Each spring, as I have for years now, I re-read Lawrence Durrell’s Reflections of a Marine Venus, whose opening page speaks so directly to me:

Somewhere among the notebooks of Gideon I once found a list of diseases as yet unclassified by medical science, and among these there occurred the word Islomania, which was described as a rare but by no means unknown affliction of spirit. There are people, as Gideon used to say, by way of explanation, who find islands somehow irrestistable. The mere knowledge that the are on an island, a little world surrounded by the sea, fills them with an indescribable intoxication….But like all Gideon’s theories it was an ingenious one. I recall how it was debated by candlelight in the Villa Cleobolus until the moon went down on the debate, and Gideon’s contentions were muffed in his yawns; until Hoyle began to tap his spectacles upon his thumbnail of his left hand, which was his way of starting to say goodnight….Yet the word stuck; and though Hoyle refused its application to any but Aegean islands….we all of us, by tacit admission, knew ourselves to be ‘islomanes.’

Lawrence Durrell, Reflections on a Marine Venus

As I said, though the island provides constancy, friendship, and an abiding sense of peace and belonging, much has changed. I now travel down to Seattle on a weekly basis, to work at Gridnetworks and the UW campus. I gladly spend time in Seattle when it means I can see friends, family, and most especially T.

This weekend, in celebration of this anniversary in my life, I’ve invited friends and family to come up to the island, mingle with new Island friends, and eat terrific food and drink good wine. July in the islands seems to call for outdoor living and dining on the deck, as well as greater-than-ordinary culinary efforts. So I’m smoking and grilling a whole wild boar, from Broken Arrow Ranch in Texas, Cuban-style, and serving it with cuban black beans, rice, and fried plantains, accompanied by good rose, Chablis, and various red wines. I finished the fire pit for the boar roast today, and I’ll post pictures later this weekend. More soon.

The picture shown here (Marc is on the right) is from our first trip to France together, in the autumn of 1999.  Marc, myself, and Peter Glidden met up in Lyons and drove down the Rhone River, eating terrific food, drinking amazing wine, and getting to know winemakers.  In the picture, we’re standing on a hill on the west bank of the Rhone River, looking across to the Hermitage hill and vineyards, where the Rhone makes a bend and exposes the steep rocky vineyards to wind and sun, causing the Syrah to struggle and thus gain complexity beyond that normally seen in southern or especially domestic wines.  Hermitage was Marc’s "home" in the wine world.

This trip was our first visit to the cellars of Jean-Louis Chave, the incomparable maker of Hermitage, St. Joseph, vin de Paille, and now the Mon Coeur Cotes du Rhone.  Our first dinner together on that trip, at Le Beau Rivage in Condrieu, was terrific, but merely a taste of things to come.  While staying at Les Florets in Gigondas, we nearly plunged our mini-van off the narrow, steep road leading up the Dentelles de Montmirail, and had to be pulled back onto the road.  The car was insured, but its cargo of wines was not, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. 

But our best evening was at the end of our trip, with dinner at Beaugraviere, in Mondragon.  Beaugraviere, a classic French country restaurant run by chef Guy Jullien, makes a particular specialty of truffles, and at the time had the most spectacular wine list I’d ever seen.  Each of us, as wine enthusiasts, was given a weighty novel-sized book, with each page listing a different producer, with a long list of the vintages available.  Marc, Peter, and I read in silence for minutes, each compiling a list of likely candidates.  Most of the bottles hadn’t moved since their purchase or release, meaning that old vintages from the 50′s, 60′s or older would still be in pristine condition.  Our choices, to complement Jullien’s cuisine, were the 1978 Guigal La Landonne to start, the incomparable 1961 Jaboulet La Chapelle, and an incredibly rare bottle of 1929 Chave Hermitage.  The three of us couldn’t believe our luck in having such an amazing ending to our trip.   After the restaurant closed, we sat and shared the last of our wines with Jullien, who broke out an amazing and rare oddity — a sweet marc (or grappa) made by Chateau Rayas in 1945 but never commercially released.  A perfect end to our trip together. 

