The Zen of Zin

Zin Restaurant in Healdsburg, CA already had a red star on my “restaurant bucket list”so I was happy to finally get there. For the past seven years, Zin’s chef/owner Jeff Mall and his wife Susan (also a chef) have undertaken the trek from Northern California to North Mississippi – Oxford—to attend the Southern Foodways Symposium. Although the Southern Foodways Alliance has many, many non-Southern members we still marvel when folks like Jeff and Susan take their vacations and come hang out in Mississippi for a week. These two not only take in the Symposium, but stay around the region and dig deep into our culture. They hit the backroads, small towns, pie counters, barbecue joints, tamale stands and family owned restaurants.

I’ve eaten at Zin twice in the past four days and it didn’t take me long to understand the whole deal. Native Californians Jeff and Susan Mall are Southern in their souls. In lieu of counting sheep after my Saturday night dinner at Zin, I wrestled with the awareness that I may have just eaten the best grits I’ve ever tasted. Grits in Northern California? “It’s just not right”, I thought to myself as I mentally flipped through my rolodex of taste memories reliving other mountaintop grits experiences. I obsessed over his collard greens – which were amazing -- but refused to entertain the notion that a Californian could do justice to another of my favorite native foods. But the next night, on second tasting, I grudgingly put Jeff Mall’s collard greens in my top 5. Ok – top 3.

While Jeff was cooking, expediting and doing what an executive chef does in the heat of battle on a busy Saturday night, the lovely and gracious Susan Mall dined with us. When she’s not running Zin’s catering business or entertaining guests like us, Susan works their farm (the source of many of Zin’s vegetables, fruits, herbs and meats), is mother hen to the loud and lively chicken coop, and cohort and co-cook in Jeff’s never ending pantry projects.

Since Zin’s philosophy is to use the best local ingredients and create their own pantry of foods, a typical morning or day off from the restaurant kitchen makes me want to nap. This Sunday morning it meant making plum jelly for Zin’s scrumptious baking powder biscuits. When the harvest is ripe for picking, Susan and Jeff make Zinfandel jelly in homage to the noble grape of the Dry Creek-Healdsburg wine growing region…the very grape that gives its nickname to the restaurant. There are pigs to be smoked and cured for Zin’s in- house bacon and ham, cucumbers to be pickled, sauerkraut to be fermented, mozzarella and ricotta cheeses to be crafted, tomatoes and peaches to be put up and hundreds of jars of tomato sauce to be made.

Our eclectic Saturday night dinner was delicious and memorable…and on Sunday night we sneaked back into the restaurant to savor two more orders of the ravioli stuffed with sweet corn and homemade ricotta AND the Sunday night special of buttermilk fried chicken, mashed potatoes and collards. Sunday morning’s plum jelly lazily melted on our hot biscuits Sunday night. We were in the Zen of Zin.

All the hard work on the farm – the weeding, egg gathering, peach picking, pickling, jelly making, bacon smoking -- it all comes together on the plate. You can taste Chef Jeff Mall’s intent. The food message at Zin is loud and clear. Jeff, Susan and Jeff’s partner Scott Silva have created a restaurant that is warm, friendly and pleasing to the eye where the food is grown with care, picked with care and cooked with care by people who care about giving their guests the very best they have to offer.

Zin Restaurant* 344 Center Street* Healdsburg, CA 95448 *707-473-0946* www.zinrestaurant.com

A Walk in the Redwoods

Saturday morning in Healdsburg. Sonoma County. Northern California. We nixed the Vinyasa Flow Yoga class at our super cool hotel in favor of a cup of Flying Goat coffee and a trip to the Healdsburg Farmers' Market. Last night’s pizza from Scopa was destined to become today’s picnic in the redwood forest, but we needed to round out the meal. The task should have been quick and easy. Not so. When confronted with the tempting array of fruits, vegetables, flowers, cheeses and baked goods we became whiny and wishy-washy. We lingered at vegetable stands and looked longingly at produce we had no way of cooking. We wandered aimlessly between peach stands looking for the perfect peaches. The perfect peaches? We found them. Local Sonoma jack cheese? In the bag. A local bluegrass band called The Hicktones was belting out “Hit Parade of Love” as we picked up one apple for good measure, left the Farmers' Market and set out on our adventure.

