"Go Go" Goes to Rome

SALDI!

In the spring of 2013 a quiz about Rome was offered  to every single human on Earth. Unbeknownst to quiz takers, the person that scored the lowest would be awarded a day trip to Rome. Due to war, famine, conjestion on the 405 and altitude sickness only 4.27 billion people took the quiz. Coming in last place with a score of .00003% on the 999 question quiz was Elixzabeth "Go Go" Hong,  a cook from California.  The following is an account of her six hours in the Eternal City on July 23, 2013 with her hosts MIchael Krikorian and Nancy Silverton who were on the .18th day of their summer trip to Italy

TASS News Agency, Mosocw, July 24. 2013 

EDITOR'S NOTE, - The copy editor's strike at KrikorianWrites continues with no end in site, Or is that sight.  

ITALY MMXIII

 "Go Go says she will be easy to spot," Nancy Silverton told me as I parked in a restricted area in front of Terminal 3 at Leonardo Da Vinci Aeroporti outside of Rome shorlty after 9 a. m. Tuesday morning. "She says she is the only Asian in the entire airport."  

As I exited our red Fiat rental car, a man holding up what i guessed was a special parking pass yelled at me in Romanese for taking his spot. I yelled back in Comptonese. 

I ran across a construction zone to the waiting area. There were dozens  of Asians, but Liz was easy to spot. She had on the shortest black dress of anyone in the airport.

The drive from the airport to Rome centro was slow, but after about 35 minutes, we were there, first encountering thousands of  people in line outside of an austere building with tall walls.

"What are all those people waiting in line for?" Hong asked.

"That's the Vatican," Nancy said. "There're going to see the Sistine Chapel."

"That's stupid. Only one day in Rome and they waste it in line." 

I considered telling her that these people were not, like her, in Rome  for only a few hours. That some of them had planned their entire vacation about going to the Vatican. About the treasure in the Vatican Museum  About Raphael's "School of Athens", But, why bother?

As we drive away, Go Go has a question about who lives there. "The pope", Nancy tell her.   

 "Is it still Paul John. I mean John Paul. The second, right? Or is it the first? No, it's the second, right?"

Yeah, Liz. Sure you're right. 

I drive on and on, in search of a parking spot while Nancy points out landmarks. "There's the Forum, Liz. And Trajan's Market."  

No reaction. None. A minute later, Liz is actually impressed by  Rome's most famous ruin. the Coliseum. "I've been to the Coliseum!," she announces to the world. From then on. whenever we see a souvenir Coliseum, Hong blurts out "I've been there!"

We park somewhere near the old Soviet Union and walk and walk and walk.. Finally the Campo di Fiori, to the bakery that inspired the pizza dough at Mozza, "Forno Campo de' Fiori.  Then to the bakery's sandwich shop next door. Three sandwiches (Zucchini blossoms and mozzarella, prosciutto cotto and mozzarella and mortadella and arugala, for 10 and half Euro. ) Then we go to lunch at Roscioli just down a lane from the Campo De' Fiori..

An hour of gluttony ensue, endng with Liz grabbing the lefeovers of our mixed salumi plate, opening up the one leftover sandwich, the mortadlla one. and stuffing it with the salumi platter leftovers. Roscioli. was good, but not superb like i have remembered it to be. We had a pasta carbonara, one of their specialities, that was so rich it became dull. And burrata.  What an inspired order, I tell Nancy and Liz. LIke you  dont deal with burrata every day of the year.   Nancy and Liz even order a main course. known in these parts as "secondi". of meatballs and tagliata, sliced steak. These two dishes. prove to be foolish choices, Secon-dudes.

That plate of salumi and cheese is nothing to write home about. unless you like to write home about mediocrity. Chad Colby's stuff would blow this out. The highlight is a sheep's milk cheese with a name I couldn't understand. I tell Nancy and LIz  I'm gonna ask the server to say it again so I can increase my cheese knowledge. But my interest in cheese dimshes with each bite of food. I'm getting full and the last thing i need to find out is some cheese's name.  

We go out into the hot Roman sun and into the Piazza Navona with its striking 17th century Fountain of the Four Rivers by Bernini. Again, LIz seems unimpressed. She snaps a photo without  much wonder or any questions about the piazza, one of the most impressive in Italy, other than to ask "Do tourists come here." I say nothing, but think to myself. "Is she serious?".  

I asked her if  she wanted to see one of my all time favorite paintings. Caravaggio's "Calling  of Saint Matthew" at the nearby San Luigi dei Francesi church, I would have got a more enthusastic response if i had asked her if she wanted to see an abandoned  biscotti factory.

She started seeing the sign "SALDI" in many shop windows.Nancy explained that meant "Sale". Everytime Liz would see the sign. which was often every three seonds. she would call out  "Saldi!". Vendors, many from  Senegal and Liberia, began to look at her with curiosity, A purse seller from Dakar pulls me aside and asks "How long has she been like that? It must be hard on you. Here, take a purse."

We walked to the Spanish Steps.. Led astray by Nancy, she was more interested in the shops on Via Condotti, the Rodeo Drive of Rome.  We walked to the Trevi Fountain, where, back to the fountain.  she threw three coins over her head.Two of them - American quarters - hit an elderly Malaysian woman on the forehead.  The woman screamed "Tahi" which i later learned means "shit" in her native Malay tongue.

Ice cream  time. To il Gelato San Crispino, near the fountain. Good if you near there, otherwise overrated.

By then it was about three thirty and we started the long walk back to our car. Go Go's day in Rome was done, but the memory eternal.  

.

ITALY MMXIII JULY 22

LITTLE WHITE DRESS (ING)

After lunch at Trattoria Cibreo, Nancy Silverton and Michael Krikorian walked 10 meters  to a piazza and into Enoteca  Sant’ Ambrogio. There, Silverton, sipping Amarone,  suddenly launched into a reverie about her next creation. A ricotta dressing. On and on she described how delicious it would be. How it would take the dressing world by thunderstorm.  Krikorian later said he knew how Mr. Reese felt when his wife  first told him her idea for a peanut butter cup.

Two days later, when he asked her about the dressing Silverton replied “What dressing?”

“The ricotta one. The one you was goin’ on and on about like it was the second coming of 1,000 Island.”

“Oh, yeah. We need to go to the Tavernelle market and gets some bufala ricotta tomorrow.”

The next day, Silverton was making the ricotta dressing when Krikorian asked “Should I test it out? See if it’s any good.”

She looked at him like Miles Davis did when Marilyn Monroe asked him if she could sit in with her ukelele.  “Leave me alone. Go downstairs and Google “Big Evil.” or something.”

