Curacao

Floating in the warm, salty waters off Curaçao, watching the pelicans dive bomb for their lunch.  Was the B52 modeled on their moves?  Feet spread far apart, riding the thermals, they’re able to spot their pray from dozens of feet above the water.  They dive head first, wings spread far apart, and slam into the water, gobbling up colorful fish. Head back, the poor snagged fish slides down his enormous gullet. Makes me jones for fresh fish.  Most of the food stuffs on the island are shipped in from nearby Venezuela or from Holland, the island’s protectorate.  Land on Curaçao is so costly that it’s less expensive to ship it in rather than grow it.  Silly, huh?

Tartine

I can only imagine the ham and cheese croissant from San Francisco’s Tartine Bakery contains at least a day’s worth of calories. It’s an incomparable splurge … especially when still warm from the oven.

The ham is smoky and thickly sliced. The good cheese bakes into the buttery croissant, it’s edges just slightly charred to a deep, golden brown. My fingers are coated with a light sheen of fat.

It’s really two meals.

Around the corner from the madness of the bakery, I sat in the shade of a vibrant palm on brick steps in front of a Mediterranean blue door. I ate every delicious bite, until I was covered in flakes of croissant skin.

Allium Love

Shallots are for babies.   

Onions are for men. 

Garlic is for heroes.

Ecstasy at Esalen

 

He kept asking if I was able to ‘feel it in my marrow.’

 

Indeed, I could.  He was that good. 

 

But that’s not where my head was at. 

 

Not at all. 

 

Rather, I kept envisioning long, sterling silver spoons,

weighty and hallmarked,

their tiny scoops filled with whipped, savory clouds

studded with crunchy Maldon salt. 

Ah, the earthy flavor of bone marrow:  the mass of life with which we satiate

our darkest hungers. 

My reverie extended to thick slabs of warm brioche,

a fading Barolo from the late 70s, a worthy companion. 

 

Could the questioning yogi, a tall, exccedingly thin man now standing in front of me

possibly guess at my thoughts?

 

Bone marrow was not on the week’s menu, but I had come anyway. 

 

For a yoga and mediation retreat.

Apparently, to heal my marrow. 

 

Esalen Institute, situated on 120-acres hugging California’s pristine

Pacific coastline in Big Sur, was within easy driving distance

from my home in Napa Valley, yet a world away. 

Esalen offers more than 500 workshops each year on topics often devoted to yoga,

massage, ecology, spirituality, and meditation.

 

My travel mate and I took the opportunity to make a few stops

on the way to enlightenment,

searching for treasures from California’s Central Coast for my shop,

Heritage Culinary Artifacts.

 

 

This covered casserole is a clever, functional work of art created by a

San Francisco artist.  Its figural handle shows a woman hitting her tablemate

in the face with a pie. 

Makes me think of Rubert Murdoch for a variety or reasons. 

Perfect for preparing roasts, ragus and bean dishes. 

Fully functional and in exceptional condition.

Created and signed by San Francisco artist M. Smitty, 1983. 

Measures 8" high and 12" in diameter.  ($310)

 

Most stirrup cups hail from England but California’s Central Coast is horse country,

so it makes sense I would find such an unusual piece so far from its home. 

Stirrup cups are handed to the rider at the

beginning of the hunt, filled with a morning shot of whiskey to toast success. 

Thanks to the cup’s ingenious design, the rider is able to easily balance his drink and the reins. 

The boar’s head is well done and rather rare. 

Measuring 5" tall and 3" in diameter.  ($185)

 

 

One of my favorite recent finds.  A blush pink Depression glass barrel with a brass handle and

spout dispenser, a black porcelain stopper and black porcelain base. 

In excellent condition, this is a highly unusual piece and would be brilliant

on the counter filled with olive oil, wine, wine vinegar, bourbon, Pastis…… 

The base and barrel measure 8" tall and 9" in length.

American, 1930s.  ($410)

 

 The night prior to our stint at Esalen, we arrived into the small, seaside town of Carmel.

