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Clayton's Coffee Shop

One of the benefits of having a blog is having a soapbox on which to rail against the injustices of society.  And I think we can all agree that one of the tragic inequities in modern suburbia is the appalling lack of quaint local coffee shops at which to have breakfast on the weekend. 

Ok, not really.  I acknowledge that this is a "first world problem", but is it too much to ask to get just one freakin' quaint local coffee shop within a 10 mile radius that can put together a decent breakfast and cup 'o joe?

Which is why, I guess, I am ridiculously in love with a little coffee shop in Coronado called Clayton's. 

Claytons has fine coffee but more importantly, it's has great food and it's got character.  A triple threat.

Don't get me wrong, I like Starbucks as much as your next girl.  In truth, MORE than your next girl.  But if you've ever tried going there for a leisurely weekend breakfast, you know that it is just missing that certain . . . something that a neighborhood breakfast joint should have.

Maybe it's the lack of a jukebox?

Or homemade donuts?

Or homemade donuts in cakestands? I now zealously believe that all donuts should be displayed in cakestands.  Take note, Dunkn Donuts.

Counter seating?

Perfect breakfast sandwiches (and million other breakfasts to choose from)?

Cute signs?  Waitresses with flowers in their hair and cute print aprons? Tin ceilings?

 I guess that's why they call it je ne sais quoi because I don't know exactly what it is, but I know Clayton's has got it.  And I want it. 

IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD.

Please?!

London Favorites

Since I'm already bored with blogging about London, I can only imagine how you all must feel at this point.  So, let's cut to the chase and summarize our London favorites.  We will start with me since this is my blog, and there has to be some perk to this whole blogging enterprise (other than the obvious fame and glory).

Dawn's Favorite Thing in London:  Westminster Abbey.  Great Googly-Moogly, it's old. Like 1000 years old.   It's the place where all the kings and queens are coronated (and many married and buried as well).  In short, it's super cool.  I walked on top of Charles Darwin and said hello to Handel.

Here are few shots. This was not my best photographic moment -- you weren't supposed to photograph inside and the outside was tricky to photograph because it's SO BIG.

I can neither confirm nor deny that I might have snuck one shot "from the hip" while inside.  I can confirm that shooting from the hip does not yield optimal results, unless youare really, really interested in the cut of Handel's pants.

Here we are contemplating the meaning of our fleeting mortal existence in the vast sweep of history -- oh, and waiting for everyone to finish up in the restroom.

Gary's Favorite Thing In London:  DINNER AT THE HOUSE OF LORDS

Did I mention that while we were in London, Gary was invited to DINNER AT THE HOUSE OF LORDS?  Oh, I did?  Now you know how we feel.  Well, it turns out that this dinner, which he attended without any of the rest of his adoring family, was his favorite London activity.  Go figure.  Since I was inexplicably not invited to DINNER AT THE HOUSE OF LORDS, we have no pictures of the historic event.

Instead, I will share Gary's second favorite thing about London -- the Pubs!  We've already talked about the Churchill Arms, the glorious pub right down the street from our flat.  We returned a few night later for another round. 

In addition the Churchill Arms, we visited just about every pub we ran across while touring the city.  There was this one near St. Paul's:

 

Where we ate this:

and this

and this:

Unfortunately, this was one of those instances where a favorite thing for the adults was not a favorite for the kids. After about 2 pub meals, the small people started to cringe when we walked past a pub.  Particularly the smallest person who does not eat anything at home, let alone "international" food with names like Bangers & Mash or Bubble & Squeak.  I believe this person ate no more than 3 molecules of food during the 5 days we were in London.

Nevertheless, we persevered and had another pub lunch at St Stephen's near the House of Lords, WHERE GARY HAD DINNER THE NIGHT BEFORE, BY THE WAY.  The host, not one to turn away hungry customers, packed seven of us into an upstairs booth that had, charitably, room for 3 people. I did not get a picture of the group because I couldn't move my legs, but here is the downstairs.