An hour later, the front porch table laden with a lunch fit for an emperor, Krikorian asked “Where’s the ricotta dressing?”.

“It didn’t work out. “

“That’s it. No dressing. Just like that?”

“That’s how it happens. Just like that.”

Reuters news Agency Jul 22. 2013

EDITOR’S NOTE – The copy editor strike at Krikorianwrites, lead by legendary copy editor Saji Mathai, remains in effect.  Originally striking in solidarity with the California prison inmates on hunger strike, the Mathai-led organization has added free Butterscotch Budinos on Wednesdays to their list of demands. Expect some typos.

NOTE II The first 10 days of the trips saw a few disappointing meals.  Like I wrote last week, I am not a food writer. And like I say this week, I get that when one is truly hungry any food is good. I am fortunate beyond paragraphs that I am able to eat well.

So, with that,  here is an update on the dining adventures of Nancy Silverton and myself with and guest appearances by some friends and family.

ITALY MMXIII

Seventeen days into Italy MMXIII, our dining and eating adventures have shifted into a higher gear, thanks largely to Days 13 and 14 in Florence which began at the Cibreo Trattoria and ended aboard a southbound train headed to Umbria eating culatello di Zibello and drinking red wine.  Dinner on July 18, (Day 13) at the home of Massimo Tarli and his wife Faith Willinger in Florence’s San Spirito neighborhood, was easily the best of the trip.  

The upswing of our dining batting average, which i told Osteria Mozza backwaiter David Rosoff was hovering around a paltry .235, began at the lunch at Trattoria Cibreo', little cousin to the Ristorante, one of the acclaimed joints in Florence, which is known 'round these parts as Firenze. 

We arrived at Florence's Santa Maria Novella train station at 1 p.m., and took a cab through the city center, past a very large church smack dab in the middle of downtown,  to Cibreo where we were immediately sat. 

I had a procini soup that brought to mind that tired food phase "depth of flavor", which this soup had in spades and clubs.  The above spelling of porcini appears wrong at first, but if you tasted this soup, you'd agree these were some PROcinis. You feel me?  Nancy had a fish soup that was good, too.

From main i had a roasted pork with spinich and some sterling mashed potatos topped with browned parmesan. I ate Nancy's portion  Nancy had, damn what'd she have? Hold up. Three times I had to yell upstairs, "What main did you have at Cibreo?" She had rabbit. Was fine.

We took a two, three kilometer walk to our hotel called the  Annalena near San Spirito that Faith had suggested. $120 for a nice room and a sweet balcony overlooking a garden.

It was dinner for six, us, the hosts and Dario Cecchini. the world's most famous butcher and KIm, the world's most famous butcher's wife.  

Now this meal  was outstanding. Here is where my lack of food writer skills becomes even more evident. Plus, I didn't take no notes. There were green beans, and beats with something, The beets were good. But, I remember Faith saying these green beans, (plain and called by her "haricots verte") , she said "these beans are to die for." Me i took one bite and i'm thinking "no way I'm gonna die for these beans."

But, the main course, an oxtail stew cooked, simmered and braised for, I think, 17 hours, was extaordinary. I wouldn't die for this dish either, but I'd surely take some indigestion and even a sore throat and maybe a mild fever for half a day for it. Faith added some chocalate and almonds to the dish that had such a extremely rich beefy flavor, almost like a Stegosaurus tail stew, but without the anxiety.

 "I knew the moment that I started cooking this oxtail. that it was special.  I never cooked a piece of meat like this," Faith said. "Just the aromas. My god." The extra large bull, raised by the winmaker Fontodi,  was five years old. (Two years is normal age to slaughter an  animal around here). The steer  was a castrated bull which accounted for his size as apparently he ate extra because he was so ornery at not being able to - or maybe even not wanting to - make out with all the fine young cows that graze the Panzano en Chianti lands.

I ate three portions. More importantly, I got to sit next to Kim. Thank you Faith and Massimo for a memorable evening. 

The next day we went to the San Lorenzo covered market about a five minute walk from the striking Basillica of Santa Maria di Fiori, maybe the most stunning urban structure I have ever seen. Your walking along a street lined with shoe stores and wine shops and turn the corner and sha la la la, sha boom!, there's the Duomo. 

At the market,  I had a pork sanwich with the roll dipped in pan juice, like a Philippe "double dip." Then we went to Perini. one of our all time favoirte delis, with meats from all over italy. We got the Culatlello di Zibelo here.  We were here a year ago. and the counter man, Andrea, remembered me. Even before i ordered, he said "You got the culatello last year. I remember, for the train ride home."  Going back there, for sure.

That was a Thursday. Friday, we stayed around the house, which is really the best day of all. We hung out in the piazza with some friends we know from here and Nancy, her dad Larry and our friend Bobby Silverstein, a professori di vini, a Philly guy  who has traveled the world in search of fine food and drinks.  This year is a small L.A. crowd. No Linda or Olivia, or Enid and Richard or even Margy and Robert or even Carly Kim.  Nancy' sister Gail and her husband, Joel Hoops, had already gone.

Saturday we set out, at my suggestion. to an Umbrian hilltop village of Saragano, west of Montefalco and Foligno, if that means anything to you. The restaurant there, which i had read praise about and recevied a 14.5 rating for the guide book. L'Expresso, was Locando del Prete, a charming inn and ristorante with a sublime view.  

A quick word about numeric Italian restaurant ratings. This guide book rates restaurants from 12 to 19.75 points, that highest rating going to Osteria Francescana in Modean where we are going July 30. The thinking behind the ratings, is like the French school systyem and maybe the Italian too for al| I know, 20 is unobtainable perfection. Nancy and I have found that we prefer the restaurants rated 13.5, 14, and 14.5 to the more fancy, 16, 17s and up.. We will see next Tueday about the 19.75. Those 14ish places are more representative of the pure and good rustic cuisine of Italy that we like.  So this place, Locande Del Prete got a 14.5 and I talked Nancy Larry, Bobby into the hour and 15 minute drive there.

The problem here is the charming manager, Lucia, informs us, as we take the first bites that the chef, one Riccardo Benevenuti who had earned that 14.5,  has moved on to consult around Umbria and work on his opening own place.. The food is all right now, but not worth the drive. Maybe the lesson is to call and ask if the chef you read about is still there. 

Bobby give me a ration on the drive home, saying he'll stick with his 12.5s.  

Sunday it was another drive, this time two hours there and two and half back. and this time it is worth it: Locanda Del Glicine in Campagnatico, on the road toward Grosseto. We had been here last year and it was a highlight. It was again Sunday. 