With only a single cup of Flying Goat Coffee as brain fuel, we couldn’t recall whether “The destination is the journey”…or “The journey is the destination.” We finally decided on the latter and hit the road to Guerneville, on the banks of the Russian River about 15 miles southwest of Healdsburg. We made a few stops -- to appreciate a picturesque winery (Hop Kiln), to gaze in awe at the extraordinary landscape of rolling hills and vineyards and to lean over the railing of an old iron bridge to take in the majesty of the Russian River.

Just a few miles from the center of Guerneville we arrived at Armstrong Redwoods State Reserve, home to the largest remaining old-growth redwood forest in Sonoma County. Some of its trees survived the region’s extensive 19th century logging operations and were ironically saved by a lumberman, Colonel James Armstrong, who bought the land in the 1870’s to preserve the last tracts of the very same forest he profited from. The first part of our hike took us by the 308-foot-tall Armstrong Tree, believed to be about 1400 years old and through the shady, damp old growth forest of redwoods. The forest floor was soft under our feet and shafts of diffused light intermittently penetrated the canopy of foliage. It was quiet… hushed …and the majesty of the redwoods caused us to whisper, then walk in reverent silence. It is a holy place. The few others hikers who passed us were silent, too.

We found a secluded table in the picnic area and unpacked the Perfect Picnic: Pizza, Peaches, Pepperjack, Pinot Noir. (And an apple.) Food tastes so good when all your senses are alive, doesn’t it? I thought of other picnics in other places at other times in my life…ones like this that were gifts to be recalled in the mind’s eye on a moment’s notice. I know that some day in the near future when the world is too much with me…I’ll close my eyes and think about this one.

When the last of our perfect picnic was packed away, we left the forest floor and tackled the steep climb to the ridge. If there was a sign that said “Flatlanders Beware”, we must have missed it. With only intermittent stops to hug the occasional redwood tree (and take pictures of ourselves), we spent the next couple of hours gasping for breath and stopping to slow our heart rates as we made the ascent, then walked the long hilly ridge and at-long-last descended to the park entrance. Woody Guthrie was singing OUR song when he sang -- “From the redwood forest….to the Gulf Stream waters. This land was made for you and me.” Woody was so right. It was indeed.

Postcard from Healdsburg

I was taught not to ask for advice unless prepared to take it. And believe me, your advice has been neatly noted, categorized and acted upon. In just a matter of minutes over 50 of you sent suggestions through my Viking Life blog, the Viking Facebook page and my email account about where to eat and what to do in Healdsburg, Ca and environs.

On Friday I landed in Santa Rosa, CA but it may as well been another planet – one that didn’t feel like a terrarium with both temperature and humidity hovering around the 100 degree mark. I’m going to say it now…and not talk about it again for fear of retribution from my sweltering family and friends back in Mississippi… but the weather is just about as close to perfect as it gets in late July. It’s warm and sunny alright, but the air is dry and a cool breeze blows over northern Sonoma County from the Pacific -- some 30 miles away. Highs are 75-80 and lows of 55 at night – wool sweater weather. But enough talk of the weather.

Healdsburg, in northern Sonoma County, sits at the epicenter of three wine regions – the Russian River, Dry Creek and Alexander Valleys. With a population of around 10,000, it’s a charming Victorian town built around a 19th century plaza. We hadn’t been in town for ten minutes before we learned that the plaza is the center of action and source of Healdsburg's charm. There are wine tasting rooms, a world class bakery, lots of shops, two bookstores and of course, fabulous restaurants. There is even a Hand Fan Museum. Very cool.