I lived in Carmel for a year, many moons ago.  I always liked the idea of living in Carmel-by-the-Sea more than I actually cared to live there.  The name evokes salty air, golf courses, Doris Day and those crazy cypress trees, their low branches

carved into long, witchy fingers by the winds.  While the natural area is so incredibly lovely,

with its lagoons and harbors and mountains and wildlife,

it’s too white and too wealthy. 

 

And the food sucks. 

 

I nursed my indignation with a sunrise walk on Carmel’s divine beach;

the locals playing with their dogs

and catching up on gossip while standing in the gentle surf. 

Invigorated, we had a quick breakfast in Auberge du Carmel’s quite proper dining room,

filling up on hot tea and very retro but tasty orange-cinnamon rolls.  

 

Big Sur lies further to the south, a magnificent drive along a blissfully undeveloped coastline.  We tucked into a decent lunch of oysters and strong French beer

while sitting outside in the sun at Ventana Inn,

watching the hawks ride the air streams in the hills surrounding us.

 

 

We arrived to Esalen just as the sun was beginning to set;

a more prolonged and ecstatic sunset I cannot recall. 

 

Esalen Institute is … well, it’s truly an institution.  Hippie parties in the 60s, drugs, motorcycles, Hollywood, rock-n-rollers, free love; it’s the stuff of legends.  Timothy Leary stayed and Hunter Thompson worked in the kitchen.  Joan Baez taught a class.  Various Beatles and Stones, as well as heavy thinkers in Gestalt and psychology passed through, all leaving their scholarly mark while looking for peace, love and to score.  (And while I didn’t see any free love nor any rock stars, I did enjoy a bit of California’s finest herb each afternoon during our long lunch break; sitting in the sun, watching for passing whales and migrating Monarch butterflies).

 

Otherworldy.

 

The property retains its California counter-culture, 1960’s vibe, but I noticed more than a few guys waiting in line for lunch who were members of an entirely different counter-culture; the banker-casual shoes and the dress-up of a button-down shirt worn loosely

by guys from nearby Silicon Valley.

 

The accommodations were clean, private and sparse.  Like visiting a convent on a fine piece of land, which the elders of Roman Catholic Church are hiding from the courts.

 

The evening sky was black but for the stars.  We wore little headlamps

to get around the property at night. 

Not that we stayed up late.

Deeply sated on ocean air, green bud, meditation, yoga and granola, dark bread and kale,

we were asleep by 9:30 each night, books and magazines untouched.

 

Mornings were spent in an huge yurt on a bluff, listening to the surf and meditating with the rising sun.  Afternoons, we practiced yoga, listening to our bodies (mine wept) and feeling our marrow.  All of the Institute’s guests and members took meals together in an earthy/crunchy cafeteria, the walls of which were done in knotty California pine.

We waited patiently in line

to fill our plates with good greens and grains,

much of it produced on the property.

 

 

 

Esalen is well known for their outdoor baths, which are perched on a rocky ledge 50-feet above the crashing Pacific surf.  Unreal.  Natural hot springs flow from the ground at 119 degrees at 80 gallons each minute. These same healing waters have been flowing for centuries, providing respite for Esselen Indians and other seekers.  I sat in the late-afternoon sun, naked with a bunch of other naked strangers, staring at the sea.

 

The migratory whales seemed as curious about us as we were of them, coming as close to the coastline as they dared. 

 

The sea lions, however, couldn’t have cared less;

happy to rest their heaving bodies on the rocks below.

 

 

At week’s end, my body ached, but I felt nourished, relaxed and rested.  The screaming in my head had been momentarily silenced.  My karma must’ve been awesome at this point, because driving home through Monterey,

I found a few more goodies.

 

This chalkware piece is colorful, fun and functional.  This string holder is perfect for a kitchen counter, hunourously dispensing kitchen twine for tying up chickens, herbs and bratty children.  In fine condition with great colors.

Measures 8" wide and  7" tall.

California, 1930s.

