New years resolve

I love the irrational optimism of the new year. Despite the past evidence to the contrary, we still have hopes that this year we will manage to tame our bad habits and be the super versions of our selves, at least for longer periods of time.

This year, matt resolved (for the nth year running) to road rage less. Good luck with that! He also resolved for me to shower more. So far, I'm one for one. Perhaps a record - I've showered every day this year!

I'm resolving to blog more. I'm checking out some new iPhone apps to encourage good behavior. Perhaps procrasting at life by blogging does not really count as self improvement, but I couldn't identify any other character flaws where a resolution would help. We'll see how it goes.

Best wishes to y'all in your lofty or low endeavors to make yourself more palatable to the rest of us. Hope the next decade rewards at least some of that irrepressible optimism.

A stroll down memory lane

This morning Matt and I were recounting our stories of being knocked out. In elementary school, some kid kicked a basketball across the blacktop and it hit me in the head. A few minutes later, I became aware of voices surrounding me in the blackness of post-black out and I heard the yard duty lady cautioning the other kids to "Move back. Give him room." I heard one of my friends informing her that "it's a girl". Ah yes, my ambiguous gender phase. (Really, it was just the haircut). This was a few years earlier, but basically most of my childhood was plagued by one bad haircut after another.

Thanks to the kodak gods, I do not have a picture of my "Pat Riley" phase, or the hideous peach polka dot three tiered ruffled dress I sported with the over-gelled slicked back hair for my Sixth grade graduation.



In addition to recalling nightmares of haircuts past, the olden days came up in conversation recently when Lore mentioned, as we were celebrating Travis' 30th birthday by suckering him and his friends into a weekend of free labor (during which we labeled wine AND picked grapes all in the same weekend!), that it was also Sky's 30th harvest.


Thirty years of harvesting grapes. That is a lifetime! (Well, a lifetime if you are a young'un like Travis, and almost a whole lifetime if you are a wise 32 year old, but no where near a lifetime if you are of the older Olds variety, like Lore, or Grandma, who just celebrated her 89th birthday this week!). I have harvested at Sky for twenty-five of those thirty (I only missed 1995, 1996, 1998, 2002, and 2003).


Some of those years blend together in my mind, while other moments and eras stand out distinctly. Just as the vines are gradually changing and aging, and some even being replaced by new vines, so too has the community of people who support Sky and who are Sky changed.

When I was younger, many of our volunteers were architectural colleagues of my Grandfather's; later there were crews of chefs and restaurant staff; most recently, you can barely pick a vine without running into a lawyer. Each era brings with a new chapter with a different vitality, menu, sound and set of running jokes.

And even more so lately, a new generation. We have had my grandparent's generation of folks, my parents', us kids, and now, the kids are having kids.


This year was Isobel's second harvest, and Eva and Ellison's third harvests.

And in the Sky spirit of wining and dining, I believe all three kids ate enough grapes to turn their insides purple and partook of the harvest dinners with glee. I especially loved how all three seemed to love the duck above all else.

Iso quacked as she worked on her bone...






Ellison woke up the morning after Amy's duck leg dinner asking his dad for duck...



























... and Eva finished two legs off all by her lonesome!



Now those are Sky kids if I ever heard of any. And I hear that there are more to come...

We can't wait!

Portrait of a Young Pig

With the arrival of a 270 pound pig last Thursday night, of which Matt and I took possession of a quarter, our lives has been dominated by Pig.

Pig has been the focus of many discussions, events, facebook postings, and of course, meals in the past few days. I will attempt to chronicle some of this little pig's afterlife.

Pig spent its vital days on a small farm in Oregon. The sustainability Pig's home, Laughing Stock, was profiled a few years ago in the Atlantic: Principled Pork. I have eaten Pig's brethren at Chez many times and enjoyed them immensely. I hope Pig enjoyed her days on the farm. We are certainly enjoying the days following the farm.

I missed Pig's arrival due to a business trip. Two fellow Pig recipients picked her up at Camino's kitchen and took her to the butcher at Star Market. My first acquaintance was one minute after arriving home from the airport on Friday night, when Matt, Val, Mica and I crowded around some pork chops debating whether to trim any of the glorious fat.