After checking into our ultra-hip, newly opened, eco-conscious hotel on the plaza, we headed out to get “the rhythm of the city.” In Healdsburg, that meant walking the plaza. Lo and behold, we found place after place that you mentioned in your hot tips for Healdsburg. We wandered into Scopa, a tiny restaurant on the plaza. Several of you praised it including one chef who boldly said, “For the best "real" Italian food outside Italy you have to go to Scopa.” The host gently informed us that we had the proverbial snow ball’s chance in hell of getting a table on a weekend night, but he would call us if seats at the bar came open. He was as good as his word and my cell phone rang 20 minutes later letting us know our barstools were waiting.

It was an unforgettable experience. The name Scopa means sweep or broom, and is a popular Italian card game played in most regions of Italy. It’s believed to be at least 400 years old but probably dates back further. The theatre of the waiters and bartenders operating with economy of motion and efficiency in the tiny space was the side show. The main event, of course, was the food. This is what we had: Prosciutto Wrapped Grilled Figs Stuffed with Goat Cheese and finished with Saba; Grilled Dry Creek Peaches with Purslane, Arugula and White Balsamic; Radicchio Salad with Shaved Parmigiano, Saba Glazed Grilled Bread, Pancetta and Balsamic Vinaigrette; Grilled Calamari with White Beans, Pickled Onions and Arugula…and if that weren’t enough we topped it off with the Pizza del Giorno featuring grilled eggplant and scamorza. A half-carafe of Petite Rouge wine completed the meal. Our bill was and unbelievable low $75. All the food was memorable and pretty darn amazing but we’re confident that the Radicchio Salad will end up in our top 5 dishes of the weekend. There were a lot of layers of flavor…a lot of surprises going on in that bowl.

The overwhelming lesson from our first night in town is this: the line between farm and table is happily blurred in Healdsburg. There are farms surrounding the town in every direction -- some actually in town. When we asked the source of the Adriatic figs in our grilled fig appetizer, we were told Dragonfly Farms – “right down the road.” Right down the road meant just that. Dragonfly was less than a quarter mile from the Plaza – a scenic stop on our morning bikeride – where figs were set out for the taking. Scopa was just the beginning of our farm to table adventure. More later………….. Carol.

Beef Jerky Shopping Spree

I would rather be dragged through a knot-hole sideways that spend my vacation at an Outlet Mall. When anyone says “Let’s go shopping,” I hide, run away or find some compelling excuse to become unavailable. No more.

In full vacation mode and on the road between Asheville, NC to Knoxville, TN, a billboard caught my eye that changed my outlook on outlet stores forever. It led to a deeper understanding of the allure of outlet malls and the knowledge that ANY product can become outlet fodder. In big letters under the picture of a smiling All-American gal the sign read “Beef Jerky Outlet. Over 200 Varieties Available.”

A beef jerky outlet??? You’ve got to be kidding? Now I’ve heard of everything. My previous jerky experience was limited to averting my eyes from the display jar in convenience stores – usually situated next to the jar of pickled eggs. I thought of beef jerky as a disgusting guy food or a manly snack for deer hunters who would rip a piece off with their teeth while waiting quietly in the woods for Bambi. I had never thought of it as one of the major food groups, worthy of Outlet Mall status. I pondered whether the jerky store was wedged between a couple of luxury outlet stores like Donna Karan and Ralph Lauren. Or if it sat next to a food outlet like Marble Slab Creamery where shoppers could enjoy beef jerky with their ice cream. That this particular store was located in the mysterious Pigeon Forge / Dollywood triangle added yet another layer of allure. I was fascinated …obsessed…and speeding down I-40 in anticipation of exit 407.