($95)

 

This handsome and unusual ice-cream scoop is made with mixed metals;  brass and stainless steel.  While its design is timeless, it is the use of brass that makes this a unique piece.  Measures 10" long.  American, 1940-1950s.  ($62)

 

A platter like no other!  The bull is slightly raised and appears angry at the thought of being

roasted on the spit below.  Large in spirit and in size, it measures 19.5"long and 14.5" tall. 

In very fine condition. 

California Pottery, mid-century.  ($285)

 

The cheese knives are each works of art; radiant mother-of-pearl handles,

incredible detailing on the band work and English hallmarked blades. 

In very fine condition, these gorgeous cheese knives each measure 7" long. Set of six ($110)

 

 

The lines on these three pieces are absolutely amazing.  The covered creamer, covered sugar bowl

and covered honey pot are each in excellent condition and

have a lovely creamy brown coloring.  Each piece is marked with the

raised “raymor by Roseville” script mark and shape number.  Raymor Modern Stoneware

is a Mid-Century Modern line introduced by Roseville Pottery in 1952. 

The line was designed by freelance designer Ben Seibel,

and it remains one of the most popular patterns with mid-century afficionados. 

Creamer 4.5" tall.  Sugar bowl 6" wide.  Honey pot 4" tall.

American, 1950s.  Set of three pieces.  ($385)

 

 

The figural iron dog knife rests are exceptional.  Great detailing on

heavy pewter in outstanding condition. 

Dachshunds, perhaps?  Whatever the breed, they are eye-catching.  Bark less.  Wag more.

Each measures 2.8" long. 

Set of six ($225)

 

 

After a week of staring at the mighty Pacific and eating greens and grains, I was craving something rich from the sea. 

 

Our final stop before home was to liberate supper from the depths of Monterey Harbor.  Adoring abalone, I’ve been known to cruise Route One towards Mendocino, furtively asking random men by the side of the road if I can score half of their limit of two.  Divers are only permitted to free-dive for abalone.  No scuba allowed.   It’s a tough morning of work; the murky waters are very cold and sharks are known to feed in the kelp beds where abalone are abundant.  The harvesting of this delicious sea snail is highly regulated by the state.  It’s illegal for divers to sell their catch, so I’d offer to trade a good bottle of wine

along with a donation to their favorite charity.

 

 

 

Not often successful in my attempted bribery, I took to ordering from the

Monterey Abalone Company.

 

Their little storefront is at the end of a long pier, lending a distinct authenticity to their product.  Below the pier, attached to nets, is their abalone farm.  The red abalone is fed tons and tons of kelp, harvested from the same the waters.  It takes more than four years to grow an abalone to market size; at least 3.5” in shell length, weighing a quarter of a pound.

 

Ugly-sexy, right??

 

Once home, we pried open their tough shells and removed the meat from the luminous mother-of-pearl linings.  I opened an old bottle of Champagne and got busy cleaning the abalone, trimming off the mantle. I spent the next 20 minutes with a wooden mallet, tenderizing the meat.

 

 

 

I melted an enormous block of Italian butter until sizzling and tossed in the abalone cutlets, dressed skimpily in a dusting of flour. Once lightly browned and flipped, I added a handful of French capers and the juice from a couple of Meyer lemons.  I deglazed the pan with a bit of the 1985 Champagne, it’s tiny bubbles sending up a cloud of mingling aromas.

 

I could indeed feel it in my marrow.

 

 

 

If any of the treasures in this newsletter move you,

or would make a wonderful gift for someone you know, write to me. 

 

May I be of assistance? 

 

Contact me directly at lisa@heritageartifacts.com

and I would be very pleased to discuss details. 

 

Please know each items is unique and one-of-a-kind, 

so when they’re gone, they are gone. 

 

I will do my best to fulfill your wishes.

 

Until next time.

 

Sunrise over the Bosphoros...

in Instanbul.  A completely wild city influenced by the multitudes that have come through… Arabs, Asians, Europeans……
Aimlessly wandering the mosques, palaces and souks during the day, with lunches of roasted lamb and vegetables while seated next to dark, cologned men speaking a completely unfamiliar tongue.  Awoken each morning by the Muslim call to prayer and put to sleep each night by glasses of Turkish wine made from varietals of which I’ve never heard….