Bobby, leery of my suggestions, didn't go, but Larry did, praise God..

I had a soup. a cream of their garden zucchini with a ricotta sorberto in the middle. |t might sound bizarre, but it worked for me big time.

I also had a excellent ravioli with spinach and a sage and butter sauce. Mo' butter!  Fernand PoInt was right 

Nancy loved her main course, a guinea fowl. The leg and thigh were boned and stuffed with roasted eggplant and wrapped in proscuitto. The breast with the wing attached was confit'd. "It was such a sensible way of treating the white and dark meat separately without using over the top modern techniques. It was delicious." said Nancy. "Respectful, sensible and thoughtful. You got that?"

Nancy had  a mixed salad of vegetables from their garden, a tangle of carrots, zucchini, cherry tomatoes and tender young lettuces. "The chef  was channelling Alice Waters," says Nancy, now demanding to be quoted. "You just don't see that kind of attention to salads around here usually."

Larry, aka in these parts as "Lorenzo", had a grilled sliced veal dish that was tasty, but not outstanding. Green beans wrapped in pancetta  accompained this.

I had a brick flattened chicken that was very good. The menu frequently changes, and had only five main courses. The other two were a one kilo Bisteca and cod.

Desserts were pretty. A plate o five sorbets, aka sobetti, aka sherberts, and i had three creme caramels. i need to figure out how to get some photos up on this report. I have the photos, but not the technical support to get them on here. Spookie, where you at?

The drive home from there was another highlight. With Lorenzo as my navigator we took the winding and long way home, skirting Montalcino and driving on, at times, gravel roads. On once such road there was a warning sign that i took a photo of prompting Larry to say, "The authorites will go though your phone and figure out that was the last mistake we made. Drive down this road."

One that road, Nancy said "I think I was on this road with Taylor," referring to Taylor Parsons who accompainied Nancy here in February to accept an award to Osteria Mozza for the best list featuring wines from around here.  

At 6:30, seven hours after we left for lunch, we were home.  Typico, 

Today we had that feast on the porch. And stayed home. One of the best days. Hitting our stride. For baseball fans, our batting average up to .314.

Michael Krikorian

Locanda Del Glicene's creme of garden zucchini soup with ricotta sorbet.   

Locanda Del Glicene's sorbetti  

ITALY 2013 July 17

“I’ll know when Nancy gets Alzheimer’s, She’ll tell Michael to snack while she’s preparing a feast,” Gail Silverton.

This quote from Gail was in response to Michael Krikorian’s disgruntled demeanor after Nancy Silverton scolded him, told him how annoying he was and threatened to ban him from Umbria for life  after he repeatedly raided  several of the plates she was preparing for a dinner for six Monday evening July 15 in Panicale, Umbria, Italy .

- From Reuters News

 2013 ITALY

It’s day 10 of our annual summer trip to Italy and so far, despite the predictable jabs, hooks and uppercuts, it’s going typically delightful.

Restaurant wise, we haven’t  got into the master groove.  There’s been several mediocre meals and one dinner in the town of Tavernelle so bad it will be the standard of which all bad meals will be judged.  I’ve had better meals at Men’s Central.

I mean I think grey is a useful color. It is excellent for warships. Most of the history’s greatest battleships were grey. Though if my memory is accurate,  I believe the USS West Hollywood was peach and lime green which worked well for it and the crew during the Battle of Sweetzer Creek.

Gregory Peck had a movie about a grey flannel suit. Grey is a leader among primer colors. But for a steak? No way, Giuseppe. For lamb?  Sorry. I don’t know how they got the beef. lamb and  the chicken the same shade of grey. Nancy’s father, Larry, saw one such colored dish come by and asked the servers. “What is that? Chicken?”  “Bisteca fiorentina”, came the answer. Dario Cecchini would have strangled the grill cook. . .

But, who wants to read about the lousy food? On to the highlights.

WARNING. - Let it be understood two things before you read on, if you do. Though the first byline I ever had at the Los Angeles Times (1992) was a small restaurant review of the Spoon House,  Japanese spaghetti restaurant in Gardena,  I am not a food writer. This will soon become quite clear.  Secondly, the website Krikorianwrites.com  is in the second day of a copy editor strike, so there might be a few copy edits missed and heading your way. The copy editors at Krikorianwrites.com have decide to strike in solidarity with the California state prisoners who are on a hunger strike.

That said... -

THE TOP TASTES  OF THE FIRST 10 DAYS

Not in any order of preference. All we would have again with pleasure.

CHOCOLATE CANDY BAR at Marconi Ristorante in the town of Sasso Marconi, about 20 minutes south of Bologna. The 15 euro raisin and brandy soaked cherry 70% bar by Claudio Corallo came in a cardboard box and was devoured by Nancy and I (mainly Nancy)  in one minute and 52 seconds, six full seconds quicker than Chris and Dahlia’s Vegas wedding.

Corallo is said, according to the Marconi menu at least, to be the only chocolate guy who grows and produces chocolate in the same site. That site being the small African island nation of St. Tome and Principe located in the Gulf of Guinea. This candy bar had a rich complex flavor and a borderline tender texture.

Claudio Corallo chocolate is available at Alegio in Berkeley. Though this particular bar is a long shot. UPDATE, I emailed Marconi to see if I could swing by and just by some bars, but they said they were ut until October.

http://www.alegio.com/corallo-chocolate/

I need to mention the seafood risotto i had here. While excellent, it was one of the only  dishes I have ever had that could one could say, as the cliche goes, looked like a painting. Som,etime abut it, the colors, reminded me of a paintin that hangs in Nancy's den here, a plate of fruit by our friend Jeff, husband of Collinette.  Check it out below. Way below. Scroll down extra. Couldn't figure it out to bring it up.  Looking at it, it don't look all that much like the Jeff painting.  Not a food critic, certainly not an art critic. 

