We’re in Ashland now. It’s very hot. Unseasonable, apparently. Which didn’t stop us from searching for a decent espresso. We bypassed Seattle on the way down, but did stop for a few hours in Portland after over-nighting in the “other” Vancouver. Don’t ask—it was something I thought would be a good idea at the time.

Anyway I digress. Our last decent cup of coffee was at a Peet’s outlet in downtown Portland. We tried some espresso in Portland’s Alphabet District later in the afternoon and it was flat. Then later, in Eugene, we tried the local roaster, Allan Brother’s, and it was abysmal.

Further south on the I-5 we’ve noted plenty of small, free-standing drive-thru espresso shacks, and coming out of Roseburg this morning we picked up a couple of Americanos from a Dutch Roasters stand. Heavy on the American, light on the espresso, it tasted like the kind of coffee my mother used to perk back in the 70s. Not bad, but not espresso either.

In Medford we pulled into a big mall and got some half-full Americanos from Starbucks, and, compared to the rest of the dreck we’ve been drinking, they actually tasted pretty good.

The latest attempt was the Water Street Café in downtown Ashland this afternoon. Like a lot of the espresso we’ve seen in the past couple of days it had a decent crema, but ithis version tasted so awful we dumped it.

Ashland is a college town. There may be decent coffee to be had here somewhere, but we’re afraid to ask. It seems that the rich and complex brew that we Vancouverites take for granted may be elusive outside the Pacific Northwest.

Thank heavens we hit Seattle on Saturday, and Artigiano on Sunday

Mr. Vancouverist and I are leaving early tomorrow morning–he insists at 6:45 am–over the border and down the I-5 to Ashland, Oregon, and maybe even into northern California.

We don’t have much of an itinerary, though we do know where we’ll be sleeping every night. Tomorrow we hope to make a stop in Tacoma to see Arthur Erickson’s Museum of Glass.

On Thursday afternoon we have tickets to see King John at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

We’ll do a little shopping, look for some decent Oregon pinot gris/grigio, and hope we stumble upon some good food in cheap and cheerful joints. There’s one restaurant in Albany that apparently specializes in Ligurian style cuisine that I want to check out.

I’m knackered, grieving, and hoping for a little serendipity. Work is not on the agenda, though I’ll be travelling with a laptop. Some of the hotels we’re booked into have free wireless, and I’m planning to post if anything transpires that is worth posting about.

A couple of nights ago, I met an old friend for dinner at Crave, the restaurant that was opened in May by Chef Wayne Martin, previously executive chef at Four Seasons Vancouver.

The room, situated at Main and 23rd, is appropriately simple. Sage walls, black accents, schoolhouse lights, black and white photos, paintings from a local gallery, and 34 seats–a room with clean lines that doesn’t rely on fussy or over the top detail.

A garage door opens to a couple of tables on a petite patio on the street front, while in the rear, a private, heated patio with herb garden and fountain can seat 40.

Thanks to a dirty Vancouver rain on the night we dined, outdoor tables were not available. The restaurant was jammed full of happy, chatty diners. Although we were told our wait–in the teensy bar in front of the kitchen–would be anywhere from twenty to thirty minutes, we got a table almost immediately.

Chef Martin has adapted a formula that is popular with Vancouver diners. His menu focuses on regional, seasonal, organic ingredients and features selections for vegetarians as well as carnivores including soups, salads, and the ubiquitous “plates” both small and large.

I really like the both the food and drinks menus at Crave. Both seem to have been thoughtfully developed to provide the neighbourhood with an attractive spot for a meal out on nights when toil in the kitchen cannot be faced.

The wine list has been carefully edited. It is spare, but with good representation from B.C. And like the food, beer and wine are reasonably priced.

At a recent dinner at another (yet to be reviewed) Vancouver restaurant whose name also begins with “C” the menu was uninspiring. I ended up ordering what I hoped would bore me least.

Not so at Crave, where I found it a challenge to make up my mind. Almost everything appealed.

In the end, I chose the pulled pork sandwich, with a side of caesar salad. The pork, though not the most delicate I have eaten, was well shredded and nicely seasoned. The sandwich was served on focaccia toasted on the inside, with slaw added for crunch. The side salad tasted like a Caesar salad should, though it got a little lank as the night wore on, and was mysteriously sans croutons. No matter; it was a satisfying and very filling meal.

My dining companion ordered the baked nachos, which came on a huge platter heaped high with tortilla chips and accompanied with a trio of sour cream, guacamole, and pico de gallo. The nachos themselves had been liberally sprinkled with sliced raw jalapenos. I selected and sampled a tortilla chip that was located a safe distance from the jalapenos, and found it fresh, crunchy, well spiced, with just the right amount of cheese.

