The Future of Food: A Paradigm Shift
Looking to the Experts for Answers to Tough Questions
By Amy Wong
Hope and change are two words that have triumphantly found their way back into our culture. Post November four, it feels fair to say that more people believe that a paradigm shift is not only possible but underway. This shift includes a number of political considerations that share a common issue: food.
In terms of the economic, energy, environmental and health care crises we face, the production, transportation and consumption of our food have a collective impact. How we grow the food issues can help us solidly step onto sustainable terra firma. While food has garnered considerable press in the past five years, there are a number of messages brought to the fore we have yet to take to heart.
Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma, a book that has served as an introduction to the politics of food for many, confirmed my instinctual distrust of industrial organics and conventional grocery stores. Not to mention the abundance of overly processed “foods” that clog our society; the presence of which is one of the many symptoms of the over-subsidized agriculture industry.
Besides the de facto growing and eating of real, local and organic food that is toted in a reusable shopping bag, we might ask: What can be done to transform the current dysfunctional system?
There are a number of groundbreaking and influential pioneers who are engaged in the effort to sprout a sustainable food future including: Michael Pollan, writer and Knight Professor of Journalism at UC Berkeley; Gary Nabhan, ethnobotanist and author of Where Our Food Comes From-Retracing Nikolay Vavilov's Quest to End Famine; Dr. Vandana Shiva, author and environmental and “seed” activist; and James MacKinnon, co-author of the 100 Mile Diet.
The good news is that there is momentum for eating seasonal, locally grown food, which is a cornerstone of the movement. According to Gourmet magazine writer Barry Estabrook, consumers hold the real power by voting with their dollars and forks. As he puts it, “No need to bang your head against the FDA, simply make informed purchases.” While we have this opportunity during every meal, to jump-start widespread change, governmental procurement of local goods also needs to increase. In terms of purchasing—or not—in what may seem like a radical idea, Native American activist Winona LaDuke suggests de-coupling cash and food, urging more growing and bartering of edible items, especially in school gardens and small communities.
Many experts, most notably Gary Nabhan, are calling for a re-regionalizing of this effort, which involves the resurrection and protection of endangered regional foods. In California, these would include mission grapes and white abalone, foods that generations of people living in these foodsheds traditionally harvested before regional agriculture was eclipsed by the advent of the fossil fuel-based food system.
James MacKinnon is another advocate who believes that the harmful historical trend of turning developing nations away from being self-sufficient, which arose in tandem with the long-distance food model, contributes to our current plight. For example, if Peruvian farms are filled with rows of asparagus destined to satisfy the year-round desires of shoppers thousands of miles away, then it robs those farmers of the ability to grow food to feed themselves. Communities around the globe need to return to self-sufficiency before they export food to other nations. This isn’t to say that experts are calling for an end to interregional trade; it just needs to be ethically motivated. Think virtuous globalization or the efforts of the fair trade movement. Some staples will continue to need to be traded as they have for millennia, but we should strive to contribute to diversity, not homogenize it.
When considering globalization, we can’t ignore the debate of organic versus genetically engineered. In India, the roar may be loudest, where Dr. Vandana Shiva is on the front line confronting the attempts by large corporations like Monsanto to usurp control over the world’s seed cultivation.
Seeds need to be protected; in the nineteenth century, they were considered a natural resource presided over by the US government, which allotted them to farmers. According to Matthew Dillon of the Organic Seed Alliance, during the 1970s and 1980s, restrictive patent laws granted corporations ownership over seeds’ genetic sequences, an act that chipped away at gardener and farmer involvement in the cultivation and preservation of seeds.
Today, Monsanto has become so powerful that they legally dictate that their seeds cannot be saved or re-used and must also be grown with herbicides and pesticides, which has wreaked havoc the world over in terms of biodiversity loss and environmental pollution.
Alarmingly for those extolling the benefits of genetically modified organisms (GMOs), Dr. Shiva’s work, as well as the results of a March, 2009, study published by the Union of Concerned Scientists (UCS) demonstrates that genetically modified crops actually produce lower yields when compared to low-impact agricultural methods. “If we are going to make headway in combating hunger due to overpopulation and climate change, we will need to increase crop yields,” said the (UCS) study’s author, Doug Gurian-Sherman. “Traditional breeding outperforms genetic engineering hands down.”
Seeds aren’t the only issue that may be taken beyond the dinner table to courts and legislative hallways. Our dependence on fossil fuel-drenched subsidies like corn, soybeans and wheat, has left our food system vulnerable to both premeditated and accidental contamination. According to MacKinnon, “No single thing would change agriculture more dramatically overnight than if the true cost of oil and gas reflected it’s social and environmental cost. It would change transport and the use of petrochemicals.” Food needs to be de-fossilized all around, which can only occur with policy change.
However, consumers need to be aware of what is being written into legislative bills and who is sponsoring them. While there is a need for food safety—peanut butter anyone?—bills such as the currently proposed HR 875 and S 425 could have detrimental effects on small farms and producers. Estabrook states, “Policy can’t be one size fits all.”
Preservation of land for agriculture, especially in urban areas, and how we choose to farm this land will also affect the future of food. Currently there are no incentives for farmers who use land-preserving biodynamic/organic/sustainable methods, yet subsidies are available for those using planet-poisoning toxic pesticides and fertilizers. Carbon sequestration farming methods that reduce agriculture’s carbon footprint need to be championed, not hindered, as does a widespread program of re-training farmers in organic methods, especially those in the monoculture-centric Midwest. MacKinnon noted that he and co-author Alisa Smith have been asked to speak in the Midwest more than any other region, illustrating that interest in creating viable local food is not just a bicoastal phenomenon.