Restaurant web site

http://www.ristorantemarconi.it/ristoranteMARCONI_home.php

NANCY'S JULY PORCH SALAD, at home for lunch today, Iceberg, anchovies, tuna, eggs, onions tomatoes. Extraordinary view of Nancy and the Panicale hillside

ROASTED PORK w/ ONION CAKE at Trattoria da Amerigo 1934 in Savigno,This was a standout of several good dishes. we had here. At Day 10, this meal, enjoyed at Day 4, is becoming more highly thought of than originally.  There is even the possibility we will return. The ultimate honor. Well, not ultimate, but high.  One factor in returning here is that this place is a 15 minute windy drive from Marconi so we could go by and get a Corrlo chocolate bar

 http://www.amerigo1934.it/content/show/section/trattoria

Via Guglielmo Marconi, 14-16, 40060 Savigno Province of Bologna  051 670 8326

SPIDER PORK PIZZA at Pellicano in Macchie. 7 minutes from Nancy’s Panicale home. Of all the restaurants in Italy, this place is my favorite. Not for the food, for the wonderful memories I have here. This is a place where we would cram Oliver, Max, Ida, a few adults and head to at one in the morning. I have been here maybe 70 times. The pizza, the only pizza I am legally allowed to eat under the terms of my contract with Pizzeria Mozza, is very good. The Tenant Super beer from England of somewhere like that comes in a size called Giraffe. ‘Nuff said.

Via Pineta 12 | Macchie, 06060 near Castiglione del Lago.

FOCCCIA  topped with coppa, split and smeared with crescenza or stracchino cow’s milk cheese, at Osteria Perilla in Tuscan hilltop village of Rocca d Orcia.

NOTE The kitchen-made KETCHUP  at Osteria Perilla came close to being listed here separately , but at the last minute, the council decided to merely add it on to the Focaccia spiel.   It came with lime zested potato chips and  was unquestionably the best ketchup I’ve ever had. I ate some of it like a soup.

With the ketchup and the focaccia, then a good pasta, (a tortelli with ricotta and peas) Osteria Perilla, which we went to on the high recommendation of Faith Willinger, was off to a very good start. Twice, Nancy raised her glass of local red and toasted to Faith for bringing us her. Bu then, a rain fell and we moved inside, the meal skidded off course and into a chicken coop. While Nancy pork was fine, my main course of a local farm raised capon the server gushed over, was bad.  It was like two pieces of package pressed Leo’s Deli Meats chicken smashed together with passion fruit sauce. Even though Nancy didn’t order it, she was more upset with the dish than me and proclaimed the meal a once promising but ultimately disappointment..

THE NANCY TAVOLA. This is the well-documented spread that lead Nancy Silverton to lay into me for AS, attempted snacking.  She prepared red pepprs, onions, flattened roasted chicken, pistachios from Adana, Turkey, barlotti beans, a pesto to rival, but ultimately lose to  Genoa’s finest, an assortment of cheeses we bought at farmer’s markets, notebale an old percorino and bufala bucconcini.  The best spread.  

SPECIAL K CEREAL.  After a 2.5 k walk and a 2.5 k run, this bowl of cereal Special K,. from the heralded the 2010 vintage, with rich milk was a delight.

DEB CAKE    Osteria Mozza cook Deb Michail, who is visiting her sister in Milan, brought this round almond cookie cake to Nancy as a show of affection. I received nothing from Deb. Well, I got a couple a hugs. But, can one really eat a hug? Still, though this buttery gift from a bakery in Milan was for Nancy, I  proceeded to eat much of it while standing up in the kitchen. 

DARIO COW’S ACL - This very tender and tasty beef dish was served Sunday July 14 at Dario Cecchini's Solociccia, the modern glass-stepped eatery of the world’s most famous butcher. .  His supreme wife Kim, said this as the platter of this was being passed,  “What is that part of the knee that the atheletes always injure?" Deb said “ACL”.  Yes, Kim said, explaining the dish was composed of the meat and tendons and ligaments around the cow’s knees. “It’s Dario\s favorite part of the cow,” Kim said

 As a placard states, Dario Cecchini is not a restaurant. It is the home of a butcher. It is also the place that Nancy and I know we will find happiness. And a greeting like none other. For many years, Dario has greeted me with a bear hug than he picks me up. Tradition has it that, in turn, I pick him up. To prepare for this on this trip, I picked up Nancy – half Dario’s weight,- in a parking lot a couple times. That was fun.  

This list will grow.   

Seafood Risotto at Marconi

Spider Pork Pizza at Pelicanos,  a favorite of the Berettos street gang. 

Armenian Dining Memories of Fresno

An Armenian son drives north into the past and finds food like Grandma made

Taste of Travel: Fresno

September 10, 1995|MICHAEL KRIKORIAN | Krikorian is a Los Angeles free-lance writer

FRESNO — In the 1960s, my grandparents had a small grape farm in Fresno, so a few times a year my family would board the station wagon in Gardena and head 200 miles north up into the San Joaquin Valley. Against the blazing sun on California 99, the Fairlane's bolt-on air conditioner was small comfort. But that ride was a tropical paradise compared to the sweltering days and nights in Fresno, for my grandparents' house had no air-conditioning. (As they came from rough times in Armenia, discomfort wasn't all that uncomfortable to them.) For my sister Jeanine and I, it was almost nonstop soda pop time.

Still, there were two things I looked forward to with relish on those trips: One was my grandfather Moses' vivid tales of immigrant life in New York City and Baltimore just after World War I; the other was going to eat at Darby's.

Darby's was a small Armenian restaurant owned by George Darby, a character straight out of a Damon Runyon story. I never saw him work. He would warmly greet my family, then return to intently watching televised sporting events. But the food at his restaurant was memorable, especially the shish kebab served over rice pilaf rich with vermicelli noodles sauteed in butter, and the kima made of raw ground beef mixed with spices and served on thick pita bread from the nearby Valley Bakery. Darby died in 1978 and so did his restaurant, but the long tradition of Armenian cooking in Fresno is still going strong.

And so are the traditions of the Armenian people, who began settling here more than 100 years ago.

The tradition dates back at least to 1881, when two brothers, Hagop and Garabed Seropian, settled here because they were impressed by the climatic similarities to their Armenian home, as well as the agricultural opportunities. Through their letters, they lured other immigrants to the San Joaquin Valley with visions of fertile soil and lush crops. By 1894, the Armenian population of Fresno County was 360, but events in Armenia and Turkey soon prompted an immigration swell. From 1893-1894, hundreds of thousands of Armenians were massacred by Turkish forces. This led to a large scale migration of Armenians to Western Europe and America. Many headed for Fresno and by 1930, Armenians owned more than 40% of the raisin acreage in Fresno County and their numbers had topped 25,000, which is about the size of Fresno's Armenian population today.

Recently my father, Tony, and I took the drive from Los Angeles up to California's sixth most populous city and checked out several Armenian establishments.

We found that when it comes to Armenian restaurants in Fresno, the big name today is George. George Koroyan, owner of George's Shish Kebab, George's Bar and Grill and Chicken George. Only breakfast and lunch are served at the downtown George's Shish Kebab, a rather plain room dominated by a huge picture of Fresno's favorite son, writer William Saroyan. Despite the restaurant's name, the real highlight is the lamb shank, a meltingly tender mass of meat cooked for hours with bell peppers, onions, celery, carrots, parsley and tomato sauce.