Crashing Cannes

 

It was unseasonably warm in Cannes and I was overdressed.  Wriggling out of my bulky gray sweater, I wished I were sporting more chic attire.  I flagged the waiter yet again, unsure whether he was oblivious, overworked or contemptuous.  Ordering another bottle of the local rosé, I kicked off my sandals and dug my toes into the fine, expensive sand.

 

“Forget Paris,” we decided. 

The weather’s much too glorious to schlepp our many bags to the train station for the

five-hour northward crawl to The City of Lights.  My bags and back were straining,

but how to travel light??

I found too many wonderful treasures for my shop in Napa Valley,

Heritage Culinary Artifacts.

 

Visiting Cannes, on France’s southern coast, is always surreal.  The corniche is a full-on catwalk; the extreme wealth of Europe, Russia and the Middle East on gaudy display.  Hermes bags and Cartier watches flash in the warm Mediterranean sun, while tired-looking North Africans pedal ice-cream and hashish along the main drag,

which snakes along a densely settled coastline. 

 

Northern California seems so very far away from that crazy chic beach club, its tables nestled into the sand, while a sailcloth awning flaps in the afternoon breeze,

shading aristocratic skin from harsh rays.  

The restaurant’s business card summed it up:  

“C Beach, Cannes.  The Beach to Be.” 

 

Indeed.

 

 

The men sitting nearby were impeccable.  Finely tailored and exquisitely groomed, their scent of Vertiver mingled with the sea air. They ate steak tartare and whole roasted fish, drank good Bordeaux, and smoked.  A lot.  The women were young and lovely in that insouciant French way.  They ate meat and drank wine, all the while dangling a cigarette between their long, thin French fingers. 

 

Who can ever fault the French for their appreciation of life as art? 

 

Turning my attention to the bowl in front of me, I realized the vibrant gazpacho was the finest I’d eaten.  And while I can’t drink during the day anymore, it’s easy to make an exception with a bottle (or two) of the local rosé.  

Higher acid and lower alcohol means an exceptional pairing

to a hearty lunch. 

 

Rosé is also a fine introduction to a light afternoon rest; listening to Hayden, doors and windows open to the sea.

I dreamed about the early morning antiques market in Cannes,

where I scored a few treasures.

 

My first find of the day was an exquisite set of sterling silver handled butter knives.  I simply love the clean, deco lines on the handles.  They are in very fine condition and will compliment any dining table.  Set of six ($185)

 

This is one of the great finds of the trip.  A butcher’s set of knives and a hand carved case with a leather strap.  The chestnut wood has an extremely fine patina and the knives themselves are in brilliant condition.  The butcher even carved his initials “R.G.” into the case.  To use in your own kitchen.  This is an incredible set.  Paris, 19th century. ($685)

 

This mezzaluna has an deep, dark patina on both the hard wood handles and the carbon steel blades.  It’s unusual in that it boasts three blades; the better to chop your herbs and spices.  In fine condition, it will surely please any chef. 

From the late 1800s ($265)

 

I tried not betray my excitement to the dealer when I uncovered this amazing piece!  A tastevin made for sampling wine, this detailed, artful piece is made from sterling silver and has intertwined serpents, which create the handle.  Measuring 6.25" in length,  3"diameter and 1.25" deep, this is an amazing piece for the wine connoisseur and sterling afficionado.  Early 1900s.  ($585)

 

 

Walking the piers of southern France’s harbors, I must look like such a tourist.  Mouth agape, I gawk at each mooring, tethered to the most luxurious boats registered in harbors far away:  Nice, Marseilles, Monte Carlo, London, Panama, Naples, Rio, Seychelles, Abu Dhabi. 

 

And what of the people who travel within the glistening mahogany walls of such fine vessels?

 

 

My travel mate and I escaped the bespoke madness of Cannes and instead settled into the rhythm of the neighboring coastal town of Antibes, with plans to gorge on local seafood and scour the antiques markets for more treasures.