On that note, MacKinnon, and many other experts are dismayed by the recent trend of affiliating local food with elitism. Remember the kerfuffle over Obama using the word “arugula” during the election? MacKinnon believes that associating local and organic food with being hoity toity is a false idea. “It would be tragic if the local food movement became isolated or internalized itself by being unwilling to hear people from different walks of life or by being too demanding in terms of certain specific political changes that other people might not be ready to make.”
While the discussion of food tends to become polarized—it’s easy to get caught up in the mentality that anything organic or local equals good and anything corporate equals bad—the reality of the situation is that large-scale agriculture and distribution aren’t going to be abandoned right now. “Big needs to talk to small,” stated Michael Pollan during a 2008 Slow Food Festival panel in San Francisco. Cisco and Whole Foods are two large companies who are both making inroads toward using more local suppliers. These efforts need to be fostered, not fettered, and a business model that serves both needs to be forged.
The topic also begets re-tooling the definition of what constitutes food. In the October, 2008, New York Times Magazine piece, “Farmer in Chief,” Pollan suggests “One approach would be to rule that, in order to be regarded as a food by the government, an edible substance must contain a certain minimum ratio of micronutrients per calorie of energy.” Hopefully those micronutrients will come from a whole food, not a scientific injection. While slickly-packaged (and often highly-processed) organic food might fit into this category, it is expensive per calorie and out of the reach of many when compared to a Wal-Mart-bought frozen entrée or a fast-food meal, not that any of these options are viable solutions to the problems we face.
Buying locally and seasonally, in bulk and actually cooking are relatively inexpensive options which are becoming more accessible to those in lower socioeconomic groups. According to Nabhan, the Oregon municipalities of Portland and Eugene are re-routing public transit so stops include farmers’ markets and areas where whole foods are available instead of big-box retailers filled with shelves of empty-calorie convenience food. Another suggestion, made by Pollan, includes creating ways for food stamps to be more widely accepted at farmers’ markets, as well as doubling their value when spent there.
Nina Planck, author of Real Food, What to Eat and Why, makes a solid argument for how the ills of the industrial meat and dairy industry have tainted the traditional consumption (and enjoyment) of foods like eggs, butter, meat and raw, whole milk. She urges a return to pastured animals and raw milk from cows eating mostly grass, citing numerous studies showing these foods, and even their fat content, are good for us, but have been sidelined by the rise of industrialized “fake” foods, like margarine, and the lobbyist-fueled legislation that changed the landscape of food during the last century.
Inevitably, these practices have contributed to the alarming increases in obesity and diabetes that are rampant in the US. While controversial, the notion of a “Fat Tax” has been raised. Currently, we don’t question health insurance companies asking if we smoke in order to calculate an appropriate premium (since, smoking is shown to be detrimental to health, after protracted studies, lawsuits and court battles). Processed foods, especially those filled with hydrogenated fats, have also been proved to be detrimental to one’s health, yet enforcing accountability for people who actively choose to subsist primarily or solely on these foods when healthier options are available (if they are, of course) is uncharted territory. We are what we eat and if we choose not to eat real food, should the rest of society pay for it—especially if hope and change prevail and real food actually makes it to the table once again?
Many thanks to James MacKinnon, Barry Estabrook and all of the pioneers in the field whose hard work and efforts we rounded up in this piece.
Amy Wong will continue to interview and cover notable food politicos for LA YOGA as she prepares for an education in environmental food law in 2010.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Safe Seas…One Dish at a Time
Safe Seas…One Dish at a Time
Santa Barbara entrepreneur Allison Jaqua—one of the three sisters behind the successful Jaqua Beauty Business—has branched out from body scrubs to scrubbing bubbles. Her new company, Seven Seas, launched last year, makes ecologically minded aromatic cleaning products for the home. “I started this line of house cleaners because I saw the need for something that went beyond the current environmentally friendly cleaners—a product that was naturally scented and also appealing to look at,” says Jaqua. The first offerings—white grapefruit- and lemongrass-scented dish liquids ($5)—have already sold out twice at Lazy Acres. With a portion of proceeds benefitting environmentalist Jean-Michel Cousteau’s Ocean Futures Society, the nontoxic, fish-friendly soap makes good on its premise of being “mindful of our waters.” –Amy Wong
SEVEN SEAS thesevenseas.org Available locally at Lazy Acres, 302 Meigs Rgd., Santa Barbara, 805-564-4410.
Santa Barbara entrepreneur Allison Jaqua—one of the three sisters behind the successful Jaqua Beauty Business—has branched out from body scrubs to scrubbing bubbles. Her new company, Seven Seas, launched last year, makes ecologically minded aromatic cleaning products for the home. “I started this line of house cleaners because I saw the need for something that went beyond the current environmentally friendly cleaners—a product that was naturally scented and also appealing to look at,” says Jaqua. The first offerings—white grapefruit- and lemongrass-scented dish liquids ($5)—have already sold out twice at Lazy Acres. With a portion of proceeds benefitting environmentalist Jean-Michel Cousteau’s Ocean Futures Society, the nontoxic, fish-friendly soap makes good on its premise of being “mindful of our waters.” –Amy Wong
SEVEN SEAS thesevenseas.org Available locally at Lazy Acres, 302 Meigs Rgd., Santa Barbara, 805-564-4410.
Palazzio
Palazzio
1026 State Street
Santa Barbara
564-1985
Lunch
11:30 a.m. - 3:00 p.m. daily
Dinner
5:30 p.m. - 11:00 p.m. Sunday - Thursday
5:30 p.m. - midnight Friday and Saturday
Resting on their Laurels
High Points:
Palazzio has had a long and distinguished career—and a unique, hand-painted ceiling. According to their website, former President Ronald Reagan had their Tiramisu delivered to his Los Angeles Presidential office. By my reckoning, that sums up Palazzio’s heyday. And they did rack up several reader’s choice awards from local media polls throughout the nineties and the wee hours of this century—but haven’t been bestowed any of these honors since 2002, also according to their website.