I compromised and agreed to trim less fat off that had been requested of me. The chops were awesome. A little salt, Matt's exquisite grilling, and a side of mashed potatoes (with a little pork fat added). It was Pig's first performance and she performed wonderously.

I took the fat I trimmed and rendered it two ways. The author of my cookbook, "Fat" preferred the oven method, but I find that I am partial to the stove top. I cut up portions of my 53 pounds of pork cuts into better serving sizes -- and of course I was so excited that I had to open up almost every package and check out the goods -- and returned them to the freezer.

The next couple of days found me pouring through all my cookbooks that might shed light on some of the joys of working with the whole pig. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, I have quite a few of them: Fat, Cooking By Hand (Bertolli), Chez Panisse Cooking (Waters and Bertolli), the Art of the Charcuterie (Grigson), and Beyond Nose to Snout.

My next project was cracklins. Salt cured for a day with spices and much salt and then baked with heavy objects weighing down the fat. They came out crispy and flavorful, but on the salty side. Next time I'll do a better rinse job with the salt.

Next came the big sausage party! Each of Pig's quarters sent representatives: Me and Matt, Luke and Jennifer, Mica, and Matt P. (plus his buddy). We took the scraps and made four kinds of sausage: breakfast sausage, hot (well-intended, but mild last time I checked) Italian, Fennel, and Brats. So far, I've been digging the brats.

The sausage party, aside from being a veritable treasure trove of material for inappropriate humor, was primo.

One of the things that I love about Pig, in addition to the amazing flavors, is the community she engenders. All of us together embarking on the sausage experience was thrilling. It was how things used to be done. We gathered with our friends and set to work to make sure that Pig was not wasted. We toiled together, drank together, laughted together, ground pork and spices together, and at the end, ate our homemade sausage together. It was a big day of work and it was so great. Not really so different from harvest, actually.

I'm guessing we made about 40 pounds of sausage on Sunday. We had three kitchen aids running, four mortar and pestels grinding, and red pepper flakes everywhere. Last night I feasted on fresh brats and sauted spinache. The flavors had married and the sausage shone.

Tonight, I am braising pork belly. We sent half of the pork belly to the butcher to be smoked for bacon and the Matt and I got half of the half that was left. Some of ours is destined for lardo perhaps, but I've been excited to braise some belly. Tonight is the test run before we share the belly with some good company. Seared and then arranged on a bed of soffritto (onions, carrots, leeks, garlic), with some brown sugar, soy sauce, and dry white wine. It's almost ready to come out of the oven so I'll go finish the potato/celeriac mash and the sauted kale and set the table.

Thanks, Pig.

What's In Skyla's Box

Check out what was delivered in my box today!

I believe it is a celeriac/carrot/rutabaga (male) alien!

The Full Belly Box provided an exciting array of choices today. In addition to the alien components, we had potatoes, kale, leeks, and spinach.

I'm cooking cassoulet (fennel sausage and duck confit), baked butternut squash, and perhaps sauteed kale for dinner tonight. Matt invited an audiophile/wine guy over to play with his tube amp.

All sorts of sketch going-ons round these parts.

Enjoy the bounty of winter (and trim that rutabaga!)

Grandma's Retirement

Grandma's last city council meeting is tonight. Below is the article about her this morning from the Chronicle. It was great to open up the Bay Area section as I was leafing through the paper over tea this morning and see a picture of Grandma smiling back at me.

She has been a towering pillar of strength, determination, and humor throughout my life. I'm incredibly proud of her accomplishment and continually inspired by the great strides she made - trekking through the world, managing things at home, and breaking into politics.

~Chronicle Article~

Berkeley's City Council will lose its crankiest, wittiest and often most rational member tonight when Betty Olds bids farewell to her 30-year career in local politics.

Olds, 88, will serve at her final City Council meeting tonight before handing over the reins to her longtime aide, Susan Wengraf, who on Nov. 4 was elected to replace her as the Berkeley Hills representative on the nine-member council.

"I just decided that at age 88, it was time to get out," Olds said Monday. "My hearing's starting to go. But I will say this: I've never fallen asleep at a City Council meeting."

