The Madinnkeeper

Milk, Opals, and Louie in Santa Barbara

Our first stop this evening was a little gem of a restaurant named Milk and Honey. It has all the style of a hip L.A. restaurant on 3^rd without the big city attitude. Devin behind the bar has a warm greeting for his patrons and serves up great martinis and mojitos. I would love to talk about the wine list except it is not worth mentioning. For a tapas restaurant it is decidedly lacking in vision and depth. The one exception is a decent Cava poured by the glass.

We started and ended with the Pollo Mole. On previous visits I had been fairly impressed with the seared scallops and the ahi. The Pollo Mole was a disappointment. The chicken was dry and flavorless reminiscent of bad chicken strips; the mole sauce bland. Traditionally mole sauce is spicy. It contains a dozen or more spices and a variety of chiles. What was served was a watery rendition of Mole sauce should be.

So we decided to migrate a few blocks up the street to one of the busiest restaurants in town: Opal’s. I am always impressed by the courtesy and warmth of every employee in this restaurant. You feel welcomed the moment you arrive. And the wine list…but that is another story. Let’s just say it is pretty damn good.

On the rotating specials we ordered the “Fresh Ahi Tuna Carpaccio” (a pet peeve of mine: Ahi is Tuna. You cannot confuse Ahi Tuna with say Ahi Halibut). This generous portion was served with a seaweed salad and golden caviar, a caper relish, chili oil, and a ponzu sauce. It is one of the dishes that I wish appeared more often on the menu. The Ahi was delightful. The ponzu sauce complemented rather than overwhelmed and while I could not taste the chili oil, the seaweed salad was crisp and fresh. The wines by the glass are always changing at Opal’s. Tonight I was delighted to find a nice Alsatian white to accompany my appetizer.

The last stop of this progressive evening out was at Louie’s. By the time I had adjusted my seat at the bar there was a glass of Laurent Perrier staring back at me. There is nothing like a good glass of champagne. While Santa Barbara in general was a bit slow tonight Louie’s was standing room only. Sweet Buddha Bar tunes brushed softly over the myriad of conversations throughout the room.

Louie’s is another one of those places that takes care in its wine list. Where else can you find a 2004 DuMol ‘Aidan’ Pinot Noir? Spicy cherry with nicely ripe notes of plum. Great acidity, balance and elegance. It is worth indulging! My stand-by on the menu for the last half dozen times I have been in here is the parmesan-crusted chicken on angel hair with tomato garlic concasse and gorgonzola cheese. I always mean to order something else but I cannot get enough of this dish. In fact I usual have to take half of it home with me. Which I did.

Back home, just to end the evening right, I poured a glass of Billecart-Salmon and wondered where Friday night would bring me.

Paradise Wednesday

Paradise Wedneday. Quiet still. A few idlers laugh between martini sips. A couple against the wall hold a quiet conference on the ideology of republicisms. Two employees in the wine room exchange gossip from an illegal rave at some father’s mansion and no – he was not out of town. He was the life of the party.

Joe is guest bartending for Bruce who is skiing with the family in tahoe. I expect an explanation when he returns. One to the tune of : my wife made me go.

Joe recommends a book he is enamored by: “The Blood Meridian”. His enthusiasm for the novel has convinced me. I’d run to Borders but my New York with sautéed spinach is its way.

The time. We divide everything into measurable bits and then struggle to stave off accumulating them. The dollar amount spent each year, believing the tally will be reduced. But why?

Our belief in the reduction only increases our consumption.

The end of the day. Night falls. Darkness descends. Our small existence migrates under the cover of stars. To and Fro. That’s what I need to do. Migrate. To change existing conditions to my image of what I believe they should be.

I would like to set up shop somewhere: Venice, Seattle, Mendoza. And write. Even if I had nothing really to say.

And visit Bhutan, and Iran and tell the locals it is not my fault. That he is the most unpopular president in history at the moment. I would like to hear how the people of Kabul speak of their new rulers.

And the wine makers in Ukraine. How different are they from you or me.

And then we get a drunk at the bar in a white collared shirt starched to the point of suffocation yelling and slurring and cursing about how the Yankees lost a playoff game 5 years ago. 5 years! How small is his life? How empty? And then there are a series of baseball enigmas going back 20; to when he was a child and still he is upset with the calls, the players, and the seats he had.

We do not relate stories of playwrights or novelists anymore. There is not enough cable to cover them.

Long ago the media learned that controversy sells. The state does not want you to go to bed happy. Then you might concentrate on the problems that attempt to govern life; your elected officials, the environment, hell, even your child’s inadequate education.

So the media throws at you phrases like steroid testing. The Cruise Break up. Illegal border crossings. And emphasizes: You are not safe.

There are not enough moments left in the day to worry about global warming, to contemplate the destruction of our natural resources, let alone how we hate our job, friends, living environment. Or how unfulfilled we feel.

And if we do, there are always the malls with their Louis Vutton, Prade, Coach stores. And an convenient bar to help erase our guilt from purchasing the equivalent in two hours of a Nigerians Lifetime salary.