Nevertheless, once the Badgers started flowing, and Austin (who was not interested in lunch) went on what we dubbed the "Anger Walk", we had a grand time.

I made the tactical error of ordering a pork pie, which sounded suitably British, but which I did not realize was served cold.  Live and learn.  The rest of the food was quite good, although, I understand from a reliable source, not as good as DINNER AT THE HOUSE OF LORDS.

 

 

London Vacation 2 (the part where we were awake)

With the kind cooperation of nephew Austin, who agreed to stay at the flat and keep an eye on the sleepers, we adults managed to get out for our first luggage-free walk around Notting Hill and Kensington.

Within a block, we spotted this, which we Marchants considered a good sign that providence was leading us in the right direction.

As further proof that the Fates were with us, we then turned around to see this:

The Churchill Arms, a perfect London pub.  THE perfect London pub.  We were too busy touristing to stop in, so . . . HAH! who am I kidding?  We did of course go inside immediately and sit down for a pint.

The Churchill Arms was built in 1750(!) and was frequented by Winston Churchill's grandparents. It has an impressive and artfully displayed collection of Churchill memerobilia. 

If you want to see more, they have an excellent 360 tour on their website: http://churchillarmskensington.co.uk/360-tour.  It's a really cool place.

So, the atmosphere was fantastic but what really sealed the deal was our first taste of Engish ale.  Drink up, Dianne, Sir Winston is watching!

I had a Honey Dew and even though I am a wimp, I appreciated that it was nice and cold.  I was never able to "get" the warmish beer thing.  Oh, and don't tell Gary, but it is organic.

One happy Canadian, proud to still be a member of the empire:

It turns out that through dumb luck, we had come at a great uncrowded time (late afternoon)  to sit and relax at the pub.  The place is standing-room only at night as we were to learn later that week. Interestingly, they also serve Thai food that is supposed to be good, although we were still too full from lunch to partake.

So, despite the fact that we hadn't made it more than half a block from our flat on our tour of London, we were already having a cracking good time.  

In honor of this charming pub, I'll leave you with a favorite (although probably apocryphal) quote attributed Sir Winston Churchill himself:

Bessie Braddock: Winston, you are drunk, and what’s more you are disgustingly drunk.

Winston Churchill: Bessie, my dear, you are ugly, and what’s more, you are disgustingly ugly. But tomorrow I shall be sober and you will still be disgustingly ugly.

 

Cheers!

No Moms Allowed

I went on a girls' weekend away with two of my girlfriends a couple weekends ago.  Of course, we were being completely responsible and up-standing citizens -- eating healthy, hiking, discussing the important political and social issues of our time (such as the new healthcare legislation and, oh, whether we've gotten over Hugh Grant's previous indiscretion or whether he still seems a bit creepy).

Meanwhile, back at home, apparently the husbands and kids had a wild rumpus going on. It was difficult to make out exactly what was happening when we called home (as we responsible, upstanding citizens do) to check whether everyone was healthy and in bed at a reasonable hour.  But the screaming, giggling and sound of running feet in the background definitely raised suspicions that our loved ones might not be comporting themselves in an entirely responsible and up-standing fashion.

This was confirmed when I arrived home to find the following on the kitchen table.

 

Note the tell-tale food stains.  It wasn't too hard to wring a confession out of the youngest miscreants.  They were still a bit peaky and weak from dinner the night before which it turns out consisted of at least the following:

• Jelly beans
• Popcorn
• Doritos
• Donut holes
• Tortilla chips
• Twinkies

Believe me readers, after this shameful episode, next year things are most definitely going to change.  We aren't going to stand for our kids eating all that junkfood.

Instead, next year we girls are bringing all the junkfood with us.  To protect the children, of course.  It's only what any responsible and up-standing citizen/mom would do.