The bill for these two dishes, a couple of glasses of wine, and a couple of non-alcoholic drinks came to about $40 with taxes before tip. Great value.

Service was friendly, well paced, and accommodating. Even Chef Wayne briefly popped out of the kitchen to say good night as we were leaving.

There is so much to like about Crave, that I’m almost sad to report that I probably won’t be back soon.

It’s the cacophony. Crave is the noisiest restaurant I think I’ve ever been in. For the first time in my life, I understood what it must feel like to have a serious hearing handicap. My ears still hurt the next day.

It probably didn’t help that we were seated next to a boisterous group of women who were happily celebrating a birthday, and who didn’t stop shouting even after the room started to clear, around 9 o’clock.

I’ll be waiting for spring weather to warm their back patio, where noise will travel upwards, before I try this spot again.

If you can’t wait, consider trying this spot for a late lunch, or after 9 pm, when the crowds may have thinned out.

Laughing my ass off.

Ms. Coulter’s recent book, Godless, in which she decries the moral turpitude of everyone who doesn’t think as she does, apparently contains unattributed passages borrowed from other works.

“When autumn comes, can stews be far behind?”

Had he tried this recipe, Percy Shelley may well have asked that question instead of writing his famous poem. But let us not bastardize either Shelley or Jamie Oliver, from whom this recipe is adapted.

I’ve experimented with this recipe to maximize flavour and minimize fat. Although chicken is not tough, braising it as you do in this recipe caramelizes the chicken and enriches the flavours.

This is an easy dish. Most of the work is in the assembling and preparing of ingredients, particularly peeling and slicing the garlic, which is the first thing you should do.

You do need a large, heavy-bottomed pot. An enameled cast iron Dutch oven is ideal.

I find this recipe works best with about 3 pounds of skinless chicken thighs. But a cut up fryer would do fine, as would skinless, boneless breasts. However, meat on the bone, and particularly the darker thigh meat, is the most flavourful.

Fresh rosemary, garlic, and anchovies combine marvelously with the oil and the wine to provide a rich, satisfying, gorgeously earthy stew that will fragrance your kitchen, warm your heart, and satisfy your hunger pangs on a chilly autumn eve.

Anchovies are essential to richness of this recipe. They are an important component of many dishes that originate from Liguria, the Italian province that centres on the city of Genoa. About 1½ teaspoons of the anchovy paste that comes in tubes works just as well as canned fillets.

Wine provides nice complexity, but you can use chicken broth, or if you are using canned tomatoes, you can use the tomato juice instead.

Ingredients

1. 6 cloves of garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
2. 2-3 heaping tablespoons flour, seasoned with sea salt and freshly ground pepper
3. 3 pounds of skinless chicken thighs
4. ¼ cup of extra virgin olive oil
5. 4 or 5 fresh rosemary sprigs
6. 1½ cups white wine, or chicken broth, or juice from the canned tomatoes
7. 4 anchovy fillets, or 1½ teaspoons of anchovy paste
8. ½ to ¾ cup olives. (Ligurian olives are much like nicoise olives. If these are not available, substitute kalamata olives, with or without pits).
9. 1 large can of (or 4–5 fresh, very ripe) roma tomatoes, drained and coarsely chopped

Method

1. Peel and chop the garlic.
2. Place Dutch oven over burner at medium high heat, and heat olive oil.
3. Place seasoned flour in a large bowl, then dredge chicken pieces in the flour until they are thoroughly and evenly coated.
4. Add chicken pieces to oil, ensuring each piece has enough space in the bottom of the pan.
5. Fry chicken pieces until they are golden underneath, about 5 minutes.
6. Turn chicken, and then add garlic.
7. Continue to fry until garlic is softened—do not allow the garlic to change colour or burn.
8. Add wine, and allow it to come to a boil.
9. Add the anchovies, olives, and tomatoes, mixing them gently into the broth.
10. Add the rosemary sprigs on top of the other ingredients.
11. Partly cover pan, then reduce heat to medium low.
12. Simmer until chicken is cooked and tender, and the broth is reduced to a rich sauce, about 15 to 20 minutes.
13. Discard rosemary sprigs before serving.

This dish works well with polenta, risotto, plain rice, pasta, or foccacia bread (which originated in Liguria) plus a salad. This recipe will serve 3 to 5 people, depending on appetites. It tastes even richer when served as leftovers on the second day.

San Pelligrino (now owned by Nestlé Waters) is sponsoring City Dine to benefit the Canadian Association of Food Banks.