 

Now off-season, the crowds having gone back to school, back to work, we easily reserved a room in a small hotel overlooking the harbor.  It was sweet and slightly shabby in the way all seasonal, waterfront hotels are.  We soaked in the outdoor sauna, watching the sun drop into the Mediterranean.  We forgot time, emerging weak-kneed and ravenous.

 

Around the bend, overlooking the harbor and the lights of Nice, we found Restaurant Bacon.

 

 

The dining room’s gigantic doors were rolled back, the entire space open to balmy Mediterranean breezes and blinking harbor lights clear to Monte Carlo.  The large round tables were set with silver, crystal and candles and placed far apart from one another; elegant and old-school European.  The soft lighting and muted pastels made me feel as though I were ensconced inside an elegant clam, its pinkish flesh and pearly casings

slightly opened

to take in the salty evening air.

 

The owner, a hot Frenchman named Sordello, pulled our chairs, and in purring English explained the restaurant had been in his family for three generations.  He expertly worked the room with his wife, a tall blond who was almost friendly. We requested a 1993 Raveneau Chablis be decanted and took Sordello’s recommendation for the tartare of sea bream.  Fresh and silken to the tongue, the fish was served simply with only a crunch of sea salt and a brightening squeeze of citrus.

It lingered in my thoughts for days.

 

We finished with a delicate mille feuille; it’s ethereal puff pastry layered with cream was true artisanship. Herbal teas were snipped and brewed to order and enjoyed with glasses of Elixir du Mont-Ventoux, an herbal digestif distilled in nearby Châteauneuf du Pape.   The next day, I tracked down a couple of bottles of this delight!

 

As the Sordellos bid us bon nuit, the valet left our tiny Fiat rental idling by the door,

lost amid the sea

of flashy Maseratis and gleaming Mercedes. 

 

Old-town Antibes has an early morning antiques market, which runs along an ancient stonewall that separates city from ocean.  Many dealers make the trek from Paris to show their wares.  I was excited to check it out, but arrived too early.  Of all the antiques markets I visit on various continents, the French start the latest.  It’s a quality-of-life-thing with them. 

 

I love that.

 

Taking the French cue, we stepped into a tiny cafe near the docks.  Elbow to elbow with the local fishermen, we ordered lattés with a couple of France’s stellar croissants, ripped and dipped into the steaming bowls of coffee. 

 

Fortified, we hit the market.

 

 

I’m a sucker for bone handled utensils and this set of dinner knives is quite lovely.  With carbon steel blades, these would compliment any set of silverware on any table.  The bone handles have a rich patina that only comes with age. 

A fine set of six ($485).

 

This rare, early bread slicing board is made from hard wood with an attached carbon steel slicing knife.  The piece’s patina is exceptional.  It’s a work of art hanging on a wall, or a functional piece situated on a countertop or dining table with a big loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese.

Measures 2.5" deep, 14.75" wide and 18.25" in length.

In very fine condition. Paris, France, 1800s.  ($1225)

 

 

This knife sharpening steel is a work of art!  The handle is made from horn and produced in an unusual manner:  the horn was heated and then gently twisted to create the delightful design.  With a steel loop, it can be hung from your apron or with your pots and pans.  This sharpening steel will keep your knives in tip-top shape for generations to come. 

From the late 1800s.  ($425)

A lovely friend from Napa Valley was working the wine harvest in the nearby Rhone Valley and needed a break.  She agreed to meet us for supper and caught a late-afternoon train to Cannes.

 

Poor girl. 

 

I could only imagine that her winery gig was all too much:  watching the hot French winemakers tending the Syrah; the communal lunches of duck confit eaten side-by-side young, strapping Australian interns, hungry for more than a winemaking experience. 

We could only imagine how hard it was on her!  

 

We met for pre-dinner drinks at the very posh Carlton Hotel, its large patio overlooking the French Riviera.  Built in 1911, the Carlton’s distinctive domes were designed to resemble the obviously enormous, jutting breasts of Caroline Otero, the most famous

French courtesan during the early 1900s.