However, the place is regularly packed and the yeasty, garlic rolls still rise like the tide. They do have a following though—diners who are of the “more is better” persuasion. At their own admission, Palazzio’s portions are large (can you say super duper size me?) and “people don’t leave hungry.” No joke—if the lo-carb revolution is really over, this is the place to celebrate. It simply comes down to quantity versus quality—while some may be into the bounty of salad bowls-sized servings of pasta and self-serve wine, I am not. Attempting moderation, we opted for a half order of Caesar salad ($6.95), followed by the Appetizer Platter ($12.95) and Capellini with Chicken Meatballs ($12.95, half order).
The salad was flat, over-lemony and while it may have raw egg in the dressing as a touch of authenticity, it really needed a dash of anchovy to give it some zing. The lettuce was tough and felt as if it has been mass-produced—there was no delicacy to it. At the restaurant’s urging, diners are invited to order their dishes anyway that they like—so I swapped the Capellini for Fusilli and added broccoli. (The later was left off, but the kitchen was quick to throw some watery green florets on top.) The best, albeit richest, item on the appetizer plate was the bowl of Spinach & Artichoke Dip served with crostini. The plate also included Baked Stuffed Mushroom Caps, which were passable and Insalata Caprese—see below. The pasta was a disappointment—overcooked and the only flavor that I could discern were the red-hot chili flakes. The chicken meatballs were good, but had a lot of filler. My dining companion commented that they seem to cover up the food with a lot of butter and cream—duly noted.
Another day, I dined alone for lunch and had the quarter order of Oven Roasted Rosemary Chicken ($9.25)—I can’t imagine how many chickens go into a full order. It was the best dish that I had a Palazzio—oodles of minced garlic and rosemary were tucked under the chicken skin and it came with some flavorful potatoes, just a little soggy, as well as some steamed veggies. And I did try the Tiramisu—it was enough for two, but more refined then most of the items that they offer.
Low Points:
As I struggled to use my fork to cut through a small, hard Roma tomato, served alongside mozzarella and basil in the Caprese I became annoyed. At the height of summer in Santa Barbara, with a cornucopia of fresh, local, sun-ripened tomatoes available any day of the week, why was I being subjected to a mealy, pale tomato that had probably been hermetically sealed in plastic and shipped from South America six weeks ago? Where is the quality? Lost in the trough-like quantity, no doubt.
**1/2
$$-$$$
1026 State Street
Santa Barbara
564-1985
Lunch
11:30 a.m. - 3:00 p.m. daily
Dinner
5:30 p.m. - 11:00 p.m. Sunday - Thursday
5:30 p.m. - midnight Friday and Saturday
Resting on their Laurels
High Points:
Palazzio has had a long and distinguished career—and a unique, hand-painted ceiling. According to their website, former President Ronald Reagan had their Tiramisu delivered to his Los Angeles Presidential office. By my reckoning, that sums up Palazzio’s heyday. And they did rack up several reader’s choice awards from local media polls throughout the nineties and the wee hours of this century—but haven’t been bestowed any of these honors since 2002, also according to their website.
However, the place is regularly packed and the yeasty, garlic rolls still rise like the tide. They do have a following though—diners who are of the “more is better” persuasion. At their own admission, Palazzio’s portions are large (can you say super duper size me?) and “people don’t leave hungry.” No joke—if the lo-carb revolution is really over, this is the place to celebrate. It simply comes down to quantity versus quality—while some may be into the bounty of salad bowls-sized servings of pasta and self-serve wine, I am not. Attempting moderation, we opted for a half order of Caesar salad ($6.95), followed by the Appetizer Platter ($12.95) and Capellini with Chicken Meatballs ($12.95, half order).
The salad was flat, over-lemony and while it may have raw egg in the dressing as a touch of authenticity, it really needed a dash of anchovy to give it some zing. The lettuce was tough and felt as if it has been mass-produced—there was no delicacy to it. At the restaurant’s urging, diners are invited to order their dishes anyway that they like—so I swapped the Capellini for Fusilli and added broccoli. (The later was left off, but the kitchen was quick to throw some watery green florets on top.) The best, albeit richest, item on the appetizer plate was the bowl of Spinach & Artichoke Dip served with crostini. The plate also included Baked Stuffed Mushroom Caps, which were passable and Insalata Caprese—see below. The pasta was a disappointment—overcooked and the only flavor that I could discern were the red-hot chili flakes. The chicken meatballs were good, but had a lot of filler. My dining companion commented that they seem to cover up the food with a lot of butter and cream—duly noted.
Another day, I dined alone for lunch and had the quarter order of Oven Roasted Rosemary Chicken ($9.25)—I can’t imagine how many chickens go into a full order. It was the best dish that I had a Palazzio—oodles of minced garlic and rosemary were tucked under the chicken skin and it came with some flavorful potatoes, just a little soggy, as well as some steamed veggies. And I did try the Tiramisu—it was enough for two, but more refined then most of the items that they offer.
Low Points:
As I struggled to use my fork to cut through a small, hard Roma tomato, served alongside mozzarella and basil in the Caprese I became annoyed. At the height of summer in Santa Barbara, with a cornucopia of fresh, local, sun-ripened tomatoes available any day of the week, why was I being subjected to a mealy, pale tomato that had probably been hermetically sealed in plastic and shipped from South America six weeks ago? Where is the quality? Lost in the trough-like quantity, no doubt.