Seven miles north of downtown, on Blackstone Avenue, Fresno's main north-south thoroughfare, is George's Bar and Grill: a sleek, modern room, done in black and gray, with a long marble-top counter and a shiny open kitchen. The menu is more extensive than its downtown cousin (it includes shrimp, halibut and pasta offerings) and the setting and presentation are much nicer. Still, the lamb shank reigns supreme here. On weekends, a patio is a fine place to enjoy the food along with soft live jazz played past midnight.

Patterned after Los Angeles' Zankou Chicken is Chicken George. Originally, only chicken was offered, but recently the menu has expanded to include kebabs of lamb, beef and chicken. Still, the rotisserie chicken, served with a potent garlic paste, is the best order.

The newest addition to Fresno's Armenian dining scene is the restaurant Armenia, located in northwest Fresno, one of the city's nicest residential neighborhoods. Opened last December by Sam Krikorian (no relation), Armenia's pleasant dining room features a diverse and interesting menu, highlighted by several dishes not easily found outside Armenian villages or, in the United States, home kitchens. Among the dishes, some of which must be ordered 24 hours in advance, is Kavara kuefta, named for the village where the dish is traditionally served at weddings. It is a large meatball of baked ground steak mixed with milk, cognac, onions and paprika. Armenia also serves Russian and Georgian dishes, such as beef Stroganoff, chicken Kiev and borscht.

Armenian Cuisine, in a nearby shopping center, is another place where the menu reflects Russian influence. This family-owned operation features the cooking of Harry Petroysan, a former cook for the Soviet army. His tasty beef Stroganoff, the Russian blend of beef tenderloin, mushrooms and onions sauteed in butter and mixed with sour cream, is not exactly Armenian, but it is delicious. The Armenian standbys are all well executed, including shish kebab, lamb shank and sarma (grape leaves stuffed with ground lamb and rice and served with a yogurt dipping sauce).

One afternoon, my dad and I visited the old Armenian quarter downtown, near Fresno's Civic Center. The spiritual and architectural center of Fresno's Armenian community is Holy Trinity Armenian Apostolic Church. Built in 1914, the church is still the hub of Little Armenia, an enclave of Armenian bakeries, restaurants, barbers and other small businesses. An excellent way to experience it is through Holy Trinity's annual Armenian Bazaar Food Festival, 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., Oct. 27. For it, church members create an amazing array of Armenian delicacies, including kebabs, pilaf and assorted pastries.

Though no longer the dynamic ethnic neighborhood it once was, the area still boasts two famous Armenian bread bakeries: Valley Lavosh Baking Co. (formerly Valley Bakery) and Hye Quality Bakery, both a short walk from the church.

Opened in 1922 by Ghazair Saghatelian, Valley Lavosh Baking Co. is now run by his daughter Janet and granddaughter Agnes. Although the bakery's biggest seller is Valley Hearts, small heart-shaped crackers, my family has always patronized the old bakery for its pita bread, a two-inch-thick round loaf topped with an egg wash and sesame seeds.

A hundred yards away is Hye Quality Bakery (source of the bread pictured on L1), which opened in 1957. Once a tiny store abutting the fire station, the bakery has gone high tech and now produces thousands of rounds a week of the Armenian cracker bread called lavosh.When the bakery's friendly owner, Sammy Ganimian, found out we were looking for good Armenian restaurants he quickly recommended Uncle Harry's in Reedley. "He has the best shish kebab around."

Dad and I went back to our hotel and after a rest and a feeble attempt to burn a few calories in the exercise room, we set out for Uncle Harry's.

On the half-hour cruise south to Reedley, we reminisced about great shish kebabs we have known. We agreed, of course, that no restaurant could prepare shish kebab like we had at home. My mom and grandmother were excellent cooks, and my Aunt Mary still is. But when it came to kebab cooking, no one could beat my grandfathers: Moses in Fresno and Nahabed in Los Angeles. The mention of charcoal to either would prompt them to instantly spring to their rickety barbecues, which were fired by dried walnut and apricot branches that produced an intensely hot fire, and rendered a juicy and aromatic lamb kebab.

Twenty miles south of Fresno, Reedley is a quaint town of 18,000, with a main street that looks Midwestern. Uncle Harry's is set in a 103-year-old building and the business is owned by Harry Horasanian, who grew up just a few miles away. A carpenter by trade, Horasanian became involved with catering and was eventually coaxed by friends to open Uncle Harry's in 1990. Shish kebab is indeed the way to go here, and like Harry at Hye Quality Bakery said, it may be the best in the Fresno area. The high-quality meat is briefly marinated in white wine, garlic powder and chopped olives then grilled to juicy tenderness. No, it doesn't compare to my grandparents', but I wasn't expecting a miracle. Inside is a picture of the old building during its glory days. It's a three-story brick and wrought-iron beauty that would not have been out of place on Bourbon Street.

When we got back to our hotel, my cousin Dave, who is a musician, had left me an urgent message: "For a musician that really cooks, stop in Visalia, 40 miles south of Fresno, and try the shish kebab." So the next day, after checking out, we took his advice and had a shish kebab lunch at Hagopian's International Delicatessen, a small Armenian food store that also serves lunch Monday through Saturday until 2 p.m. We dined on tender leg of lamb chunks that we rated second only to Uncle Harry's.

Richard Hagopian, who runs the place with his wife, Geraldine, can cook two ways: over charcoal and on the oud--the ancient Mideastern instrument that is the predecessor of the lute. In 1989 he was honored by the National Endowment of the Folk Arts for his oud playing, and the store is decorated with his albums, as well as Armenian art.

As we headed back to Los Angeles, it was comforting to know that Armenian dining in Fresno is alive and well. Fresno isn't a glamorous tourist destination. But if you're speeding up to Northern California, heading to Yosemite or just need some of the best ethnic food in the state, Fresno is an outstanding stop along the way.

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GUIDEBOOK

Kebabs in Fresno

Where to eat: Armenia, 4029 N. Marks Ave., Fresno. Open daily for lunch and dinner. Dinner for two, $15-$35; tel. (209) 225-5545.

Armenian Cuisine, 742 W. Bullard Ave., Fresno. Open Monday through Saturday for lunch and dinner. Dinner for two, $20-$30; tel. (209) 435-4892.

George's Bar and Grill, 6680 N. Blackstone Ave., Fresno. Open daily for lunch and dinner. Dinner for two, $20-$35; tel. (209) 436-1654.