 

 

Each year, this estimable property hosts the madness of The Cannes Film Festival, but now in the quieter season, we had the waiter’s full attention.  As the sun set over the yachts in the harbor, I eyed a deeply tanned older gent, warming a large cognac glass in his gigantic, lined hands and playing cards with an attractive, younger man. 

Grandson? 

Companion? 

Lover? 

Were they living in the hotel? 

On one of the massive yachts?

Or perhaps locals living in one of the homes in the hills far above us?

 

We paid our outrageous bar tab (!!) and headed up the street.  Armed with our concierge’s promise of the best seafood in Cannes, we snagged a table at the simple Chez Astoux et Brun, well regarded as a temple to all that lives in the Mediterranean.  We ordered an old vine Sancerre and a plateau of seafood:  whole shrimp still in their long, pink jackets; cold Belon oysters, small, flat and distinctively crunchy; and periwinkles, buried in their dark hiding places, only to be prodded out and gobbled up, tasting of the sea’s depths.

 

The waiters were unhurried, allowing us plenty of time to gossip, eat with our hands, and order more wine.  Our waiter, a short, older man with the experienced manner of someone who’s been in the service industry all his life, dug around a ginormous fish tank, wrestling a red and white spiny lobster onto a large, silver tray for our inspection. 

 

“Split and grilled.  S’il vous plait, Monsieur.”

 

 

The next morning came too soon.  We stumbled downstairs for espresso and croissant from the corner café.  I paged through Paris Match and longed for a cigarette. 

 

But only in theory.

 

It was actually California’s fine green herb that I truly missed.

 

We wandered through the market in the small seaside city of Nice, the coastline never out of sight.   Our last day in southern France yielded a few gems.

Produced from wild boar tusk, sterling silver and carbon steel, this is a very unusual carving set.  I’ve never seen anything like this!  Very handsome, weighty and in fine condition, this pair would be at home on either a rustic or fine dining table.  The detailing on the handles is exquisite. 

Pair ($685)

 

This harvest tool was used in the vineyards of southern France in the late 1800s.  The hard wood handle and the carbon steel blade both boast exceptional patinas.  In wonderful condition, this can be used in your garden, to carve a block of cheese on your counter or merely hung and admired. ($445)

 

I’ll admit to a weakness for French soaps, particularly when they’re made from moisturizing, natural oils and botanicals.  These are made in Marseille and threaded onto a rope.

They are wonderful kept near the kitchen sink

or hanging from a hook in the bath. 

Set of eight to keep it clean.  ($72)

 

It was time to return home; back to life, back to reality.  Our bags were full and

the shipping company made wealthier. 

I yearned for a heaping plate of plain, spicy arugula; less bread, less wine, more water.

Always good to travel.  Always good to get home.

But the warmth and richness of life in southern France stays with me.

 

If any of the treasures in this newsletter move you,

or would make a wonderful gift for someone you know, write to me. 

May I be of assistance? 

Contact me directly at lisa@heritageartifacts.com

and I would be very pleased to discuss details. 

Please know each items is unique and one-of-a-kind, 

so when they’re gone, they are gone. 

I will do my best to fulfill your wishes.

 

Until next time.

Curious about Copenhagen

 

A recent morning found my purplish hands clutching a steaming mug of tea, which, along with toasted black bread, qualified as breakfast on our balcony overlooking a bracing Copenhagen. Known as “the port of the merchants,” this small city, with a population of just over a million, lies directly on the sea. My first trip this far north in Europe, I had come to be baptized in Danish design and hopefully find a few treasures for my shop, Heritage Culinary Artifacts, in Napa Valley. 

 

The steel gray skies, streaked with painterly brushes of white, were reflected in the harbor’s dark waters.  Anchored schooners, barely moving in the still chill, are a constant reminder of this Nordic city’s seafaring history. Copenhagen’s church spires and rooftops reflect its pleasingly symmetrical

Dutch Renaisssance architecture, which dates to the late 16^th and early 17^th centuries.

 

On the street below, running along one of the canals, a major bike race is taking place. Wide-eyed cycling enthusiasts are standing on street corners in the late morning chill cheering on the racers, dressed sleekly in Lycra and plastic and bearing the name of their sponsoring country. 