Given busy lives and responsibilities, we didn’t see each other as often as we’d have liked, although oddly enough my moving to San Juan Island and Marc’s plane crash earlier this summer brought us together much more lately than otherwise would have been the case, and I’m grateful for that.   Several times lately, I’ve found myself reading something and thinking, "I should send this to Marc."  But our conversations are done now, and Marc lives now in the memories of his friends and family.  These will be memories of energy and exuberance and a passion for life.  None of us who knew and loved him will easily or quickly forget how he brought all of these qualities into our lives in abundance.

So I didn’t get any pictures of my Giant Leap Elipse coming down, under the TAC-1 parachute, but another spectator at FITS did, and here it is!  The TAC-1 chute is big, and with anything smaller than a 3 inch airframe it wouldn’t even fit into the tube, but it’s strong and did a great (and almost as  importantly, visible) job of bringing down the rocket.  The small triangle you can see in the photo is a folded hexagon of Nomex cloth, which protects the chute from the heat of motor ejection while stuffed into the body of the rocket.  Much harder to see is the long Kevlar cord which ties together the two sections of the rocket, along with the steel quick-links (like small locking carabiners) that connect all the bits together. 

NOTE:  The photograph here is (c) 2007 Linda Lantzy, and is not covered by the Creative Commons License which governs other content on this website.  See Linda’s PhotoShelter site for licensing information.

My friend Bill Barnes and I both tried for, and achieved, our NAR Level 1 certifications, allowing us to build and fly rockets requiring motors with more than 62.5 grams of propellant, and giving between 160 and 640 Newton-seconds of total impulse.  I flew the PML Phobos, with a 29mm motor adapter in the 38mm motor mount, to accomodate the H128W motors we used for certification.  Both of our flights went picture-perfect with motor ejection; I used a 36" chute with central spill-hole to bring the rocket down gently but fast and straight.  I don’t have a good picture of the Phobos launch, unfortunately — the H128W took it off the pad faster than I could hit the shutter release.  But Bill and Susan might have video of both our cert flights, so that might be forthcoming when we can get it transferred.

After trudging through the sagebrush and getting woozy from too little water, too much sun, and no
food, I recovered the Phobos (with spotting help from Bill – thanks!) and we completed our cert. 

At this point, since I was covered by Kent Newman’s LEUP (thanks!), I was able to fly the Giant Leap Elipse.  In order to get the CG properly positioned about 4 inches ahead of the CP (center of pressure), I had to load fishing weights (and a couple of extra AA batteries) into the nose cone.  With the 48" TAC-1 parachute, MC2 flight computer, and a 38mm I357 motor, the Elipse weighed in at 7.5 pounds or so — a heavy rocket but the I357 had plenty of punch to get it off the pad The Aerotech I357 generates a total of 342 Newton-seconds of impulse, with a peak thrust of 432.8 Newtons.  As a comparison, if you’ve used the black-powder Estes model rocket motors, the D12 delivers a total of 16.8 Newton-seconds of impulse, and 29.7N maximum thrust — so the I357 is delivers about 20x more thrust than a D12.   

The Elipse launched perfectly and the TAC-1 chute was easily visible in red and black against the clouds.  I managed a picture of the launch itself (shown here, click for a bigger version), which generated a fairly impressive smoke trail and nozzle flame.  To get a sense of scale for this picture, the Elipse is 6.5 feet tall and 3 inches in diameter.  Recovery was easy since it drifted back towards the pads.  I’m thrilled at how the weekend went, and eager to build something new for August or October. 

Poster sessions were terrific this year, with plenty of space to walk around and see everything; increasingly I find that spoken talks are much less interesting, particularly when people have few slides and read their written-out talks in a flat monotone. How do people expect to convince or interest an audience without a strong presentation style?

Among the interesting papers I saw were two papers on costly signaling theory by Aimee Plourde (of UCL), and Jillian Galle (Monticello). Another paper by Colin Quinn and Ian Kuijt on signaling in the Natufian was also interesting, but I need to see a written copy to follow their argument on how they link Natufian burial behavior to costly signaling.