George's Shish Kebab, 2405 N. Capital St., Fresno. Open Monday through Saturday for breakfast and lunch only; lunch for two, $10-$18; tel. (209) 264-9433.

Hagopian's International Delicatessen, 409 N. Willis St., Visalia. Open Monday through Saturday for lunch; deli open until 5:30 p.m. weekdays and 3 p.m. on Saturday). Lunch for two about $18; tel. (209) 732-6344.

Hye Quality Bakery, 2222 N.Santa Clara St., Fresno. Closed Sunday and Monday; tel. (209) 445-1511.

Uncle Harry's, 1201 G St., Reedley. Open Monday through Saturday for lunch and dinner. Dinner for two $14-$27; tel. (209) 638-5170.

Valley Lavosh Baking Co., 502 M St., Fresno. Closed Saturday and Sunday; tel. (209) 485-2700.

LA TIMES OP-ED - Know Your Capitals

A lost wallet, a New York cabbie — and the benefits of knowing your world geography.

October 02, 2011|By Michael Krikorian

When I get into a taxi, I almost always ask the cabbie, "Where you from?" In Los Angeles that can be a dangerous gang challenge, but because in my experience cabbies are never from Los Angeles, it hasn't been a problem. What I hear back is Liberia, Armenia, Bangladesh, Belarus and so on. And then I say, depending on whatever home country they named, "Are you from Monrovia?" or Yerevan or Dhaka or Minsk? Invariably, the cab drivers are delighted, even proud, that a stranger, an American, knows their capital.

I bring this up because knowing your capitals is a good thing. It brings people together, and it can help you out in ways unexpected, which is what happened to me on a recent trip to New York.

My girlfriend, Nancy, and I were in New York, partly because a friend was up for a cooking award there. She didn't win, but that didn't stop us from celebrating — 20 people at the Breslin in the Ace Hotel on 29th Street. It was a bacchanal: two whole pigs, cocktails, red wine and, umm, let's see, more red wine. The last thing I remember clearly was cautiously going down the stairs. There was a vague cab ride to our hotel 12 blocks downtown.

In the morning, Nancy went to get something out of her purse and realized her wallet was missing. It contained all her cash and credits cards and, most important, her California driver's license, which she needed to get on her flight home the next morning.

We began a painstaking hunt for the missing wallet that would have made the vaunted Yosemite search-and-rescue team proud. I must've set an American record for looking under a bed.

So we started making calls: The hotel lost and found, the restaurant, friends who were with us, 311, the taxi commission. We didn't have a receipt from the cab ride, so the taxi commission guy wasn't much help. We tried the NYPD. These calls took hours, and were without reward.

Finally, I patrolled the streets, playing an absurd long shot that the wallet, perhaps dropped outside the restaurant or our hotel, would still be there hours later.

We gave up. Nancy called the credit card companies and canceled. We began the process of trying to get an ID so she could get home. We were told a passport, scanned, emailed and color printed, might get you on a plane. A friend went to our house in L.A. and found her passport, but when the scan arrived, the passport expiration date was cut off. Again, again, again: Same thing.

Facing defeat, Nancy and I went for a walk. Heading east on 14th Street, Nancy got a call. She stopped. I turned around to look at her. She beamed. "Muhammad found the wallet!"

It had been dropped in this guy Muhammad's taxicab. He went through it, found Nancy's auto insurance card and called the company, which called her. I called him.

Muhammad was a little difficult for me to understand with his accent and my lousy cell, but I made out that he was working and would meet me in an hour or so at Union Square.

When I got there, out of a pack of cabs, one pulled to a stop and double-parked close by.

"Mister Michael. It's Muhammad from last night. You remember me. From Bangladesh. You knew where I was from. My capital."

"Yeah, of course," I said "Dhaka."

Muhammad smiled big. He handed me the wallet and told me to look at it to make sure everything was there. I handed him five 20s. He said no. I insisted.

Back in L. A., I told a friend this story. He told me, "It restores my faith in humanity."

But faith in humanity does not need to be restored. Humanity is all over the place, shining everyday.

But, just as a backup, know your capitals.

Michael Krikorian, a former Los Angeles Times staff writer, reports for the Watts Labor Community Action Committee.

THE ORIGINAL WILD ONE

This May 2, 1996 L.A. Times front page article was about the 1947 incident that inspired the 1954 Marlon Brando movie "The Wild One". "Wino Willie" Forkner was one of my favorite interviews.  

The Day That Kicked Bikers' Wild Image Into High Gear

Memories: Founders of Boozefighters recall weekend they descended on a small town and ascended into legend.

May 02, 1996 

"What's wrong with society today is there are no more fistfights."

--Sonny Barger, leader of the Hells Angels

Before there was Sonny Barger and the Hells Angels, before there was Marlon Brando and "The Wild One," there was Wino Willie and J.D. and a South-Central Los Angeles motorcycle club called the Boozefighters.

On the Fourth of July, 1947, the Boozefighters invaded the Central California hamlet of Hollister and, as Life magazine memorialized it, took over the town.

The incident set off a growing fascination with outlaw bikers, culminating in Brando's legendary "The Wild One" in 1954, with one exchange that still reverberates: "What are you rebelling against, Johnny?" Brando's character was asked. "Whatdaya got?" he snapped.

Today, 75-year-old Wino Willie Forkner and 80-year-old J.D. Cameron--the last surviving founders of the Boozefighters--look back on their legacy with amusement. To visit with them in Cameron's La Mirada home is to recall a distant time when postwar America was bursting with unfocused energy.

"It was a time when you could have a fistfight with someone and when it was over, you'd have a beer together," says Cameron, who made his living in the freight-unloading and trucking businesses, where he employed Willie. "This was way before all this guns and dope crap."

"Yeah, we just had a little fun," says Forkner, a barrel-chested World War II vet with pinkies as thick as thumbs who lives in Fort Bragg, Calif., and still rides his motorcycle. "We didn't do anything wrong."

What happened in Hollister, they remember, started with city-approved street racing on the main drag, San Benito Street.

Well, maybe a little more. J.D. allows that he may have had a few fistfights.

And then Wino Willie begins talking about a town drunk who came into one of the bars.

"Me, Kokomo and Gas House Wilson started buying him wine," Willie says. "After his third glass, he fell over. So we tied him to this wheelchair, tied the chair to some car and dragged him around town. I looked back and he had fallen out of the chair.

"So we put him on the hood and started driving again. Slowly. But he looked like he wasn't breathing, so we thought he was dead. We dropped him in an alley, covered him up with papers and took off.