**1/2
$$-$$$
Leafy Greens vs. Grassy Lawns and other Visions for Creating California’s Biodynamic Future
Fairview Gardens and the Center for Urban Agriculture:
Leafy Greens vs. Grassy Lawns and other Visions for Creating California’s Biodynamic Future
By Amy Wong
100 years ago California’s Central Coast was heralded for its fertile farmland, boasting the richest topsoil on the West Coast, some thirty feet deep in places. During this heyday, Fairview Gardens—located just north of Santa Barbara—was one of many orchard-lined farms where the earth was happily tilled. Of course, suburban sprawl encroached and much of coastal California’s farmland disappeared—including that around Fairview Gardens—leaving it an island adrift in a world of fast food franchises, supermarkets and cookie-cutter condos.
It was at this time that Michael Abelman, a visionary farmer, educator and writer, came to Fairview Gardens. His practices, books and publications—all encouraging a sustainable movement that goes beyond the increasingly manipulated “organic” catchphrase—have implored people to re-develop a relationship with their food, the land it comes from and the people who grow it in order to live more holistically. One of his greatest achievements was safeguarding the farm from future development by forming a non-profit organization that bought the land and placed it in a public trust, ensuring that both sustainable food and education would continue to be sowed—and the Center for Urban Agriculture was born.
The Center is dedicated to promoting and living their vision while serving as a model for individuals and collectives looking to embrace more lasting and innovative methods for feeding themselves. It is also a place for community to gather and explore the challenges of the day. For example, despite recent heavy rains, water rights are still, as they have long been, an issue in our drought-ridden state and will only continue to escalate—a touchy subject for any farm as collectively, they use 75% of California’s water supply. However, only 15% of farms employ efficient irrigation—illustrating how far Fairview’s message could be heard.
The 12.5 acre farm is a working example of moderation, using as little water as possible by mulching, a process where hay or other organic material is placed on plants or their roots to retain moisture, employing drip irrigation systems and shower hoses—all emitting a small amount of water—as well as planting cover crops, which, while not necessarily edible, hold moisture in the ground through their roots as well as above-ground sun deflection. Long-standing methods of biodiversity are also used—climate-appropriate crop rotation amends nitrogen levels, thereby creating healthy, biologically rich soil—a scarcity in a “field” that relies heavily on chemical pesticides and fertilizers. Both of which are responsible for groundwater pollution, as well as poisoning over 70,000 people in the U.S. annually.
While Fairview Gardens is a certified organic farm, Vincent Smith, the resident Program Director, is quick to point out that many non-certified small farms employ even more stringent chemical-free measures than organic ones and urges consumers to get to know these people and their farms if that is their local option. When moving past the organic label and into the realm of true life-sustaining action, broader issues need to be considered. Take purchasing a tomato—whether organic or not, if locally grown, fossil fuel use is minimized when compared to shipping an organic tomato from South America to Southern California.
As well as above-the-earth farming techniques—Fairview’s farm equipment runs on Biodiesel or waste vegetable oil and all workers are paid a living wage. When asked about other visions for the future, Smith’s profound, back-to-the-land idea that agriculture will need to move into our individual yards—creating edible landscapes that lessen the impact food makes on the world before it ends up as nourishment—resonated deeply—as deep as the soil once was.
The Center for Urban Agriculture is a wealth of information for those looking to learn more. A complete listing of upcoming events, Michael Abelman's books and links to other useful sites are available at www.fairviewgardens.org.
Leafy Greens vs. Grassy Lawns and other Visions for Creating California’s Biodynamic Future
By Amy Wong
100 years ago California’s Central Coast was heralded for its fertile farmland, boasting the richest topsoil on the West Coast, some thirty feet deep in places. During this heyday, Fairview Gardens—located just north of Santa Barbara—was one of many orchard-lined farms where the earth was happily tilled. Of course, suburban sprawl encroached and much of coastal California’s farmland disappeared—including that around Fairview Gardens—leaving it an island adrift in a world of fast food franchises, supermarkets and cookie-cutter condos.
It was at this time that Michael Abelman, a visionary farmer, educator and writer, came to Fairview Gardens. His practices, books and publications—all encouraging a sustainable movement that goes beyond the increasingly manipulated “organic” catchphrase—have implored people to re-develop a relationship with their food, the land it comes from and the people who grow it in order to live more holistically. One of his greatest achievements was safeguarding the farm from future development by forming a non-profit organization that bought the land and placed it in a public trust, ensuring that both sustainable food and education would continue to be sowed—and the Center for Urban Agriculture was born.
The Center is dedicated to promoting and living their vision while serving as a model for individuals and collectives looking to embrace more lasting and innovative methods for feeding themselves. It is also a place for community to gather and explore the challenges of the day. For example, despite recent heavy rains, water rights are still, as they have long been, an issue in our drought-ridden state and will only continue to escalate—a touchy subject for any farm as collectively, they use 75% of California’s water supply. However, only 15% of farms employ efficient irrigation—illustrating how far Fairview’s message could be heard.
The 12.5 acre farm is a working example of moderation, using as little water as possible by mulching, a process where hay or other organic material is placed on plants or their roots to retain moisture, employing drip irrigation systems and shower hoses—all emitting a small amount of water—as well as planting cover crops, which, while not necessarily edible, hold moisture in the ground through their roots as well as above-ground sun deflection. Long-standing methods of biodiversity are also used—climate-appropriate crop rotation amends nitrogen levels, thereby creating healthy, biologically rich soil—a scarcity in a “field” that relies heavily on chemical pesticides and fertilizers. Both of which are responsible for groundwater pollution, as well as poisoning over 70,000 people in the U.S. annually.
While Fairview Gardens is a certified organic farm, Vincent Smith, the resident Program Director, is quick to point out that many non-certified small farms employ even more stringent chemical-free measures than organic ones and urges consumers to get to know these people and their farms if that is their local option. When moving past the organic label and into the realm of true life-sustaining action, broader issues need to be considered. Take purchasing a tomato—whether organic or not, if locally grown, fossil fuel use is minimized when compared to shipping an organic tomato from South America to Southern California.