I felt a deep sense of coming "home" upon driving from Friday Harbor to the house.  I’d worked up here as an archaeologist (and student) in the late 1980′s and early 1990′s, and this island (in particular) had a strong effect on my emotional geography.  The islands have loomed, throughout the intervening years, as my unrequited "paradise terrestre."  I think I became, to quote Lawrence Durrell, an "islomane":

Somewhere among the notebooks of Gideon I once found a list of diseases as yet unclassified by medical science, and among these there occurred the word Islomania, which was described as a rare but by no means unknown affliction of spirit.  There are people, as Gideon used to say, by way of explanation, who find islands somehow irrestistable.  The mere knowledge that the are on an island, a little world surrounded by the sea, fills them with an indescribable intoxication….But like all Gideon’s theories it was an ingenious one.  I recall how it was debated by candlelight in the Villa Cleobolus until the moon went down on the debate, and Gideon’s contentions were muffed in his yawns; until Hoyle began to tap his spectacles upon his thumbnail of his left hand, which was his way of starting to say goodnight….Yet the word stuck; and though Hoyle refused its application to any but Aegean islands….we all of us, by tacit admission, knew ourselves to be ‘islomanes.’

Lawrence Durrell, Reflections on a Marine Venus

To begin my first day of intensive Islomane therapy, I arrived on the first direct ferry of the morning, along with a gaggle (herd?) of tourists including about a zillion teenagers bound for some kind of camp, and stopped in Friday Harbor for the keys to the house.  For most of the day, Andrew (from Rock Island) worked on getting me Internet service, via their 900 MHz wireless "Canopy" service from Mt. Constitution (I look out to the northeast from San Juan Island) — successfully getting me between 2-3Mbits down and 5-600Kbits up by the time we were done (thanks, Andrew!). 

After I finished putting together a bed and buying a few essentials (soap, toilet paper, dishwasher soap, garbage bags), I had a celebratory dinner at Steps Wine Bar and Cafe, about which I’ve previously written.  Madden and Tawm took great care of me, and I had some utterly spectacular local English peas (served with yam gnocchi, garlic, and a bit of brown butter), and tiny carrots, in a savory vinegar and molasses sauce, grilled.  Amazing.  I could be a vegetarian quite easily with food like this.  Madden started me off with a revelatory Pineau des Charentes, a slightly sweet aperitif made in Cognac from unfermented grape juice halted with Cognac (basically, a vin doux natural or vin doux licquer).  I followed this with a bottle of 1988 Vieux Telegraphe Chateauneuf from the cellar, which actually needed more air to open up than I thought.  Still great tannins and acidity, and a beefy, iron-and-blood note in the nose, coupled with some spiciness when fully open.  Two hours later I’m drinking the rest sitting on the deck, with red fruit, spices, and definite iron, with less of the beefy/bloody thing as it thins out.

We finished with a bread pudding with an amazing mango puree with fresh vanilla beans and balsamic drizzle, accompanied by a Coteaux du Layon (a sweet Chenin Blanc dessert wine from the Loire Valley), and finally a shot of espresso.

I arrived home just as the sunlight turned golden and sunset occurred, and now as I write these words the last glow is fading, behind Saturna Island in the Canadian Gulf Islands.  The sea is calm and I’m left on the deck typing and listening to the occasional sigh of a wave lapping on the beach, so far below. 

A perfect day for a long-latent islomane to return to what has, after all these years, turned out to be not just a set of memories, but hopefully…..home.

Case in point – the starting dish: an antipasto of eggplant caponata, slices of Parma proscuitto, and wild rocket (baby arugula) salad. Simple, utterly lacking in the novelty we often expect from “great” chefs, the dish was a triumph of simplicity and flavor. The caponata was the best rendering of the dish any of us had had (and my friend Bryan is quite exacting as a foodie-chef). It’s hard to explain — it lacked anything I can point to except that it was just amazing caponata.