*

"Man, later that day, when I was in jail, I looked over, and there he was, making a ruckus. It's damn hard to kill a drunk."

Wino Willie, who got his nickname as a 7-year-old boy in Fresno when he would visit local wineries and indulge in the latest vintage, had landed in Hollister's jail on the charges of inciting a riot. Of course, he tells a different story.

"They had arrested Red [another of the Boozefighters] for drunk and disorderly, and a bunch of the guys had gone over to the jail to break him out. Man, I went over there and told the fellas, 'Let's forget this Wild West stuff. Red needs a rest.' But, of course, the cops figured I was the leader, and they grabbed me. Later that day, the judge says he'll let me out if I listen to my wife. I told him, 'Hell no. I haven't listened to her yet and I'm not gonna start,' " he said, laughing.

What caused a national stir was not the incident itself, or a San Francisco Chronicle article that described the events as "the worst 40 hours in the history of Hollister," but a single photograph in Life magazine. It showed a large, leather-jacketed man guzzling beer on a Harley with a pile of broken beer bottles lying near his front tire. J.D. and Wino to this day are infuriated by the photograph, saying it was staged.

Life's one-page layout led to a Harper's Weekly article by Frank Rooney, "The Cyclist's Raid," which led to the Brando movie, which sent the image of bikers downhill faster then a wheelie on a steep hill climb.

"I hated that movie," says Cameron.

The most glaring discrepancy between the actual event and the movie was that, unlike the film, in which a sleepy town is stunned by an unexpected invasion of a motorcycle gang, Hollister was waiting with open arms for thousands of bikers to converge there.

For more than a decade the American Motorcycle Assn. had sanctioned an event in Hollister. So on the Fourth of July weekend in 1947, an estimated 4,000 motorcyclists descended on the city of 5,000.

What set that year's event apart from the others was that this time 15 members of the Boozefighters rode north from Los Angeles.

Although the Boozefighters were never mentioned in the Life spread or the Brando movie, word of mouth spread. Their name was a perfect fit, and soon all the biking world knew.

The Boozefighters had been formed in 1946 at the All American Cafe, a small beer joint on Firestone Boulevard near Hooper Avenue, just north of Watts. Many of the members, including Cameron and Forkner, were married. They were, by and large, a bunch of guys who loved to race motorcycles and drink beer.

John Cameron was born in 1915 in Oregon and began racing motorcycles when he was 15. He was rejected for the war because of injuries from a series of crashes. He came down to Los Angeles and bought a small freight train unloading business, where he met William Forkner in 1942.

Forkner, five years younger, had grown up in Fresno, where he expanded his early appreciation of fermented grape juice. Survival in the Pacific during World War II developed his zest for kicks. One day, the Army Air Corps took him off his B-24 bomber because it needed him on another. While on a mission over Iwo Jima, he watched in horror as his regular B-24 exploded and crashed.

"When I came back, we were hanging out at the club and we figured, 'Let's have fun. This is what we fought to protect,' " Forkner said.

The days after the vets came back were "a special time," added Cameron. "People were happy the war was over and we just wanted to enjoy life."

Goldie Miller, a Fremont High graduate, met Cameron and Forkner at the All American Club.

"They were some real characters," says Miller, 74, herself "a free spirit back then. They just loved to party. They wanted to be big-time professional racers, but that never happened. Sometimes they'd go out to the parking lot and duke it out, then come back in for another beer."

Miller was at the Hollister event, but her recollection is fuzzy at best.

"I don't remember a whole lot. I was into having fun too. If I was making book, I wouldn't have given any of them a chance to make it to 40. But, really, they were very nice people. And you knew nobody was gonna mess with you if you were with them."

*

The next year in Riverside, another ruckus promoted the Boozefighters' reputation for wildness. The club continued to be active through the 1950s, then simmered down. By 1970 the aging members had scattered throughout the country. Cameron bought a trucking business and kept in touch with Forkner, who was working as a trucker.

Forkner--and Cameron, if heart problems don't hold him back--may be heading back to Hollister.

Now a city of 24,000 that bills itself as the earthquake capital of the world, Hollister is already vibrating about the 50th anniversary of the "invasion" next year. Police and merchants believe that as many as 100,000 motorcycle enthusiasts from around the world may converge there on the Fourth of July weekend in 1997. Several groups are vying to put on a trial run celebration this summer.

At Johnny's, one of the bars the Boozefighters patronized in 1947, owner Charise Tyson is looking forward to the day when the bikers return to Hollister.

"I can't wait. We're gonna do big business," Tyson said. "I'm not really concerned about violence. Heck, even the Garlic Festival (in nearby Gilroy) has its problems."

Across the street at Bob's Video, owner Bob Valenzuela is also in favor of the event. "People will be coming here from all over the world because they know about Hollister from the movie," he said. "This is truly holy ground for motorcyclists. It is Mecca."

Today, the Boozefighters motorcycle club still exists, but it is centered in Fort Worth. Comparisons to the original club are like comparing the cushy, soft-tailed, muffled rides of today's bikes with the rigid framed, roaring Harleys of old. The club, with chapters in Virginia, New York and California, has strict rules of conduct and members include doctors, lawyers and law enforcement officers.

Wino Willie and J.D. sneer at the new leadership. "When I met them they came dressed like business people," Wino Willie says. "Today, it's all about greed. We never made a dime off of this whole thing, and we don't care either."

Wino Willie visited J.D. again last week.

"He told me, 'Well, Wino, I'm dying,' " Willie said. "And unless he gets this pig valve operation, he will. But he's not a complainer."

Cameron, a tall, well-built man, says merely that he's going in for an operation Tuesday. Then he says, "We just wanted to have some fun. And we sure did."

One more question lingers. What were the real Wild Ones rebelling against?

J.D. pauses for a few seconds.

"Well, I guess I'm rebelling against discrimination. Ya know, all kinds, but for me, just because someone's a biker, they got rules against you."

And Wino Willie?

"I guess it's the establishment that I spent three years fighting for," he says. "You take off the khakis and the blue and put on some jeans and a leather jacket and immediately you become an asshole."

America's Greatest Mini Mall

Cafe Fanny is gone, but Kermit and Acme are still there

 Weekend Escape: Berkeley : Food Quest : A mini-mall crawl through some of the city's best eateries

January 21, 1996

BERKELEY — At a party a few years ago, a couple cornered me and excitedly told me of their upcoming vacation plans. They were going to that huge Mall of America in Minnesota. I asked questions and listened, all the while thinking how pitiful it was. All the great places in the world to vacation--New York, Paris, Yosemite--and they were going to a mall.