Olds generally takes a moderate approach to Berkeley politics, often siding with landlords during her days on the rent board and frequently chiding her more liberal colleagues for their forays into foreign policy. She was among the council's most outspoken critics when it voted in January to call the Marines "unwelcome intruders" in Berkeley, and she usually makes potholes, not world affairs, her priority.

But she's never fit into a partisan mold. In 2007, she climbed into an oak tree next to Memorial Stadium to show support for the tree-sitters, and worked closely with the council's most progressive member, Dona Spring, on animal welfare issues.

But it's her candor, humor and lack of pretension that left the biggest mark, her colleagues say.

"It's pretty hard to go up against her," said Councilman Laurie Capitelli. "She's so candid and strong-willed, she can be pretty intimidating and convincing. One wouldn't expect that from this curmudgeon in the hills."

Olds brings a reality check to the council, said Mayor Tom Bates.

"Her wit and personality have been a major factor on the council," he said. "She brings a certain spark. I'm definitely going to miss her."

Even those who often butted heads with Olds said they appreciate her hard work and personal style.

"Even in the darkest moments, when things were at their most hostile, she was polite and reasonable," said Councilman Kriss Worthington, whom Olds once called a "little prince" at a council meeting. "I never had the sense she had a vendetta against me. It was never personal."

Olds traces her down-to-earth demeanor to her childhood spent on a farm in Missouri. Determined to send her daughter to college, Olds' mother sold cream and eggs for years to pay Olds' tuition at Iowa State.

It was in college that Olds met her future husband, Walter, who was studying architecture. He eventually was accepted at Taliesin to study with Frank Lloyd Wright, who Olds said had a profound influence on her sense of environmentalism and civic beauty. Throughout her career, she's fought for open space and architectural preservation.

Her husband's job with Wright brought them to the Bay Area, where he worked on several Wright buildings in San Francisco and the East Bay. The couple settled in Berkeley in 1950.

After her three children grew up, Olds became involved in neighborhood preservation issues, eventually winning an appointment to the zoning board in 1977.

"I really liked it," she said. "I liked the power, and that's the truth. That's why people get into politics. The power, and the ability to help people."

She later was elected to the rent board, serving eight years before running for City Council in 1992.

On the council, she helped renovate the Rose Garden, open a new firehouse in the Berkeley Hills, lobby for a new animal shelter and maintain the city infrastructure. But she's most proud of the attention she gave to her constituents.

"We always return calls and try and go out and see what the problem is," she said. "I learned that from the beginning. If your elected officials aren't responding, something's wrong."

In retirement, Olds plans to continue fighting for environmental causes, particularly the plight of birds killed by wind turbines.

"My relatives in Missouri think I'm a flaming radical," she said. "They say, 'Oh, there goes Aunt Betty again.' But I've had a wonderful time. I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

This article appeared on page B - 3 of the San Francisco Chronicle on November 18, 2008.

Guest Blogger: Paloma on Voting

Today I'm proud to present my first guest blogger post, authored by the indomitable Pomme Bomme:

***

Only a few weeks ago my sister was urging me to exercise my rights, and at times threatening me if I did not do so. I didn’t think my voice would be heard, anyway.

I’ve never been the over enthusiastic patriot, I’ve never flown the stars and stripes in my yard. I’ve never had to rally for my rights, or stood with my hand over my heart saluting the flag unless told to do so. I had never before used my vote. So I was late in hopping on the band wagon to even consider casting my ballot. I knew that this election would be different, and that there were two propositions that I felt so, so strongly about, 4 and 8. “A historical race”, everyone was saying. “How can you not be a part of this?!”

Well, I did take part. Late in the race I just got the feeling that if I didn’t rise to the occasion I would regret it for the rest of my life. It also helped that Skyla was still threatening me. If I wasn’t going to listen to my lawyer, who would I listen to?? Mica also threatened to steal my ballot and cast it herself.

I went to the local voting poll yesterday, signed my name and sealed my envelope. I was given a sticker. I went to my sister’s house and hid my shaking hands, hoping as hard as I possibly could. I haven’t pushed so hard for anything since I popped Isobel out. The man I voted for won the 2008 presidential elections.