The second dish was even better. A simple “ravioli al brodo” preparation typical of northern Italy, the “raviolini” were stuffed with a sheep’s milk ricotta with very subtle flavor and the pasta were floated in a sage-spring garlic brodo which was incredibly rich in flavor, yet utterly clear and pale. Bryan and I spent much of the dish trying to figure out how the broth was done — double stock, consommeed, etc. Again — it’s hard to explain, because there really were only a couple of ingredients here, and no flavor explosions, weird juxtapositions of preparations, or “deconstructions” that are so popular today. There was just amazing broth, and perfectly cooked subtle pasta with subtle ricotta cheese.

The main dish pleased everyone – Paine Farm squab with squab liver toast and a salad of endive, romano beans, and porcini mushrooms. Bryan’s wife Liza really likes liver, as does Bryan, so this dish was right up their alley, and I love grilled small birds.

I’d brought wines for the preceding courses: Raveneau 1988 Butteaux, and a 1991 Henri Bonneau Chateauneuf “Marie Beurrier.” The former was amazing — approaching maturity with lots of lemon cream, but still plenty of acidity and structure. Fortunately I have one more 1988 left — a Vaillons — which I’ll probably try in the next year or two. The Bonneau was incredible, especially for a tragically bad year like 1991. But then, Bonneau tends to do really well in many “bad years” due to ruthless selection and singular winemaking skill. The 1991 MB was beefy and dark, with barely hints of maturity in the secondary “spices” showing in the nose. Not even a hint of bricking or orange color even given the vintage. The wine had tremendous length and I could have sat much longer and just smelled its combination of beef, blood, and herbs. If this is the 1991, I can’t even imagine what the 1989 and 1990 MB and Celestins are like. Or when I’d open any of the latter. Fortunately, medical science is on the side of Bonneau fans.

The dessert was peach leaf, boysenberry, and nectarine ice cream “bombe”, presented in three stripes on a plate. Given the strict two-bottle wine policy (which we tried but were unsuccessful at circumventing), we were unable to try Bryan’s 1989 Chave Vin de Paille with this, but there will be other nights and other dinners.

Daniel Patterson is the former chef at Frisson, and Paul is coming from years of experience running Rare Wine Company in Sonoma, where I met him as a client. Paul also is an expert at jazz and blues history, and has an encyclopedic knowledge of both. His skills at creating atmosphere with the Jazz blend of structure, elegance, and yet studied casualness show in the casual yet beautiful decor, the music selections, and the wine list. Instead of aiming at the types of wine I’d typically purchased from Paul at RWC, the list is designed to present diners with wines which highlight the food but provide accessible prices. Paul is a master at explaining how the wines are selected to match the food, and if you’re wondering what to have you really should let him select a wine for your meal or course.

I went to Coi on two consecutive nights, to sample both the fixed-price dining room menu and the more relaxed (fuzzy pillow cushions!) lounge with its ala carte menu. I recommend doing both (especially if you’re local) because there are gems on both menus. In the dining room, a deconstructed ratatouille soup (with concentric rings of eggplant, red pepper, tomato) was excellent, but the highlight for us was the coriander-crusted duck breast, cooked sous vide and then finished off, with a reduction sauce. In the lounge, I strongly recommend the grilled vegetable bread salad, and the signature pork cheek stew. The latter went well with a Burgundy selected by Paul, and I finished with a Spatburgunder eiswein that was glorious — tart, sweet, with massive acidity on the palate.

Both evenings were terrific, and they’re just getting started. If you find yourself in San Francisco (or are a local), try Coi while it’s still possible to get a reservation!

The Rex is also located near amenities: the (very surprisingly good) Borders books on Union Square, and the UPS store, which is necessary to ship back all the books I’ve bought so I can still make the “one carry on” rule at the airport. The Rex is also right down the block from the Hidden Vine, an underground wine bar in the 600 block of Post. The bar is very nice and the proprietors committed to a great wine experience. I didn’t find a lot to my taste on the menu, at least this time, but fans of domestic wines undoubtedly will.

Speaking of book stores, what’s up with Cody’s in Berkeley? Normally a staple of my excursions to the Bay Area, Cody’s had almost no books on the shelves. Are they moving? Doing inventory? Hanging up the shingle?