Still, I have to admit, there is one mall of sorts that I would center my vacation around. It is America's greatest mini-mall: the three-store complex in Berkeley that houses the Acme Bakery, Cafe Fanny and Kermit Lynch Wine Merchant. Recently, my girlfriend, Carmen, and I spent a weekend in Berkeley, and much of it centered around this grand trio of a mini-mall.

We took off from Los Angeles on a Friday and buzzed up the convenient monotony of Interstate 5. Six hours later we pulled into the parking lot of my favorite Berkeley digs: the Golden Bear Motel, which is ideally located across the street from the mini-mall.

I stumbled upon the Golden Bear four years ago when I needed a place to crash for the night and noticed it in the American Automobile Assn. travel guide. I was informed then that the motel was booked up, yet when I turned to leave, the clerk said they did have a cottage in the back available. I took a look and wound up staying a week.

The cottages, actually small 1930's era homes with two bedrooms, carpeted living room, full, albeit linoleum-covered kitchen, dining room and bath, rent for $69 a night. The furnishings are very simple, nothing fancy, mind you, but they have a certain quaintness and the price is right. Be sure to reserve in advance, because there are just two and they are often booked. A third, modernized cottage rents for $125.

We unpacked, relaxed for a while, then took a spin through town. First stop was Andronico's market on Shattuck Avenue, where tops on the shopping list was a quart of the Castle Creamery's bottled milk with an inch of real cream on top. The store stocks Acme bread, but I like to buy it at the bakery and because I planned to be first in line the next morning, I didn't buy any. This would prove to be my worst decision of the trip.

Next, we went to the Cheese Board, the Bay Area's premier cheese stop with over 300 varieties. The friendly and knowledgeable staff insist on customers trying samples before buying. Reject 10 samples? No problem. We picked up a few, the highlight being a luscious L'Edel de Cleron, a very runny, creamy, flavorful cow's milk cheese aged in fruit tree bark. A quick stop at Kermit Lynch for a bottle of Gigondas, a red from the southern Rho^ne, and we headed to our cottage for a delightful repast. The first thing I tried was the milk, getting a delicious mixture of milk and rich globs of pure cream on that first glorious sip.

A while later, we walked across the street to the mini-mall for a closer look at the selections at Kermit Lynch. Lynch, who spends six months a year in France, is renowned for seeking out small producers of unfiltered wines with gobs of character. He also carries big name wines too, most notably those of the legendary Alsatian winery Domaine Zind-Humbrecht.

Friday night's dinner was at Rivoli on Solano Avenue, two miles from our cottage.

My interest in fine dining was sparked at age 12 when I began reading travel books to find the top restaurants for my father to dine in during his business trips. My girlfriend shares my passion for food and wine, and we've been fortunate to have dined at most of the Bay Area's best restaurants, but on this trip we planned to eat at places we'd never been before.

Rivoli's main dining room looks out onto a charming garden. We started with duck rillette and portabello fritters with lemon aioli, and moved on to grilled pork tenderloin and a outstanding Moroccan-influenced braised lamb stew with figs, olives, preserved lemons and chickpeas. From the interesting wine list, we chose a Bandol from Domaine Tempier in Provence.

Saturday morning, we were in the parking lot of the mini-mall by 7:30, and though Acme and Fanny don't open until 8, the place still seemed eerily quiet. We took a walk up a block and into Erfani Floral Studio. The shop was full of exotic flowers, and the door was open, but it was dark inside. The owner explained there was a small power failure in the area.

Back at the mini-mall, I didn't want to believe what I saw on the door of the bakery. A sign on the closed front door: "No electricity, no bread." Evidently, an inconsiderate driver had slammed into a utility pole, causing a dent in my vacation plans. Since Acme is closed on Sunday, the trip would not have the densely textured, delicious breads of the Acme Bakery, which to me, is the only rival in the state to L.A.'s La Brea Bakery. Fortunately, Cafe Fanny, Alice Waters' breakfast and lunch spot named for her daughter, was functioning. We savoured big bowls of cafe au lait and two farm fresh eggs on toast.

Back at home, we plotted the day's activities, much of which would center around our own walking tour of the university. Before that, we had lunch at Vik's Chaat House. To get to the Chaat House, one enters Allston Way through a small warehouse (Vik's Distributors) full of Indian food stuffs: aromatic Indian spices, bags of basmati rice, tins of exotic teas and lit incense. In the back is the tiny restaurant, with a few card tables and chairs. The place was teaming with people ordering a variety of Indian snacks. We had lentil dumplings covered with yogurt, tamarind and mint chutney; potato patties with a garbanzo curry, and a large, savory pastry filled with ground lamb and onions. Total bill: $8.66.

*

That evening we drove over to 4th Street, where between Hearst Avenue and Virginia Street is a shining example of urban renewal. Where empty warehouses once stood are restaurants, coffee shops and clothing stores. Ginger Island, a popular Southeast Asian restaurant, was a little too noisy, and though the food was interesting, especially a salmon satay with a lime vinegrette, the highlight was the bottle of Gewurztraminer we brought along.

The next morning, we walked a mile back to 4th Street for breakfast at the popular Bette's Ocean View Diner (no ocean view). It is the classic little diner: shiny chrome, jukebox, checkerboard floor, and red booths and stools with miniature trains circling above. As is the norm, we waited half an hour, mingling with tourists and locals who pack Bette's daily for the high-quality breakfasts.

We walked leisurely back along San Pablo Avenue, pausing a block from the mini-mall to browse through Erica Tanov, a boutique that sells exquisite robes and pajamas. I wished I had $600 to buy my girlfriend the most sumptuous silk-charmeuse-lined black velvet robe I have ever seen.

Before we left town, it was time for one last taste, at Picante, a large, upscale taqueria run by the man who manages Cafe Fanny. We split an order of good homemade chorizo tacos.

As you can see, this trip consisted primarily of eating, drinking, walking, relaxing, and a touch of culture and history. To us, that's a good vacation.

Hey, anyone wanna go to the mall?

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Budget for Two

Gas: $66.00

Golden Bear Motel,2 nights: $138.00

Dinner, Rivoli: $92.63

Breakfast, Cafe Fanny: $10.30

Lunch, Chaat House: $8.66

Dinner, Ginger Island: $74.00

Groceries: $26.27

Breakfast, Bette's Ocean View: $16.00

Lunch, Picante: $4.06

2 bottles wine, Kermit Lynch: $42.52

FINAL TAB: $478.44

Golden Bear Motel, 1620 San Pablo Ave., Berkeley 90402; tel. (510) 525-6770.