As well as above-the-earth farming techniques—Fairview’s farm equipment runs on Biodiesel or waste vegetable oil and all workers are paid a living wage. When asked about other visions for the future, Smith’s profound, back-to-the-land idea that agriculture will need to move into our individual yards—creating edible landscapes that lessen the impact food makes on the world before it ends up as nourishment—resonated deeply—as deep as the soil once was.
The Center for Urban Agriculture is a wealth of information for those looking to learn more. A complete listing of upcoming events, Michael Abelman's books and links to other useful sites are available at www.fairviewgardens.org.
Couchez
Couchez
214 State Street
965-3585
Wednesday though Saturday from 5:30 p.m. to 2:00 a.m.
High Points
Club Couchez is a pretentious and feeble attempt at a more metropolitan concept, where patrons dine and lounge on oversize couches that are like beds, without covers of course. I’ve heard that an advertising slogan Couchez has used is along the lines of “where everyone ends up in bed.” Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean that everyone scores.
The sleek and shiny club cum restaurant pushes its design chops—Frank Gehry reportedly sketched the couches—and an attitude. However, it was as silent as a snowfall on my first visit. My companions and I were the only ones in the dimly lit space, save for what appeared to be off-duty employees coming by to say hi.
We were promptly “seated” though, in one of the six beds, gauzy curtains partitioning them, and an attentive waitress presented herself within seconds—a stark juxtaposition to the service that I experienced on another night. (See below.)
We fidgeted while negotiating with the white pillows—meant for leaning upon—ending up half sprawled, half seated.
Couchez was sadly out of many selections we wanted to try—the Abalone Steak, $?, and the Laetitia Cuvee NV, $35, for example. Instead of ordering a round of Suck and Blow cocktails, $5, (to give you an inkling of Couchez’s languaging), we ended up with a bottle of Oreana Blanc de Noirs, $40, chilled in a glowing ice bucket, which changed colors periodically.
We started with the Shrimp, Avocado and Lettuce Egg Rolls, $14, served with a smoky, organic soy sauce. I’m at fault for misreading the menu, but I thought that fresh spring rolls—the kind wrapped in rice paper and chock full of raw veggies—were imminent. Instead, we received greasy, everyday egg rolls filled with scant amounts of wilted lettuce, warm avocado (yuck) and shrimp. Who wants deep fried lettuce and avo anyway?
The Roasted Duck Crêpes $14, with autumn grape, rhubarb and ginger puree, were an improvement, but the tasty and relatively bountiful fowl (in comparison to the other overpriced small plates) needed a new dancing partner. There wasn’t anything else in the crêpe to offset the flavor or texture of the shredded meat—just a “lame duck” dip that didn’t match its description.
The best dish was the chopped Organic Chicken Breast, $26, with nutty nibs of ham and almond sprinkled on a frothy puddle of Yukon Gold mashed potatoes. But the buck stopped there.
Low Points
On my next trip in, I didn’t sample a thing, because after being seated by the pin stripe-clad host, a friend and I sat, for at least 35 minutes, and not one of the many staffers milling around bothered to take our order, let alone make eye contact.
So we left (the bouncer at the backdoor didn’t bother to acknowledge us either) perturbed at being so blatantly ignored, not only by the man who sat us, but by the other puffed-up management suits who strutted by our table, talking into their headsets, and then mingled with sweatshirt-wearing characters that at best, looked like K Fed.
Couchez was relatively empty that Friday night too. We arrived around10 p.m. and only one or two beds were occupied. We were given an open one in the back, as we clearly stated that we were there to eat and drink.
It felt like a reverse Ruth Reichl—the former New York Times restaurant critic who occasionally employed outrageous costumes to conceal her identity in order to see how the restaurants she was reviewing treated common customers—moment.
Instead of receiving service period, like any reasonable, paying patron is entitled to, I was snubbed for reasons beyond me. Perhaps if I had dressed in slinkier attire, like the Couchez dancers that darted in and out of the VIP lounge wearing not more than underwear, Couchez would have at least tried to sell me a drink. It was in the 30s that night though, and my flesh was going to stay covered up, even when I went to bed.
*
$$$-$$$$
Tip: While “in bed” guest must remove their shoes and tuck them into a cubby—so think easy on/easy off. I’d shy away from mini skirts too.
214 State Street
965-3585
Wednesday though Saturday from 5:30 p.m. to 2:00 a.m.
High Points
Club Couchez is a pretentious and feeble attempt at a more metropolitan concept, where patrons dine and lounge on oversize couches that are like beds, without covers of course. I’ve heard that an advertising slogan Couchez has used is along the lines of “where everyone ends up in bed.” Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean that everyone scores.
The sleek and shiny club cum restaurant pushes its design chops—Frank Gehry reportedly sketched the couches—and an attitude. However, it was as silent as a snowfall on my first visit. My companions and I were the only ones in the dimly lit space, save for what appeared to be off-duty employees coming by to say hi.
We were promptly “seated” though, in one of the six beds, gauzy curtains partitioning them, and an attentive waitress presented herself within seconds—a stark juxtaposition to the service that I experienced on another night. (See below.)
We fidgeted while negotiating with the white pillows—meant for leaning upon—ending up half sprawled, half seated.
Couchez was sadly out of many selections we wanted to try—the Abalone Steak, $?, and the Laetitia Cuvee NV, $35, for example. Instead of ordering a round of Suck and Blow cocktails, $5, (to give you an inkling of Couchez’s languaging), we ended up with a bottle of Oreana Blanc de Noirs, $40, chilled in a glowing ice bucket, which changed colors periodically.
We started with the Shrimp, Avocado and Lettuce Egg Rolls, $14, served with a smoky, organic soy sauce. I’m at fault for misreading the menu, but I thought that fresh spring rolls—the kind wrapped in rice paper and chock full of raw veggies—were imminent. Instead, we received greasy, everyday egg rolls filled with scant amounts of wilted lettuce, warm avocado (yuck) and shrimp. Who wants deep fried lettuce and avo anyway?