And so for the first time in my life, my heart is swelling with pride to be an American. I see a bright future for my home country. Today I feel that I have brought my child into a great world, not a scary one in uncertain times. Things are going to change, I believe that. Last night Barack Obama made history. We have overcome, and I say that with tears on my cheeks and the image of Dr. Martin Luther King’s face in my mind.

I’ve had a political epiphany, I have come to realize how important it is to take part and pay attention to what is going on with my government. For someone as opinionated as I, who always has something to say, and always does say something, often without thinking of the repercussions, you’d think it wouldn’t have taken me so long to get the point. I’ve always made myself heard to those around me, just ask my family. I know why I didn’t vote before. I didn’t care enough to do so, and that was wrong. I mislead myself into having that mindset.

I don’t have many regrets, but today I regret that it has taken me so long to get in touch with the political side of my mind. But that is yesterday, and today marks a new era in our lives.

I have hope today, I am brimming with it. We will continue to persevere, I will continue to persevere. With hand voluntarily over heart, I tell you, I am proud to be an American.

Phyllis, Rest In Pieces

A brief Sky Update:
Phyllis, the infamous if short lived Rooster of Sky, has left this unkind world. S/he arrived on the Sky scene a few months ago as a transplanted hen whose keeper could not longer keep her. Shortly after her controversial introduction into the chicken coop, it became apparent that she was actually a he. Over the next few months, Phyllis terrorized the home crew of hens and attempted to perfect her/his highly imperfect crowing. Phyllis would cock-a-doodle-doo to greet us as we tried to sneak into the house after curfew, and developed a reputation for waking the harvest volunteers more frequently throughout the night than Isobel. Despite the inevitably hostile feelings that develop at 4 a.m. when you really just want a little more sleep before getting up to pick grapes all day, Phyllis crowed his/her way into our Sky crew.

Phyllis lived under sentence of Sunday Dinner for the last couple of months. I took up her case and advocated for several stays of execution, but in the end, s/he wound up on the chopping block. The picture above was taken during her brief afternoon of freedom, during which she made a daring escape attempt, flying over the fence and up the hillside. After a mad scramble, Dad dove into the brush and retrieved her, just before she headed up to Random Ridge.

The details of her ultimate demise remain sketchy. Unreliable reports from Lore indicate that despite her tender years, she was very tough and the most remarkable characteristic were her incredibly large cojones. Although she was with us only a short time, I'm sure I will always remember our Sky Rooster when I see pictures of Phyllis Diller (which, thank god, happens very rarely) or when I hear AC/DC's Big Balls.

Harvest 2008!

First weekend of harvest is done! Super hot, tons of people, need more ice, very few tons of grapes.

First in order are the grazies: We had a big crew this year. I think we had 28 for dinner on Saturday night. Many, many, thanks to everyone who came up to pick: the Home Crew (Jesse, Val, Mica, Pomme, Chris, Iso, Lore, Amy, me, Matt); Steve, Mari and Sofie; Band Camp (thanks also for the fireside soundtrack); Team Omaha (all the way from Japan, via Nebraska - Tomoka, Adam, and Alex); and the reliable usual suspects: Nina, Dick & Joanne, and Donny B, who even brought his own crew even this year:Angela, Blake, and very tall Jackson. I think that's most of em. We appreciate everyone's hard work and hard play. It was a full and fun weekend.



We picked all the new zin in just two days and we were even finished picking on Sunday by 11 am. It is amazing how the big crew plows through like a plague of (really helpful) locust. (Is it plough or plow? Everything looks weird right now. I'm locked out of the house waiting in the laundry room and feeling deliriously tired. This is the only reason this posting is timely). After two bad frosts in April, the crop was at an all time low. We picked fewer than four tons of zin, which will likely turn into 250 cases. Yikes. The fruit looked great, though, so hopefully they will be 250 great cases!

This year is notable for the same reason that everything else lately has been notable: it is Isobel's first harvest. So, to celebrate her inaugural harvest, we stuck her in a grape box and stood around gawking. She didn't seem to be much of a fan of it, but we needed some good photos. I mean, we do have priorities around here. Welcome to the family, kid!

Two more weekends to go...

Phoenix

08-08-08 (weird!)

