15 mph or so as you pass through what passes for ‘town’. Rancho Nicasio
is impossible to miss. The parking lot was full of Bikes and ‘bikes’ reminding
me that there are two species of ‘bikers’. There are those
of us who dress in leathers, ride motorcycles, go inside, eat hearty breakfasts,
drinks, and have a good time. Then there are those who ride their bicycles,
wear spandex, just hang out (sometimes in the middle of the road obstruicting
traffic) don’t go inside, drink Cytomax ® and eat variations
of power-bars. Whatever floats yer’ boat...
Inside was filled with the ambiance of an unpretentious
road house/country inn, full of dark wood and mounted trophies of someones
past hunts. Heads of dead animals from an era where ‘PC’ did not exist. Cool!
It was folksy, it was real, it was not some ‘theme’ created
by an interior decorator. It was the real McCoy. I, in search of the perfect
breakfast burrito, found it offered on their menu, and Ryder, always questing
for the perfect huevos rancheros finds his desires offered too. That decision
as to what to order was easy. Our waitress moved some tables around so
we all got to sit together without any fuss or bother. That’s how
you make your guests feel at home. I like this place!
We were not disappointed in our meals either. We
got what we thought we were to get, unlike that other restaurant in Pt.
Reyes Station were we got more hairs in our food than promised ingredients.
Read the previous review in case you do not understand that reference.
The burrito was more than sufficient for my appetite. It was bold, rich,
heavy, complex, and friendly, like a plate full of ‘Home Cookin’ from
your grandmother. This was true family cuisine, great grub from the kitchen.
Not pretentious, not California Cuisine, just damn good.
So I had no problem sucking this burrito down. Ryder
also offers that his huevos rancheros are perhaps the best he as had
at any restaurant. I am convinced, The Rancho Nicasio is definitely on
my list of places to explore. They also offer burgers (I’ll be
back!) and I have heard that their steaks are excellent. Looks like I
will have to return many times to give their menu a thorough check out.
They are also motorcycle friendly, in fact there were a lot more motorcycles
in their parking lot than there were cars, and there were some interesting
bikes too. The usual collection of V-Twin cruisers and sport bikes. There
was also a new Triumph Rocket 3 that we had to check out, though in the
photo, Melinda is checking out the Triumph while Ryder eyes the Honda
cruiser. Just goes to show you that size does matter...
By the way, that sucker (the Triumph, not Ryder)
puts out 140 horespower and 147 foot-pounds of torque from its
2294 cc engine and weighs 704 pounds (dry), less than some Japanese
V-twin cruisers like the ones my companieros seem to favor. It is also
very quiet... Check it out at http://www.triumph.co.uk/usa/263.aspx and
check out Rancho Nicasio too. Just don’t blink or you will miss
the entire town.
Dining in Point Reyes Station
by Brian Agron
One of the joys of motorcycling is stopping in some
quaint little town and exploring what the place has to offer in the world
of (in our case, breakfast) fine dining. In the world of ‘quaint’ and ‘unspoiled’ scenic
destinations, Point Reyes Station has to be way up at the top of
the list. Located in west Marin along highway 1, it is a favorite destination
for the many bikers that frequent this route on weekends. It was here
that we stopped for brunch at a local eatery that is so popular with
both the locals, tourists, and motorcyclists that it is not unusual to
have to stand and wait for awhile for a table on a fine Sunday.
Normally I would not be inspired to write a ‘restaurant review’ for
a motorcycling touring web site, but because this place is such a popular
motorcycling destination and because the total experience there was so
unique in regards to the interpretation of their menu and the ingredients
they used in their offerings, I was so deeply inspired by ‘creative
interpretation’ their offerings and the spontaneity of their creativity,
I just had to sit out on my deck once again, fine ale in a chilled
mug (and ultimately in me...) and pen my deep felt emotional reaction to
their offerings.
Unfortunately, due to potential ‘legal entanglements’ I
will not name the cafe, though you can probably accurately surmise the
institution of culinary wonder I am writing about.
The six of us were seated outside in the arbor covered
patio after a brief wait and we delved into the menu like eager literati
snapping up a newly published novel (read fiction... you will soon understand
this image) of their favorite author. We had eaten here before and were
quite satisfied with the quality and variety in the past. Where else
can you get a Hangtown Fry? The first thing I noticed at the end of the
menu was a notice that parties of six or more would be charged an 18% ‘gratuity’ which
means they are automatically going to jack up the prices because we are
providing them with an abundance of customers. I immediately felt like
a Texas Hold’em player who had called his way to the river and had
that sickening feeling that he did not have ‘Jack’ and was
about to learn a painful and expensive lesson as to when it is appropriate
to fold’en and not hold’em. So true, so true...