I programmed my handy GPS thing where the lady with the irritating voice commands me to turn right or left or totally gives up on my ability to follow directions and says “recalculate”, but my destination wasn’t hard to find. No GPS needed , folks. In the shadow of the Bass Pro Shop at exit 407, the Beef Jerky Outlet beckoned. And I wasn’t the only one who was thinking jerky last Sunday. There were jerky fans of all shapes, sizes and ages wedged in the non-descript strip mall storefront. We politely elbowed past each other while studying the 200 varieties on the wall racks. I was surprised to find jerky made of alligator, ostrich, bison and elk. There were trendy gourmet varieties such as cherry maple, Cajun, sweet ‘n spicy, cracked black peppercorn, roasted garlic and sweet barbecue. Large lidded barrels held loose product that could be purchased by the pound or mixed with other flavors. Sampling was not only available, it was strongly encouraged by the two jerky specialists who were working the store that day. With professionalism and aplomb, my salesperson dipped into the barrel with a tong to extract a large flat sheet of jerky. I bypassed the flavored product in favor of “original.” Boring, I know. Tong in one hand, scissors in the other, she snipped a piece of jerky for me to try. Mmmm. Maybe my preconceived notions had been wrong. She encouraged me to sample several others and I chose the garlic peppercorn and sweet and spicy. They were fine, as jerky goes, but the added flavor didn’t really add that much.

The 400 mile stretch of highway between me and my Mississippi destination compelled me to consider the drive ahead and I reluctantly bid fond farewell to the friendly jerky experts. With a pound bag of original jerky as a gift for a chef friend, I headed downstairs to the Marble Slab Creamery for a cup of butter pecan ice cream to top off the smorgasboard of jerky I’d sampled. Now how’s that for Sunday lunch?

There are not one…not two…but three and maybe more Beef Jerky Outlets in the Dollywood/Pigeon Forge area. I visited the one most convenient to I-40 at exit 407 in Kodak but you’ll also find stores in Sevierville, Pigeon Forge, and Gatlinburg (www.beefjerkyoutlet.com). Or if you prefer the beach over the mountains, no need to fret. You’ll find The Beef Jerky Outlet conveniently located on the Emerald Coast Parkway in Destin (www.floridajerky.com.)

And if you want to “take control of your own future and live the American Dream”, franchises ARE available. www.beefjerkyoutlet.com

Fleer Cooks in Cashiers

John Fleer is cooking in Cashiers, North Carolina this summer. The word spread around the food world and among Fleer fans like pimento cheese on white bread. And if you happen to be a clueless summer visitor to the Highlands-Cashiers area, a tasteful wooden sign on the winding mountain road announces something special going on in the Canyon Kitchen Restaurant at Lonesome Valley Resort. John Fleer is cooking.

Driving two hours for a meal is no big thing for me – especially when I know there’s a better-than-passing chance of enjoying a memorable meal or outstanding company. Last Sunday I had both. A carful of food-loving friends and I ventured up the long and winding mountain road from Asheville to Cashiers to see what John was up to in Canyon Kitchen.

In a gesture that felt like a welcome, the big barn restaurant had all the doors wide open and with the drama of the mountains in every direction it was easy to forget we were actually indoors. Brunch, like everything at Canyon Kitchen, is a laid back affair. Pearls and heels, jeans and Birkenstocks co-mingled naturally…and were equally represented in the spacious dining room.

Hungrily arriving at the end of brunch service, we were ready for John Fleer and he was ready for us – ready to get us fed, that is. On this particular Sunday he proclaimed his World Cup allegiance to Spain with a red team t-shirt worn discreetly under his chef’s jacket. Like the Man of Steel, Fleer was eager to whip off his work gear and fly upstairs to take care of an important international issue – which in this case was the World Cup finals. He had four diners…four friends…standing between him and the opening whistle of the game.