Island Cuisine

This post is dedicated to my sister, Dianne, who a couple weeks ago, amidst our usual discussions of eccentric family members (not including anyone who reads this blog, of course), dubbed me "a nearly worthless relative."  Knowing my sister, I can assure you that she meant this only in the best possible way. Translation from Sisterese into English: "You are my sister and best friend in this cold, indifferent world of 6 billion people.  I really wish we talked more often, but you live 3 time zones away and you never use the telephone so we don't communicate as often as we should and I am suffering from great sisterly grief and consternation which causes me to make dramatic pronouncements to get you to overcome your weird telephone issues and call me once in a while."

I'd just like to point out that while it is true that I am telephonically challenged, I do write a blog where I prattle on about the minutiae of our lives in the kind of detail that only a sister could love.  Thus, at the end of this blog posting, my sister will know exactly where I had dinner on the rainy evening of February 12.  Whereas, she has provided me with absolutely no information on that subject whatsoever.

So, you (and Dianne)  are no doubt asking "where did you have dinner on the night of February 12?"  Well, I'm glad you asked.  We had dinner at Sweet Mama's Island Cuisine in Naples Florida.  As you may recall, we were visiting Naples recently to see manatee nostrils, as well as armless alligators and a whole host of animals on display in perpetuity thanks to the debatable wonders of modern taxidermy.  And, we were determined not to eat at any of the chain restaurants we visit at home.  So, after some Googling, we discovered Sweet Mama's.

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We hit Sweet Mama's on the perfect evening -- in a driving rain when all the waitresses were out sick.  This might have been a bad thing, but for us it meant that we were lucky to be waited on by Sweet Mama herself.  We came out of the damp into her cheerful restaurant and immediately felt enveloped by Island warmth and welcome. 

By the way, apparently at Sweet Mama's, Island = Carribean. Could some kind reader please define Carribean food? Because I can't.  It seemed to involve a lot of spices (jerk spices being one notable mix). But there is one thing I do know about Carribean food:  if Sweet Mama is involved, Island Food = delicious food.  

Anyhow, Sweet Mama seated us, charmed the kids and helped us pick out our dinners -- Chicken Curry for me and a seafood jambalaya for Gary.  She started us off on a salad with homemade ginger dressing and yummy corn pudding.  While she headed back to the kitchen to cook, we played that quintessential Carribean game, Uno (it might be Carribean, mightn't it?) (mightn't might be a word, mightn't it?).  You can see Sweet Mama in the background working her magic while Julie trounced us in Uno.

As I mentioned, the food turned out to be fabulous.  Sweet Mama stopped by several times to make sure we were happy and was distressed when one scrupulously and painfully honest member of our party blurted out that he wasn't crazy about his mac 'n cheese.  This was apparently due to the fact that it was (GASP!) made from scratch and therefore not in conformity with the Universal Pre-Packaged Kraft Mac 'N Cheese Standard 1.0 established by the EPCSI (Extremely Picky Children's Standards Institute)].  Sweet Mama immediately insisted that she make him some EPSCI-approved chicken fingers which was especially gracious of her given that the rest of the party had already polished off most of the said mac 'n cheese (which was positively glorious to those of us who don't ascribe to the EPSCI standards). 

 
 

As you can see, we also played Rock, Paper, Scissors. I have no idea why, but we did.

And THAT is what we did on the evening of February 12, 2010.  Let's see what the rest of you [DIANNE] can come up with.

My Florist Cafe

On our way to the miniature amusement park Enchanted Island the other day, I noticed that we were passing by a restaurant that I had heard good things about called My Florist Cafe.  So, I talked the fam into going there for lunch on the way home (since, as I mentioned, Enchanted Island has only 8 rides, you can easily make it through there before lunch).

My Florist Cafe is "new" and I put that in quotes because back in the days that Gary and I were DINKS, we went to restaurants when they were actually new, as in they had just opened.   Nowadays, new is a more relative concept, covering anywhere from just opened in approximately the last 2 years, to opened for many years but we haven't managed to find a babysitter yet so we haven't been there, or even "I haven't heard of this place so it must be new."