During week nights from September 18 through 29, participating restaurants will be offering special three-course prix fixe meals for dinner and/or lunch.

As part of their fall cooking class series, the Gourmet Warehouse will be offering “Chocolate…Chocolate…Chocolate.”

Caren McSherry promises to unveil the mysteries of the 47%, 51%, 72%, and even the 99% numbers, and what they mean.

This class will cover what to look for, and how to choose the right chocolate every time, for every recipe…tortes, truffles, cookies, pate, and more…with savoury treats on hand as well to help participants avoid the downside of chocolate overdose.

Ms. McSherry promises that all of her classes will be full of entertainment, food, and of course, wine, and that no one will go home bored.

The “Chocolate…Chocolate…Chocolate” class will be held on Thursday, October 12, from 6:30 till 9:30 at the Gourmet Warehouse, 1340 East Hastings in Vancouver.

Call 604.253.3022 for more info.

Faithful readers of Vancouveriste will recall our coverage of Galiano artist, Dorrie Ratzlaff and her stressful encounter with Womyn’s Wear, a Vancouver-based sextrepreneur, who eventually thought better of their tactics in pursuit of Dorrie’s sales of Leaping Goddess gear at her Atonomous Tees site.

Recently, Dorrie, whom I have only met via email, sent a review of New Town Bakery and Restaurant in Chinatown as a comment to one of my blog posts. With her permission, I have included it here, for your reading and gustatory enjoyment:

On a recent visit to Vancouver, I ended up shopping for art supplies at the “Dragon Arts” in Chinatown. It was getting near lunch time and after the ferry trip from my home on Galiano Island and the ferry trip from Tsawwassen, I was hungry but, as usual, wanted a place where I could feel confident that I could trust I would get a good meal.

It was daunting to think of exploring around, since I don’t live in Vancouver any more, and things have changed, eatery-wise. Then I recalled, that, many years ago, in my art student days (when Vancouver School of Art was located downtown, across from the old Greyhound Bus Depot), a good friend, Juils Comeau, had recommended “The New Town Bakery and Restaurant” (we called it “New Town Cafe” back then) in Chinatown, just off Main on Pender Street.

I went up a couple of blocks to check it out and sure enough, it was still there with its funky, down-to-earth atmosphere, front entrance bakery with tons of delicious goodies, and tables in the back for lunch.

The place was packed for lunch with many people who work in the area. And as it was 30 years ago when I was an art student pup, the six-seater lunch counter had its “regulars”(couldn’t be the same guys?), elderly Chinese gentlemen sipping tea from tumblers and enjoying bakery goodies.

Well, lunch was just as delicious as it ever was, as was the PRICE, $5.95 for a HUGE, steaming hot plate of beef and broccoli with gravy over piping hot rice. Enough to feed two, or maybe even three people, and fast service too!

How wonderful that some things never change. I was satisfied with my updated experience at New Town Café.

(New Town Bakery and Restaurant, 158 East Pender Street, Vancouver).

Thanks, Dorrie!

My mother, who was born Margaret Ashley Lowe, died on the morning of Sunday, September 3. As deaths go, hers was not a bad one.

By any standard, she had reached a great age. During her late 70s, she had first lost her ability to move without pain, and then her ability to remember recent events. This summer, this once highly intelligent and clever woman seemed to have lost her ability to think logically about even simple things.

She was also losing her sight. Macular degeneration had taken one eye and a cataract had started to cloud her vision in the other.

Such are the indignities of old age. But, as she often said, it was better than the alternative. Just a few weeks past her 84th birthday, the alternative finally caught up with her.

When the end did come, it came quickly. Not as quickly as the end I’d prayed for her—a massive coronary in her sleep, so she wouldn’t know what had hit her—but still a mere week from the time her troubles started until they ended.

During that week, there was the first trip to the emergency ward at Burnaby General, followed a few days later with a return trip for a CT scan to confirm what everyone knew. Nothing could be done; my mother’s life on earth was ending.

In between the hospital trips were the long days when I sat with my mother, offering whatever prayers and solace I could. A vial of sleeping pills shortened my nights. I do not know how long my mother’s nights were, though I know she was never alone.

Nothing could have prepared me for the experience of being with my mother in her dying time. It was both excoriating and transcendent. Death has nothing to be proud of.

Somehow, miraculously, with the assistance of people and angels, I found the resources to make sure my mother’s final days were as she wished. Any doubt I might have had that other worlds than this exist has been put to rest.

The numbness is beginning to fade, although I know that the grieving has just begun. So long as I walk this earth, I shall miss her. I shall miss her deep in my bones.

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to stumble: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.
The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, for evermore.

- Psalm 121: 1-8