The Roasted Duck Crêpes $14, with autumn grape, rhubarb and ginger puree, were an improvement, but the tasty and relatively bountiful fowl (in comparison to the other overpriced small plates) needed a new dancing partner. There wasn’t anything else in the crêpe to offset the flavor or texture of the shredded meat—just a “lame duck” dip that didn’t match its description.
The best dish was the chopped Organic Chicken Breast, $26, with nutty nibs of ham and almond sprinkled on a frothy puddle of Yukon Gold mashed potatoes. But the buck stopped there.
Low Points
On my next trip in, I didn’t sample a thing, because after being seated by the pin stripe-clad host, a friend and I sat, for at least 35 minutes, and not one of the many staffers milling around bothered to take our order, let alone make eye contact.
So we left (the bouncer at the backdoor didn’t bother to acknowledge us either) perturbed at being so blatantly ignored, not only by the man who sat us, but by the other puffed-up management suits who strutted by our table, talking into their headsets, and then mingled with sweatshirt-wearing characters that at best, looked like K Fed.
Couchez was relatively empty that Friday night too. We arrived around10 p.m. and only one or two beds were occupied. We were given an open one in the back, as we clearly stated that we were there to eat and drink.
It felt like a reverse Ruth Reichl—the former New York Times restaurant critic who occasionally employed outrageous costumes to conceal her identity in order to see how the restaurants she was reviewing treated common customers—moment.
Instead of receiving service period, like any reasonable, paying patron is entitled to, I was snubbed for reasons beyond me. Perhaps if I had dressed in slinkier attire, like the Couchez dancers that darted in and out of the VIP lounge wearing not more than underwear, Couchez would have at least tried to sell me a drink. It was in the 30s that night though, and my flesh was going to stay covered up, even when I went to bed.
*
$$$-$$$$
Tip: While “in bed” guest must remove their shoes and tuck them into a cubby—so think easy on/easy off. I’d shy away from mini skirts too.
Chamomile Café Deanna
Chamomile Café Deanna
915 Linden Avenue
Carpinteria
(805) 566-5954
7:30AM to 3:00 Wed-Sun
High Points
I know I may lose some of you here, especially Bush Sr., but Chamomile Café won me over with their grilled broccoli, one of several savvy sides served with the “main” dishes during breakfast and lunch. (Runner up: the wafer-thin sweet potatoes—a cross between a chip and a flat, air fry.) From a nutritional reckoning, its all the easier to justify ordering maple syrup-drenched pancakes if they’re washed down with something healthy. And the broccoli is no boring piece of steamed green—soft, but crisp and blackened in places for flavor with some red bell pepper thrown in for good measure.
Overall, the food is scrumptious—a word that I use judiciously, but here, is warranted considering Chamomile’s cute factor. It’s also fairly affordable, considering the quality, $5.95 to $11.95 for breakfast fare, sandwiches, salads and “not sandwiches”—try the wrap from this section. Part country café, part bakery, all Californian comfort food, this is a place that foodies of many flavors will find nourishing, yet indulgent.
The owner marches to the beat of her own drum and is in possession of an admirable philosophy—everything made-from-scratch—as exhausting as it must be. Multiple trips confirmed somewhat weary staffers—seemingly like they could use another pair, or two, of hands around. Nonetheless, touches like homegrown mint iced tea, coffee beans roasted weekly by a local purveyor and handcrafted soups and salad dressings make up for un-bussed tables or anything else slightly askew. As for the bakery, fluffy loaves of fresh-from-the-oven bread look almost cartoonish, and plump, oversize cookies smack of a Mid-Western fair. Try a Savannah Chocolate Chew—you’ll never know that they use ground nuts in lieu of flour.
The sandwiches pleased every time—perfect charring on the grilled veggie and a masterful BLT with turkey bacon—both served with one of those unique sides and a small salad. Breakfast was equally satisfying—we liked the Breakfast Quesadilla and persnickety friends who claimed not to like Hollandaise dug into my Eggs Benedict without complaint. The classic sauce was light and lemony and is only available on Sundays. Hand-picked teas and frothy chai lattes lent a luxe atmosphere to brunch and all the plates came garnished with a generous side of un-wilted fresh fruit.
As evidenced by the owner’s statement on the back of the bags of granola and other treats for sale, she’d rather eat a plate of steamed broccoli over wasted-calorie, conveyor belt cookies. However, the toss up between Chamomile’s cookies and vegetables is a hard one. It’s easy to fall for both.
Low Points
For such an organically-minded outfit, we were surprised to see Styrofoam cups at the self-serve water station. Although on another visit, we were served water in tall plastic tumblers—a much better option. We don’t mind fetching our own agua, just stock the tumblers by the cooler. My dining companion du jour, who usually will eat anything, did fish a couple pieces of lettuce out of his salad that had seen better days. Lastly, the place was in need of a spring shakedown—indoor planters were looking a bit pallid.
Tip: Being a WIFI hot spot makes it easy to linger over work at Chamomile.
***1/2
$$
915 Linden Avenue
Carpinteria
(805) 566-5954
7:30AM to 3:00 Wed-Sun
High Points
I know I may lose some of you here, especially Bush Sr., but Chamomile Café won me over with their grilled broccoli, one of several savvy sides served with the “main” dishes during breakfast and lunch. (Runner up: the wafer-thin sweet potatoes—a cross between a chip and a flat, air fry.) From a nutritional reckoning, its all the easier to justify ordering maple syrup-drenched pancakes if they’re washed down with something healthy. And the broccoli is no boring piece of steamed green—soft, but crisp and blackened in places for flavor with some red bell pepper thrown in for good measure.