Still, I occasionally delude myself into thinking that we can act like sophisticated adults who just happen to have a couple of kids lunching with us.   So, off we went to this "new" restaurant for lunch.  For those of you who don't live in the Phoenix area, bear with me here because I still need your opinion, even though you've probably never heard of this place.  (By the way, do any of you live in the Phoenix area other than my BFF Eileen who claims that she reads my blog even though she's only ever left one comment in the history of my whole blogging career, not that I'm bitter or anything?)

I need you to help me make my mind up about My Florist Cafe because I have some mixed feelings about the place.  First of all, it was SO cool and hip and chic and trendy and I really, really, really wanted to feel like I belonged there.  It's in one of those old buildings that have been rediscovered, remodeled and turned into stylish new places -- kinda like an old loft of warehouse, except that Phoenix never had any of those to begin with as far as I can tell.  I'm pretty sure that this place used to be a florist, thus the name.  Anyhow, it's a great trendy spot.  I had to walk all the way down the street to get a photo of their cool retro sign -- I hope you all appreciate what I do for you.

Even the parking lot is both retro-chic and gorgeous:

They are affiliated with the artisinal bakery next door, that looked very, very yummy and where we visited for dessert.

I was trying to play it cool inside the restaurant and not gawk and take photos but there were a lot of windows and brightly painted walls, mirrors, metal and art.

The place was packed with beautiful people, though I refrained  through sheer force of iron will from taking their pictures.  The older couple sitting beside us looked perfect -- she was of course wearing some sort of pants suit, y0u know slacks and jacket, silk blouse kinda ensemble.  There were two other ladies another table over who were having a "ladies lunch" in their pretty dresses and long, flowing perfect hair; flirting with the waiter.  I, by contrast, looked like this.

Note that the photo was taken by Gary earlier in the day on one of those thrilling coin-operated rides I was telling you about.  Yes, I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt (both of which I bought at Costco, by the way).  For lunch, I did take off the Phoenix Coyotes hat though I'm not sure that helped much with the overall look.

I don't mean to imply that anyone turned their noses up at us or anything, they gave us a nice table right in the middle of the restaurant and we had decent service.   My objection to the place was the lack of kid food.  I've already shared with you my pre-parenting hopes and dreams in which my children would eat only wholesome, healthy, vegetable-laden meals.   Those dreams have long been discarded in the face of the stark reality of trying to get young kids to simply eat something, anything.  At restaurants that something has come to be, more often than not, your standard restaurant repertoire of chicken fingers, pizza, mac & cheese or pasta.   So, imagine my dismay when faced with a menu filled with food like Turkey and Brie on Pumpernickel or Tuna Almodine.   They did offer PB&J but fancy "adult" PB&J on some sort of sesame bread and made with "blackberry chambord preserves."   Interesting? Yes.  Kid-friendly?  Not so much.  Julie ordered the turkey sandwich, hold the brie, hold the Pumpernickel.   It arrived, however, with a very spicy mustard that ruined it for her. 

On the other hand, the "adult" food was amazing.  Daniel loves fruit, so he ended up with the gargantuan and beautiful fruit plate.

And I had one of the best salads I've ever had in my life (which is saying something because, honestly, I don't like salad that much.  Isn't it gorgeous?

AND, one very important factor was the natural light in the place, which you may have noticed is one of my obsessions.  I took this photo of Julie which has got to be my favorite so far of 2008.

So, I'm sure this is way more than you ever wanted to know about our lunch, but my question is this:  should you expect that a  restaurant will offer at least one of the standard, bland kid-menu items?  Should I applaud their efforts to try to "reinvent" kid food to maybe make it more interesting and get my kids to broaden their culinary horizons?  Or is that just showing how out-of-touch these people are with real kids or, worse, a subtle way of discouraging people from bringing kids there, and so I should feel like my kids were snubbed?  Am I crazy to even be spending so much time thinking about this?  Feel free to weigh in, friends.

In the meantime, I guess we will plan not to visit again until my kids are in college or we find a babysitter, whichever comes first.  I'm really going to miss that salad though.