Our meal started with Baked Local Farm Eggs with Anson Mills Grits, Tomato and Benton’s Bacon Relish. It ended with and ethereal Lemon Buttermilk Pudding Cake. In between there was Peachy Kurobota Pork Loin, Sweet Garlic Wilted Ruby Swiss Chard and Mustard Glazed Fingerling Potatoes. But my eyes rolled back in my head when I tasted the Salad of Local Watermelon, Romaine and Feta Cheese with Picked Red Onions and Sweet Sherry Vinaigrette. When the last bit of buttermilk pudding disappeared from our plates…the always hospitable Chef Fleer bolted upstairs for the television.

Canyon Kitchen is a seasonal restaurant, open May to September. In a recent publication Fleer described the restaurant — which operates Thursday through Sunday — as “a big barn with doors thrown open, really good food, good beverages and a place where you can enjoy the essence of the area, a cool breeze and a beautiful sunset.” Fleer created a food concept as relaxed as the setting and the food he describes as “Seasonal Cuisine” is responsive to what is available in the area. Just beyond the barn doors, in view of the diners like us, are raised bed gardens whose herbs, tomatoes, peppers, beans, and many varieties of lettuce find their way onto the Canyon Kitchen diners’ plates.

Fleer made his name in the food world as Executive Chef at Blackerry Farm in Walland, Tennessee for 14 1/2 years. Blackberry Farm is a world-class culinary and wine destination and John Fleer’s tenure in the Blackberry kitchen helped put it on the culinary map. After a long and celebrated career, he left there in 2007 to pursue other interests – namely family, home and the dream of his own restaurant, a dream that has been put on temporary hold till the timing is right with his family. Until the doors of the highly anticipated restaurant are open, John Fleers’ legion of loyal diners can get a summer “fix.”

canyonkitchen@lonesomevalley.com 828.743.7697

Extreme Girl Food

My friend Anne and I chose one of our favorite Asheville, NC eating establishments for a late lunch. After all, we were hungry for “girl food”, something light – perhaps a salad.

The Wedge Salad at Twelve Bones Smokehouse is deep cover for eating a half slab of ribs and calling it a salad. It’s something akin to the game my mother and I used to play when I was in college. She would ask where I had been the night before. I would answer “the Library.” She suspected I had been hanging out with my friends at the infamous Library Lounge, but it made her feel better to tell herself (and her friends) that I was applying myself to my studies at the campus library. So, take my word for it; Anne and I ate a “salad”. It was an extreme salad - a chunk of iceberg lettuce with sugar bacon, tomatoes, fried onions, cucumbers, spicy ranch dressing topped with four tender baby-back ribs.

Twelve Bones' specialty, as you may have inferred, is not salad --it’s ribs. Fat, juicy ribs that fall off the bone. Husband and wife team Tom Montgomery and Sabra Kelley pay homage to the time-tested Western North Carolina tradition of slow- smoking meats. In addition to the fine baby back ribs, you’ll find pulled pork, smoked chicken,turkey and beef brisket on the menu. Barbecue is a serious matter to North Carolinians and rabid fanaticism over the merits of regional sauces can stir up the same hot tempers as a bar fight following a Duke – North Carolina basketball game. Twelve Bones solves the sauce debate by offering a sauce bar with something for everyone. The typical Western North Carolina sweet tomato sauce is my favorite but Eastern Carolinians will find their spicy vinegar sauce. There's a hot- as- fire jalapeno sauce, and in a thoughtful nod to neighboring South Carolina, spicy mustard sauce has a home on the sauce bar.

Some barbecue purists will get downright apoplectic when they hear that the headliners of Twelve Bones’ menu are blueberry- chipotle glazed ribs and pineapple- habanero ribs. They perceive them as Designer Ribs, not to be taken seriously. Au contraire! My take on this is that fruit and pork go together like Roy Rogers and Dale Evans or Bonnie and Clyde… or…. So what’s the big deal ? It’s a natural pairing and tasty to boot. If you prefer, you may order your ribs naked -- dressed with only salt and pepper-- or you can enjoy them with Twelve Bones’ killer brown sugar rub. But trust me on this… it’s hard to beat those blueberry chipotle ribs! They even won the Best Bites Challenge on ABC’s Good Morning America a couple of years ago. And the sides? Did I mention corn pudding, collard greens (some of the best I’ve ever had), jalapeno cheese grits, mashed sweet potatoes, baked beans and more?