Overall, the food is scrumptious—a word that I use judiciously, but here, is warranted considering Chamomile’s cute factor. It’s also fairly affordable, considering the quality, $5.95 to $11.95 for breakfast fare, sandwiches, salads and “not sandwiches”—try the wrap from this section. Part country café, part bakery, all Californian comfort food, this is a place that foodies of many flavors will find nourishing, yet indulgent.
The owner marches to the beat of her own drum and is in possession of an admirable philosophy—everything made-from-scratch—as exhausting as it must be. Multiple trips confirmed somewhat weary staffers—seemingly like they could use another pair, or two, of hands around. Nonetheless, touches like homegrown mint iced tea, coffee beans roasted weekly by a local purveyor and handcrafted soups and salad dressings make up for un-bussed tables or anything else slightly askew. As for the bakery, fluffy loaves of fresh-from-the-oven bread look almost cartoonish, and plump, oversize cookies smack of a Mid-Western fair. Try a Savannah Chocolate Chew—you’ll never know that they use ground nuts in lieu of flour.
The sandwiches pleased every time—perfect charring on the grilled veggie and a masterful BLT with turkey bacon—both served with one of those unique sides and a small salad. Breakfast was equally satisfying—we liked the Breakfast Quesadilla and persnickety friends who claimed not to like Hollandaise dug into my Eggs Benedict without complaint. The classic sauce was light and lemony and is only available on Sundays. Hand-picked teas and frothy chai lattes lent a luxe atmosphere to brunch and all the plates came garnished with a generous side of un-wilted fresh fruit.
As evidenced by the owner’s statement on the back of the bags of granola and other treats for sale, she’d rather eat a plate of steamed broccoli over wasted-calorie, conveyor belt cookies. However, the toss up between Chamomile’s cookies and vegetables is a hard one. It’s easy to fall for both.
Low Points
For such an organically-minded outfit, we were surprised to see Styrofoam cups at the self-serve water station. Although on another visit, we were served water in tall plastic tumblers—a much better option. We don’t mind fetching our own agua, just stock the tumblers by the cooler. My dining companion du jour, who usually will eat anything, did fish a couple pieces of lettuce out of his salad that had seen better days. Lastly, the place was in need of a spring shakedown—indoor planters were looking a bit pallid.
Tip: Being a WIFI hot spot makes it easy to linger over work at Chamomile.
***1/2
$$
All love at American Flatbread
American Flatbread
225 West Bell Street
Los Alamos
344-4400
Dinner Friday and Saturday 5 to 10 p.m.
All love at American Flatbread
High Points:
I’ve been singing the praises of American Flatbread’s Hearth in the Cottonwoods for weeks now. The Los Alamos outpost is the epitome of hippies with an excellent marketing plan who have stayed with the times without sacrificing their ideals.
Nor have they sacrificed their love of organic-local-artisanal and sustainable ingredients and beverages. (The wine list is impressive, as would be expected, and reasonably priced. The staff was also well versed in its nuances.)
Most anything served at the rustic and poetic eatery—lined with prayer flags and good vibes—comes from within a 300-mile radius. Save for the glass bottles of Coca Cola, which hail from Mexico, as the Coke from south of the border contains real sugar, not high fructose corn syrup. Get the gist?
During the week American Flatbread, which received its license to operate from the original American Flatbread in Vermont, is actually a production bakery outputting organic, high-quality frozen pizzas that sell up and down the west coast at the likes of Whole Foods and Lazy Acres-types of stores.
Come Friday and Saturday nights though, they change into their restaurant hat and its apparent that American Flatbread is the place to be in the Valley, playing a gracious host to locals, destination diners and the who’s who of the wine world.
At 6 p.m. on a bitter cold Saturday in January there was a 30-minute wait and they don’t take reservations—first come, first served. The bar area was standing room only, so we squeezed in by the “fire pit” and sipped on Flying Goat Bubbles, a sparkling pinot noir rosé concoction, $8.
The hearth is one of the most creative and crafty hot spots we’ve seen with a beautiful tile mosaic “backsplash” and candles perched on the stepped bricks, giving it a special glow.
We finally were given a front and center table, with a view of the hand-hewn, wood-fired oven, and watched the raw flatbreads, with “intentional” names like Medicine Wheel and Punctuated Equilibrium, be transformed into bubbling hot nourishment.
We started off with a special Wild Porcini Salad with Burrata, Field Greens and a Sundried Tomato dressing, $10. It was small, but incredibly tasty with jiggly fresh mushroom strips and slightly bitter greens.
We also opted for both a 15-inch—good for two people—and a 10-inch—good for one—flatbread. (Think super thin, crisp crust pizza with toppings so fresh they’re practically still twitching.) On 15-inch breads, the kitchen also allows guests to do one half one “flavor”, the other half another so that more than one combination can be sampled.
Our favorites that night were the specials, $20, one with local clams (in their shells) and chorizo, the other with fresh foraged Pismo chanterelles, porcinis, leeks and a goat cheese that was as powdery as Park City snow.
Specials, offered every weekend to showcase the season’s finest bounty, are only available in the larger size and descriptions of them can be obtained in advance on American Flatbread’s website at www.foodremembers.com.
Our small was the Cheese and Herb, $7, topped with California whole milk mozzarella, Three Sisters raw milk Serena, Italian Grana Padano, fresh herbs and white garlic oil. It was also delicious and slightly reminiscent of an organic and non-hydrogenated Cheez-It.
My second visit was after a day of food research in Lompoc and I arrived in Los Alamos via Highway 1, San Antonio West Road and Highway 135. Along this rural route I passed fallow vineyards, a duet of turkey vultures, hazy white hills, barren trees, razed broccoli plots and abandoned homes just miles away from trendy, full-scale farms, all reminding me of the beauty of the region.