Sole, man

Shhhh.  I have a little secret that I don't want the diet police to know about -- I don't really like fish.   I keep hoping Gary (my resident risk analyzer) will tell me that fish does more harm than good because it's chock-full of mercury and who knows what else (parasites?  radiation? avian flu?), but he just won't cooperate.  He claims the stuff is still good for you, and moreover, he likes it.

So, imagine my delight when I stumbled across a fish recipe that I genuinely like.  It's for sole.  I've managed to live for several decades now, during 2 of  which I've had at least rudimentary cooking skills, and I've never cooked sole.  An occasional salmon or tuna, you betcha, but never sole.  Come to think of it, I believe sole is what my mother used to cook when I was a kid and which I swore I would never, ever eat voluntarily once she stopped making me sit at the table until I had eaten everything on my plate (which was when I went off to college).   Sorry Mom, but it's true.

Anyhow, onto the sole.  The recipe is from

Cooking Light Annual Recipes 2008, and you can find it here.

And, if you are ready to overcome the aversion to sole that your mother's cooking instilled in you from childhood, let me reassure you that it's easy to make.  Watch.

You just cook those lovely sole fillets in a pan with a little salt and pepper.

When they're cooked (and that only takes about 4 minutes), you set them aside, and chuck a whole bunch of things in the pan -- chicken broth, wine, shallots, a whole lot of garlic, and let it all simmer into a luscious  sauce,


which becomes even more luscious when you put in the butter, taragon and chives  at the end (yeah I don't really get how it's a Cooking Light recipe either but I'm not asking any questions).
MMMMMMM.

So, if you like fish, or even if you don't, give the recipe a try.  It's good for the sole, after all.

Matt's Big Breakfast

We were heading downtown today to go to the Science museum, so we decided to have lunch at a place we had heard good things about:  Matt's Big Breakfast.  Now, I know why there is such buzz about the place -- it is perfect in every way.

First, there is a long line.  Now, this may seem like it would be a bad thing, but bear with me for a moment.
Second, it is tiny.  And I mean teeny tiny -- like it only has 25 seats in the whole place (and that includes the counter).  I know because the waitress told me so.   I also know because there is only one really, really teeny bathroom, and it's in the kitchen, so I got chummy with the cooks as I was edging my way through.  Nothing better than a grill that takes up 3/4 of the kitchen and a man that knows how to use it.  But, um, enough about that.

So, anyhow, a place that small -- if it's any good, would HAVE to have a line, so I didn't mind it. Plus, there is something about a line that makes you feel like you are really in THE place to be.  This so rarely ever happens to me (since I am usually more likely in the place NOT to be), that I have to enjoy it when I have the opportunity. 

Matt's exists in a sort of  free-standing, vintage-crappy brick cube,  that is also perfect.  A little run, down but then fixed up, big windows, cheerful orange tables.  In short, the whole place is perfect for a Saturday breakfast place.  So, we hung out on the sidewalk with the in crowd and waited our turn. 

And finally we were ushered in to our  "big" table by the front window. 

We didn't really need this prompting because we were ready to eat, but it gave me something to take a photo of since Gary  obviously wasn't in a "cheese" kinda mood.

And how great are the tables and glasses?

Here's Gary explaining the importance of vintage tableware in American history and culture.   Well, actually, he's checking out Dan's most recent DS score (the kid never puts that thing down).

I mean, seriously, he is a real DS multi-tasker - see it there at the bottom?
Another great thing about Matt's is that they allow pets. Julie is training her new Collie Brandy to be a service dog, so he gets to sit at the table for training.  You know, just in case he ever needs to help someone drink from a straw.   I'm sure that happens all the time with service dogs.

Finally, the food arrived.  Hot, delicious, just the right amount of butter and grease.  Yes, grease -- that's one of the keys to a good breakfast place.   I'd like to say that I had stopped for a moment to take a photo, but I was so hungry, I had eaten most of it before I came up for air and remembered.  Let's just say that Matt's probably won't be hiring me to do their food photography.

But take my word for it, it was delicious.