I passed on the Hangtown Fry (an oyster omelet) this time and went for
the Rueben sandwich instead. The menu described it as corned beef, rye
bread and sauerkraut with russian dressing, just what I was in the mood
for! Ryder ordered the Mexican omelet, a yummy sounding combo of cheese,
green chilies, sour cream and Ryder's better half went for the vegetarian
plate. Sounded like a tasty combo of zucchini and other veggies. I could
almost go for that too except I like the flavor and tactile sensation of
animal fat dribbling down my gullet. But I digress...
We were eventually served our meals and, speaking for all of us, were
rather surprised by what was set before us. My Ruben sandwich was made
from grilled light rye, grilled to a fine patina of carbon on one side,
but hey, at least they forgot to do the same for the other side.
Thank goodness for small favors.
The amount of corned beef was what I would have
anticipated if I got this in Kaiser’s hospital cafeteria (for a
third of the price, pre-gratuity). Even Ryder expressed his shock at
the lack of any significant amount of corned beef. But it got worse.
Strike one.
When I lifted up the bread (to check for the carbon
treatment on the other side) I discerned that they not only did not hide
any more of the corned beef somehow, they only included a few pathetic
strands of what I took to be sauerkraut. You have to have a significant
amount of sauerkraut to balance and marry with the corned beef. This
was not a marriage, it was a divorce. And who had custody of the russian
dressing? This sucker was dry, no dressing at all (menu said it had russian
dressing) and I began to wonder who was doing the creative writing, perhaps
the ‘cook’ ought
to read his own menu. The other Rueben ordered came the same way, bread
carbonized on one side (I thought of Han Solo in the end of ‘Empire
strikes back’) and lacking pretty much everything else. So how did
the others fare?
Well, the vegetarian plate came not with zucchini
(as stated in the menu) but with BRUSSEL SPROUTS! Now I can tolerate
fresh Brussel sprouts on occasion (usually when my palate has been properly
anesthetized with alcohol) but they have to be green and fresh. These
were sort of a toxic yellow and there was no way that this unannounced ‘substitution’ was
acceptable. Off Melinda marched into the cafe to register her dissatisfaction
and demand that anything, other than what was probably some sort of alien
life form dying in earths atmosphere, be substituted for zucchini on
her vegetarian plate. Brussel sprouts remind me of what you find in an
infants diapers when they have their first solid bowel movement.
Strike two.
Ryder too, marveled at the liberty taken by the
cook (chef is now too nice of a term) with his Mexican omelet. Where
was the cheese fer’ Chirstsake!
Where were the f@#*ing green chilies? How can you have a ‘Mexican’ omelet
(advertised as containing green chilies and cheese) and not put the
G.D. ingredients into the omelet? Is the bozo behind the stove (cook is
now too nice a term) illiterate? Senile? Drunk? Stoned? Just plain stupid?
Strike three.
Ah but we are not done yet! While Melinda is away, ‘Charlie’ finds
a long light blond hair in her omelet. No doubt another creative
substitution for the items actually listed on the menu. This gut wrenching
discovery prompts a thorough search of all of our meals and we come up
with yet another hair. Not bad odds, you have at least a one in three
chance to have some shed body part ending up in your meal. I did not
have a hair in my Rueben and felt somehow left out (or did I eat it earlier???)
in a strange way. For $10.56 and no russian dressing and minimal sauerkraut
in my Rueben I should have at least a hair in my food too.
Strike four.
Is there really such a thing as four strikes against
you? Eat at this Cafe (whose name shall not be uttered here) in Point
Reyes Station and you may well find out the answer like we did. Do yourself
a favor and go to Denny’s or IHOP instead.
The World's Best Burrito
by Brian Agron
Several
years ago one summer, I had lunch at a small taqueria in downtown
San Rafael, some modest unpretentious place almost under the part
of the freeway that is elevated above the town. It was very "autentico"
cuisine in that the predominance of the clientele and all of the
staff conversed in Spanish. It is the "Little Mexico" part
of San Rafael. I was with Michelle, my all time favorite S.Y.T.*
who is an amazing combination of legs, cheekbones (supermodels
would kill for bones like these) and the fact that she is almost
young enough to be my daughter (if I had fooled around a little more
injudiciously when I was young) was not really acting as a deterrent
to my behavior. You get my drift. At least I was dating within my species...