To accommodate the cyclists, streets are closed to cars throughout Copenhagen, an already crazy-bike-loving city.  36% of its citizens bike to work or school;  is there anything hotter than an executive in a fine European suit and brimmed hat biking to work, scarf flying in the breeze?  And God knows it’s not difficult to bundle up stylishly in Copenhagen. There are dozens of small boutiques selling lovely clothes made by local designers. 

Sweaters are de rigor in this chilly seaside city and I bought two enormous, marvelous sweaters from Danish wunderkind designer Ivan Grundahl, which I will wear for years. 

I wandered to the small neighborhood of Christianshavn, which was founded in the mid-1600s by Christian IV, known as The Builder King of Denmark, for his many architectural projects.  The ‘hood is renowned for a bohemian vibe.  True to its rep, I scored a dime bag-sized bit of dope (…for $20…) from a guy

in a lovely park

near one of the canals. 

 

Smoked the very average herb while watching large boats navigate the seemingly tiny waterways. The delicate buzz was decidedly perfect for a exploring an open market I’d read about.  Aisles and aisles of antiques were set on tables alongside a canal.

My first find of the trip is very special:  a very heavy, figural corkscrew of Popeye, The Sailor Man.  Dating to the 1930’s, this guy even has an etched, anchor tattoo.  He measures 5.5" tall and separates at his waist, hiding the corkscrew’s worm.  A find for the avid collector.  ($445)

 

Jens Harald Quistgaard (1919–2008) was a Danish industrial designer who worked with the American entrepreneur Ted Nierenberg to craft elegant and functional Scandinavian Design cookware for Dansk International Design.  He was recognized with the Lunning Prize in 1954 and his designs are in the museum collections of The Louvre in Paris, and The Metropolitan Museum of Art and the MOMA, both in New York.  These two cheese boards he designed, dating to the mid-century, each sport a cheese knife that tucks away, creating a handle.  Brilliant design!  (Pair $145)

 

I had to have them.  The cast, figural rabbit napkin rings are well done and make me smile.  (Set of four $45)

 

Needing a bit of nourishment and warmth, I hit the city’s Latin Quarter.  I found a corner couch at Cafe Petri in the swank First Hotel Skt. Petri.  A pot of tea filled with lemongrass, lavender and peppermint and loads of local honey set the mood.  I gratefully dug into a smoked salmon sandwich on thinly sliced dark rye.  The bread in this part of the world is unlike anything I’ve I’ve ever had … dark, earthy, nutty.  Studded with seeds and grains, the texture is dense, but it unlike breads made with white flour, it treats the body lightly.  The sandwich was a Nordic classic:  layered slices of fish

with horseradish cream, dill, radish, and lemon.

The last sips from a bottle of the local microbrew, Ørbæk, acted as dessert.

 

Divine.

 

Thin, tall blond women in super tight leather pants are scattered around me.  Indeed, the city’s inhabitants are breathtakingly beautiful.  And they are warm and very welcoming.  The language, however, is bizarre.  As I grew frustrated struggling to understand any Danish at all, I was told by a native gentleman not to sweat it:  after all, there are only 5 million people on the planet who actually speak the language!

 

Deeply nourished and warm, I strolled through several antique shops.

 

Marked ‘Denmark’ on his underbelly, this figural bottle opener mouse is pure mid-century charm.  With a brass tail

bottle opener, and leather ears.  Measuring 4" long.  ($65)

 

 

This wall-mounted, cast iron match-strike is extremely handsome and very unique.  With a indentation in the boar’s head for either a candle or matches, this beauty sports several different striking areas.  A true, functional work of art

to light up

the cold evenings. 

($965)

The embracing salt and pepper are classic mid-century modern, Danish design.  The wood is in very fine condition and the aesthetic is elegant yet also utilitarian.  Each measures 4" long.  (Pair $85)

 

I was frankly overwhelmed by the quality of the food in Copenhagen.  With 13 Michelin-starred restaurants, this town is a gourmand’s dream.  The city is one of the most environmentally friendly on the planet; 45% of all food consumed is organic, and often sourced from a farmer’s field or forest,

or hauled out of the surrounding waters. 