Arriving closer to 5 p.m. this visit, a friend and I were seated immediately and started with an Evolution Salad $5, with sweet leaf lettuces, mesclun, and arugula tossed with shredded carrots, thin-sliced celery, flecks of Pacific Ocean Arame seaweed, toasted Flax Seed, and a ginger and tamari dressing, tinged with a strong local raspberry vinegar.
We also split a 17-inch with both Shaman’s Bread, $9.50, and Central Coast Sausage, $18.50. The Shaman’s was especially unique—meaty, kind of burnt pistachios sat alongside flax seeds, charred red onion, fresh rosemary, garlic, and Three Sisters raw milk Serena cheese.
The homemade maple and fennel sausage on the other side was, of course, naturally raised and contained no nitrates. Other goodies included dun-dried tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, cheeses and fresh herbs.
Desserts, $6, looked and sounded sinfully good—Dawn’s Awesome Brownie warming on the edge of the oven before being topped with Strauss Family Vanilla Ice Cream was especially tempting—but I was full, full of peace, love and happiness. Not to mention flatbread that will change your definition of pizza and have you coming back for more.
Low Points:
The burrata in the special salad on my first visit was served a bit too cold—it needed time to “open” up.
****
$-$$
225 West Bell Street
Los Alamos
344-4400
Dinner Friday and Saturday 5 to 10 p.m.
All love at American Flatbread
High Points:
I’ve been singing the praises of American Flatbread’s Hearth in the Cottonwoods for weeks now. The Los Alamos outpost is the epitome of hippies with an excellent marketing plan who have stayed with the times without sacrificing their ideals.
Nor have they sacrificed their love of organic-local-artisanal and sustainable ingredients and beverages. (The wine list is impressive, as would be expected, and reasonably priced. The staff was also well versed in its nuances.)
Most anything served at the rustic and poetic eatery—lined with prayer flags and good vibes—comes from within a 300-mile radius. Save for the glass bottles of Coca Cola, which hail from Mexico, as the Coke from south of the border contains real sugar, not high fructose corn syrup. Get the gist?
During the week American Flatbread, which received its license to operate from the original American Flatbread in Vermont, is actually a production bakery outputting organic, high-quality frozen pizzas that sell up and down the west coast at the likes of Whole Foods and Lazy Acres-types of stores.
Come Friday and Saturday nights though, they change into their restaurant hat and its apparent that American Flatbread is the place to be in the Valley, playing a gracious host to locals, destination diners and the who’s who of the wine world.
At 6 p.m. on a bitter cold Saturday in January there was a 30-minute wait and they don’t take reservations—first come, first served. The bar area was standing room only, so we squeezed in by the “fire pit” and sipped on Flying Goat Bubbles, a sparkling pinot noir rosé concoction, $8.
The hearth is one of the most creative and crafty hot spots we’ve seen with a beautiful tile mosaic “backsplash” and candles perched on the stepped bricks, giving it a special glow.
We finally were given a front and center table, with a view of the hand-hewn, wood-fired oven, and watched the raw flatbreads, with “intentional” names like Medicine Wheel and Punctuated Equilibrium, be transformed into bubbling hot nourishment.
We started off with a special Wild Porcini Salad with Burrata, Field Greens and a Sundried Tomato dressing, $10. It was small, but incredibly tasty with jiggly fresh mushroom strips and slightly bitter greens.
We also opted for both a 15-inch—good for two people—and a 10-inch—good for one—flatbread. (Think super thin, crisp crust pizza with toppings so fresh they’re practically still twitching.) On 15-inch breads, the kitchen also allows guests to do one half one “flavor”, the other half another so that more than one combination can be sampled.
Our favorites that night were the specials, $20, one with local clams (in their shells) and chorizo, the other with fresh foraged Pismo chanterelles, porcinis, leeks and a goat cheese that was as powdery as Park City snow.
Specials, offered every weekend to showcase the season’s finest bounty, are only available in the larger size and descriptions of them can be obtained in advance on American Flatbread’s website at www.foodremembers.com.
Our small was the Cheese and Herb, $7, topped with California whole milk mozzarella, Three Sisters raw milk Serena, Italian Grana Padano, fresh herbs and white garlic oil. It was also delicious and slightly reminiscent of an organic and non-hydrogenated Cheez-It.
My second visit was after a day of food research in Lompoc and I arrived in Los Alamos via Highway 1, San Antonio West Road and Highway 135. Along this rural route I passed fallow vineyards, a duet of turkey vultures, hazy white hills, barren trees, razed broccoli plots and abandoned homes just miles away from trendy, full-scale farms, all reminding me of the beauty of the region.
Arriving closer to 5 p.m. this visit, a friend and I were seated immediately and started with an Evolution Salad $5, with sweet leaf lettuces, mesclun, and arugula tossed with shredded carrots, thin-sliced celery, flecks of Pacific Ocean Arame seaweed, toasted Flax Seed, and a ginger and tamari dressing, tinged with a strong local raspberry vinegar.
We also split a 17-inch with both Shaman’s Bread, $9.50, and Central Coast Sausage, $18.50. The Shaman’s was especially unique—meaty, kind of burnt pistachios sat alongside flax seeds, charred red onion, fresh rosemary, garlic, and Three Sisters raw milk Serena cheese.
The homemade maple and fennel sausage on the other side was, of course, naturally raised and contained no nitrates. Other goodies included dun-dried tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, cheeses and fresh herbs.
Desserts, $6, looked and sounded sinfully good—Dawn’s Awesome Brownie warming on the edge of the oven before being topped with Strauss Family Vanilla Ice Cream was especially tempting—but I was full, full of peace, love and happiness. Not to mention flatbread that will change your definition of pizza and have you coming back for more.
Low Points:
The burrata in the special salad on my first visit was served a bit too cold—it needed time to “open” up.
****
$-$$
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