Having a fondness for Mexican/Central American cuisine I ordered
a chorizo burrito and was soon served a humongus, two handed monster
that was full of chorizo. It tasted like... well... chorizo. By dumping
various salsas and sour cream on it, I could vary the heat and it's
one dimensional flavor somewhat. I was holding the now half eaten burrito
in both hands, with my elbows on the table, trying to be my relaxed,
suave, debonair self when suddenly and without any warning, my right
elbow lost traction, slipped out from underneath me, and I almost did
a face-plant onto the tabletop. Like hitting a slurry of fine gravel,
oil and wet leaves at high speed on a hairpin turn and dumping "The
Chrome Cruiser." It was not a pretty moment at all. It was amusing for
Michelle (at my expense) of course and it left me startled and puzzled why
this had happened. She pointed out that the GREASE from my burrito had been
slowly oozing down my arm until the puddle beneath my elbow had reached critical
mass and WHAM! Down I went. That f*@#%^g burrito leaked more oil than my Harley!
She had been watching this spectacle unfold and had not warned me. Sometimes
I think Michelle is amused by strange things... It took several napkins to
mop up my arm and tabletop. She was getting a lot of milage out of my humiliation.
Can’t take me out in public....
So what does this have to do with
motorcycling? Everything really. It takes 91 octane to fuel our Iron horses
and the riders of these "ferrous fillies" need fueling too. On our
recent ride of July 10th, we went east from Santa Rosa over the mountains and
down into St. Helena on our quest for yet another breakfast. After a wrong
turn by ‘Fearless Leader’ (Ed. Note: That was the Tour Master,
who seems to be getting directionally challenged in his old age...I
DID tell him that the restaurant was NORTH of town) that resulted
in us cruising main street in St. Helena twice, we headed north
out of town about one mile and arrived at the Cafe 29 Bistro www.cafe29.com,
our intended destination. Parking was ample and we (all 12 of us!)
were seated out on the patio. Ah... "Wine
Country" elegance... vineyards,
hills, the Napa Valley, understated elegance, that sort of thing.
Service was genuinely friendly and (motley gang of aging bikers that
we are) we were treated like important guests.
Above and
beyond the usual. I was impressed.
Well, lo and behold, on the breakfast
menu they had an item called the "AM
burrito" which was (to the best of my memory) an intriguing combination
of CHORIZO, potatoes, eggs, red peppers, red onions and other savory ingredients.
I had not had a chorizo burrito since that incident several years ago. Dare
I go for it again? I decided to do so, and just $8.50 too! Seemed underpriced
for this sort of place too. Denny’s maybe... but here?
What I was served
was not as large as the infamous PemMex SAE 20W50 chorizo burrito of my past
but it was, unequivocally, the best damn burrito I have ever had. (Note to
the Editor... How is that for a review eh?)
It did not need sour cream or salsa to moderate the taste. It did not need
a bath in Crystal Hot Sauce either. It was an amazing blend, nay, a sublime
marriage of all of its ingredients into a work of culinary art that equaled
more than the mere sum of its ingredients. I was reminded of that petite
Japanese actress who often judges the creations on the Food Networks original
"Iron Chef" show, whose eyebrows sometime go up in delight as
she samples some exotic creation (usually made from ingredients we "Nanbun"
often dismiss as "bait") and waxes poetic about how the ingredients
are in a state of harmony, a zen-like balance of flavor, a heavenly marriage.
I never really got "IT" until my first bite of the AM burrito. Now I got
"IT." The AM burrito was not just a mixture of chorizo, eggs, potatoes, and
red peppers, but a carefully crafted balance and blend that far exceeded
my best expectations.
A gourmet breakfast. A feast of culinary passion.
No orange grease puddles either, in fact, no grease at all. Was this made
from fresh ingredients? Was it organic? I could tell this was a carefully
researched and tested creation that a skillful chef had spent a lot of time
perfecting. It showed, too. No one ingredient was dominant, yet all could
be appreciated separately and yet, all joined into one. Like individual notes
in a symphony.
Yea, it was that good!
Not too shabby for $8.50. I ain’t eatin’ at Denny’s no
more!
* Sweet Young Thing
Brian Agron enjoys setting
off car alarms
in Kaiser's garage when he rides his
motorcycle to work and knows first hand
that chrome is a very addicting drug....