Fortunately, Black Oak Books (up Shattuck by Chez Panisse) has gotten even better. Their new section dedicated to philosophy and the history of ideas is both massive and brilliantly stocked. I managed, in half an hour of looking at every square inch of the section, in piling up some 20 books. Naturally, common sense or guilt or the lack of desire to explain the receipt to my financial advisor got the better of me and I pared the stack down to just “the essentials,” but somehow the essentials still included some Zygmunt Bauman, Robert Brandom, Charles Taylor, Robert Axelrod, Ian Hacking, Quentin Skinner, etc. Previously, I’d snagged some Rorty and some cognitive science at the Cal Berkeley student store (oddly better than both Moe’s and Cody’s right now), so I figured that was a good enough haul for now.

Today I’ve got to pack all these books up and ship ‘em to Seattle, where they’ll join their brethren in being tucked away so as to not spoil the staging at my house, to be read soon on the deck of the new house.

UPDATE: Cody’s on Telegraph is indeed closing in early July, after years of losing sales to chain stores and Internet sales, apparently. This is really a sad thing — one of my favorite things about a day in the Bay Area was shopping at Cody’s and then taking my purchases across the street to have a giant tossed salad at Cafe Intermezzo (which is fortunately still going strong). A moment of silence for the passing of a once-great book store….

After arriving, I checked on Jardiniere, the French/Californian restaurant by Traci Des Jardins. Traci is probably familiar to fans of Iron Chef America, where she appeared in a battle this last season (and did some very interesting dishes). I’ve been going to Jardiniere since shortly after it opened, having experienced her cooking at a private dinner party and Chave Hermitage tasting back in 2000. I wasn’t disappointed – the food is still excellent at Jardiniere, and the wine list is superb: four separate Raveneau Chablis selections are available, for example. I was a little less thrilled by the signature short ribs, but I think this is mostly my issue: braised fatty meats, which can be incredibly tasty, are now the French equivalent of fugu for me — it may be a delicacy, but it can also kill me. So I tend to eat very small portions of it, and feel guilty the whole time. I suspect if I’d ordered the risotto I’d have been happier.

Tuesday I stayed with a friend up in Sonoma, who (despite a full-time career in the software industry) is one of the best Chinese cooks I know. He writes Soup Noodles, an occasional journal (with pictures) of his attempts to interpret and perfect various dishes. If you’re not hungry by the time you read his essay on Chicken with Red Pepper Shreds, there’s not much hope for you. His kitchen was recently remodeled to provide massive BTUs in the stove and dedicated wok burner, and to give him an excellent work flow. We relaxed a bit with the remainder of Monday’s 2003 Raveneau Butteaux from Jardiniere, and then he made a superb spicy halibut with ginger, garlic, hot peppers, and a simple soy/vinegar/rice wine mixture. Gorgeous despite its simplicity. He also marinated cornish game hens (knowing my weakness for small birds) in a big pot of “master sauce” (a topic about which I’ll be researching!), finished with some organic chicken livers to give the sauce body. We drank a 1971 spatlese with this (which regrettably I forgot to write down), and the dregs of the Raveneau.

Tonight, he and I, his wife and her mother are going to Chez Panisse for downstairs dinner, accompanied by a couple of wines I brought for the occasion: 1988 Raveneau Butteaux and a 1991 Henri Bonneau Marie Beurrier Chateauneuf. The latter is a weak (to say the least) vintage in CdP, but in the hands of Bonneau we’ve had great wines and more to the point, they’re actually ready to drink — unlike his 1989 and 1990. The official menu for tonight at Chez Panisse is as follows:

An apéritif

Antipasto of eggplant caponata, Parma prosciutto, and wild rocket

Raviolini with ricotta, pecorino, basil, and yellow tomato sauce

Grilled Paine Farm squab with squab liver toast and warm salad of curly endive

and porcini mushrooms

Peach leaf, boysenberry, and nectarine ice cream bombe

We’ll see what last-minute modifications arise but altogether it looks like a terrific evening.