November 5, 1989 |
After she lost Tumbleweed, Elka Gilmore was hired to be the executive chef at Checkers, the fancy new downtown hotel. "Bill Wilkinson (the president of the corporation) and I are like opposite ends of the universe," Gilmore now says. "I loved the part of the job that was all structure and organization, but every time I'd cook he'd hate it. The more I'd try, the more he'd hate it. Finally he said to me, 'What do you think of when I say the words chop house?'
June 7, 1990 |
There is a medieval French queen in Madeleine Kamman. You can see it in her strutting walk. All that is missing is the bejeweled crown, the ermine train and a golden staff to mark each step with a firm rap. She was showing a photographer and a reporter through the bright kitchens and dining rooms of Beringer Vineyard, where she directs the School for American Chefs and teaches a six-month master's course to eight hand-picked professional chefs.
March 7, 1991 |
In spite of all my professional kitchen work, I have never stopped cherishing each and every one of the home stoves I have owned, whether electric or gas. And I find the conventional home oven sufficient to keep family and friends entertained and fed happily on simple country-style dishes. My friends seem to relish those--everyone loudly expressing regrets if I have not put at least one of my old classics on the table.
August 16, 1987 |
Two potentially important new eating places are soon to open on or near Beverly Glen Boulevard--a street not previously known for its gastronomic pleasures. Up in the canyon, a mile or two north of Sunset, noted French chef Claude Segal--formerly of La Ciboulette in Paris and Ma Maison and Bistango here--has taken over the old Cafe Four Oaks and renamed it the Four Oaks Restaurant.
February 23, 2005 |
Margaritas made with volcanic ash. Braised oysters with chipotle bearnaise. Foie gras with habanero-spiked guava. There's a revolution afoot in this city's restaurants. The eyebrow reflexively shoots up. The first thought is globalization, that creeping sameness that threatens cultural individuality when tradition fades in favor of pop sensibilities.
July 9, 1991 |
Here in the rolling hills of Normandy on the little farm where his wife was born, Michel Delorme makes his cheese the old-fashioned way, ladling the curdled raw milk by hand into cylindrical metal molds arranged in rows on a blanket of straw. "The secret is in the ladle," said Delorme on a recent rainy afternoon, raising the long-handled iron ladle and skillfully slopping a blob of lumpy milk into a half-filled cylinder. He is a short, bespectacled Norman farmer with a wild sprout of red hair.