I’m settling in at the bar of Ruth Chris (remarkably and conveniently located in the lobby of my Huntsville, AL hotel) and figured I was long overdue for a post. Plus I am supposed to be writing up my memos from the day’s interviews, and, as they say, procrastination is the um, thing that makes us all do innovation. Or something (not at all) like that.

The past few months have brought “more intensity” (think Lost in Translation). Any excerpt of the recent past must start with highlight of our days: Isobel!

Isobel is the latest additional to the Crew. Upon her miniscule shoulders rests that weight of carrying the Sky stories into the next generation (no pressure, Sweet Iso). Not the transcribing of the stories, necessarily, but the starring and producing of them. So far, she has develop a voracious appetite for all of the divine food and drink that her world has to offer (although I have not tried the milk – nor do I intend to – so I cannot really vouch for her palate).

So Isobel is pretty much perfect. I’m sure that will change, but she must be pretty special to make even a kid-skeptic like me fall under her spell. And throughout the birth and first month, Pomme and Chris have displayed amazing strength and grace. I’m so excited to see where things go from here.

* * *

Next Chapter: In Which The Sky Burns

June 24, 2008 brought us another terrifying fire at Sky. I vividly remember the Cavedale Fire of July 1996. I was working down in Glen Ellen at Susan Brandt-Hawley’s law office when the first word of fire on the hill hit. I remember the sickening pit in your stomach as you wonder how close the flames are to your home – your heart – or how soon they will be how close. We were lucky that time – as we were this time – but it was a traumatic and terrifying experience. I was stranded downtown for a days as the fire threatened Sky and Dad and Maya were up on the hill doing what they could to secure the place. I took Paloma to the Sonoma fair for her birthday and we tried maintain a little normalcy in the midst of the uncertainty and fear about what was happening on the hill.

This time, I felt that same sickening heaviness as Matt and I drove across the Richmond bridge. I knew by then that fire was at Sky, but information about the damage, size, and attempts to fight it was unreliable and constantly changing. As Matt drove, I worked the phone, seeking and disseminating what little information there was to be had.

When we finally drove the Sky gate, I was simultaneously intensely relieved and distraught. Finally to be there, to be able to see what was happening, to be reassured that the fire was out with the damage contained, brought the relief; the scorched blackness covering a portion of the vineyard and extending into the woods brought the anguish.

We were lucky in many ways: through the extraordinary work of many firefighters, starting with Mayacamas Volunteer Firefight Uncle Jerry, first on the scene, the fire was put out quickly (and then Jerry and Jesse walked the perimeter throughout the night to put out any remaining embers and hotspots); no one was seriously hurt; the house and the winery were untouched; the chickens, despite having their coop ablaze several times, lived to crow about; and the tragedy brought out the love and support of many. We are very lucky. I need to keep reminding myself of how fortunate we are because while walking through the burned areas of our home in the hours and days after the fire and dealing with the ongoing consequences of the fire sometimes feels not so fortunate.

Hopefully there will be a phoenix soaring from the ashes. It certainly helps keep things in perspective to be reminded of the cycle of life. Interspersed in the destruction of things are the births and rebirths that bring enough brightness to keep us going through the valleys. And Isobel Valley has certainly been one of the brightest births.

ALRIGHT!! ALL RIGHT!!

Many thanks to the two great crews of this weekend who labeled their booties off! We did 125 cases of 05 zin on Saturday and 136 cases on Sunday and are all set to release the new vintage in the next week or two. For all those loyal die-hard (with a vengeance) volunteers who gave up the lure of carnivale in sf, bbqs, camping and other memorial day attractions, we are super grateful!

Specifically, Thanks and Great Job! to (in no particular order) Paloma, Isobel (in utero), Chris, Jesse, Val(erie), Mica, Amy, Matt, Dick, Joanne, Dave, Nic, Dawn and of course Ellison! If anyone has a picture of Ellison packing cases, send it my way so I can post it. Thats the sort of work ethic we like to see in the next generation.

We got a lot done and even had a good time. What more can you ask for? (Well, maybe some air freshener in the winery or charcoal underwear for one end of the table). On Sunday, after the work was done, the boys were apparently still ready for whatever was next on the agenda. As Pomme frequently says these days, "What ELSE?"


ALRIGHT! ALL RIGHT!