Open five days a week (no weekends) and ONLY for lunch, my advice is not to be hurried. The line forms early and there’s ALWAYS a line during the 11 a.m. – 4:00 p.m. serving hours. Line lounging is a pleasure in itself and there’s no telling who you might meet in the Twelve Bones line. Maybe even the President of the United States and First Lady! After eating at Twelve Bones on a campaign stop, President Obama liked it so much he came back in April – this time excitedly explaining the menu and making recommendations to Michelle. The first couple’s order – No. 99 – was ribs, greens, baked beans, corn pudding, mac & cheese and corn bread. They drank sweet tea. What? No salad?

Twelve Bones. 5 Riverside Drive, Asheville, NC; www.12bones.com or (828) 253-4499. Hours: 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Monday-Friday.

Diary of a Hotel Princess

I’m a hotel princess. While others are counting sheep, I’m staying awake counting threads in the sheets. The weight of the hotel towels is of particular interest to me as are the amenities and the placement of the hairdryer which whispers much about the quality of the hotel. If the hairdryer is discreetly tucked away instead of mounted on the wall, you can pretty much guarantee that the shower head will have strong pressure and the soap will be of high quality and interesting shape– no skinny bars with paper stuck to it. This is the truth; I promise.

I wasn’t born to such luxury and didn’t learn such demanding standards at home. I wasn’t raised to be a hotel princess – a princess, maybe, but not one whose domain is a hotel. I suppose I started down this road in the early days of my career when women didn’t travel a whole lot on business – especially by themselves. We were oddities. People stared at a woman sitting alone in a hotel dining room and hotel clerks smirked when we checked in.

I first learned to love luxury at the Drake Hotel in Chicago. It had character and charm and history. I don’t particularly remember the sheets or the weight of the towels. What I remember is the way they made me feel - which was special. The doormen, the bellmen and the front desk staff remembered my name. When I went for my morning run the doorman would look at his watch and say “Follow the route I gave you…and if you’re not back in 30 minutes I’m coming to look for you.” I believed that I mattered to the good people at the Drake and I kept coming back. I still do.

My career path and my life have taken me far from those early days at the Drake. I’ve had the good fortune to stay in magnificent hotels all over the world-- The Oriental in Bangkok, The Oberoi Amarvillas overlooking the Taj Mahal in India, The Four Seasons in Istanbul. But no hotel in the world compares with the one I checked into today. The room is beautifully designed and appointed. There is original art on the walls. The bed is luxurious and inviting; the sheets are rich and cool against my skin. The towels are heavy and soft. The hairdryer is tucked discreetly in a drawer. But it’s the people who work in this lovely hotel that transform it into something extraordinary. It’s their dedication to service and the hospitality in their hearts that make it one of the Top 100 Hotels in America. From the front door to the front desk to the laundry room in the back of the building, the amazing staff are the ones whose accomplishments put it not once, not twice but three times on the Conde Nast Gold List. They are the people of the Alluvian Hotel in Greenwood, Mississippi, the home of Viking Range. This is my “home hotel” or more accurately my “hotel home.” It's the epicenter of My Viking Life.

After a lifetime of loving fine hotels, I had the great good fortune of being part of this one – a dream job for a hotel princess. At the Alluvian, I was able to worry about other people’s sheets and towels and dream of ways to create the ultimate guest experience for them. Tonight, I’m on the other side of the door; happily piled up in bed as an Alluvian guest. My name is no longer on an office door, but my heart is still here. And my heart soared today when I walked through the front door and the new young bellman acted as if he were greeting a princess.