 

I was positively sure I’d eventually score reservations to Noma.

Ranked the Best Restaurant in the World in 2010 and 2011, acclaimed

Chef René Redzepi forages the city and its Nordic coasts for wild foods to add to his inventive menu, arranged on a plate that is pure culinary art.

Or so I’ve read.

I tried every fucking avenue I could think of to snag a seat.

 

Called influential chef friends.

 

Left pleading messages on Noma’s voicemail.

 

Tried to bribe my concierge with cash or contraband.

 

All to no avail.

 

I was more than mollified with a reservation at Radio, a small, rustic dining room headed by Noma alumns.  Various crops are harvested from duo chefs Jesper Kirketerp and Rasmus Kliim’s own gardens, fresh fruits are brought in from the nearby island of Lilleø, and hunters drop by their latest, seasonal kills. 

 

An older bottle of Cornas from Clape was decanted, its earthy perfume mesmerizing.  A bowl of local barley with foraged mushrooms in a broth made from game birds was Nordic autumn in a bowl.

 

Copenhagen’s food cred is picking up international steam.  MAD Foodcamp, aptly named, as MAD means ‘food’ in Danish, took place in late August.  Visitors mingled with chefs from around the world to eat, drink and exchange ideas.  The venue was a fruit and vegetable market larger than anything previously seen in Northern Europe and featuring wild as well as cultivated crops from

the seas,

woods,

fields and beaches

of the Nordic region.

 

Awoke late to a spitting, sobering, icy rain.  No better day to amble through the Danish Museum of Art and Design.  I’m a sucker for the elegant, curvaceous furniture, with gorgeous woods and clean design from this part of the world:  it always grabs my eye.  Arne Jacobsen is often regarded as the godfather of Danish design and one of the pioneers of functionalism. His buildings define not only an architectural movement, but an era of design. One of his greatest works is the 1960 Radisson SAS Royal Hotel across from Tivoli in downtown Copenhagen.  This mad genius oversaw all details, right down to the door handles.  The hotel was Copenhagen’s first skyscraper, and as a tribute to its designer, room 606 remains to this day a shrine to its designer,

featuring the original furniture and fittings he created for it.

 

But it’s the work of Dane silversmith Georg Jensen that moves me.  The sterling silver serving pieces from the early 1900s are striking.  I lucked out finding this handsome cutlery set. This substantial, sterling silver carving set was made by Johan Rohde for Georg Jensen in 1915.  The acorn pattern is my personal favorite – and one that is highly sought after.  Knife measures 12" and fork measures 11" in length. 

(Knife and fork $495)

 

This salt shaker and pepper grinder combination is functional and economical of space, while being tactile and elegant.  Created by Dansk.  Mid-century.  ($110)

 

It was classic. 

I fell in love with dozens of chairs throughout this design-centric city, but what did I wind up shipping home?  American designer Allan Gould’s “Compass Chairs’, designed in 1949. Teak bodies and upholstery seats,

measuring 
26¼” high; 20½” wide; 19” deep.

(Set of 6  $2450)

 

I’ll admit to feeling a bit obligated to try the herring, a regional specialty.  Grabbed an outdoor table at one of the many cafes lining one of the many canals.  Thoughtfully, throughout much of the city, many of the cafe’s comfy outdoor chairs are draped with a thick blanket to help counter the chill.  I ordered the house selection of five herring, each prepared in a different manner.  I had expected something magical. 

Instead, my mouth was filled with this nasty, foul, almost rancid flavor. 

The texture was mushy and oily. 

Bleh! 

I quickly ordered an aquavit to numb my taste buds and warm my toes. 

 

I strolled further as evening began to descend on the city, the wind making me pull my cap down tightly over my ears.   I was fortunate to find a dealer who had wonderful wine antiques.  

 

This cast iron wine cradle was designed specifically for magnum-sized bottles.  With intricate scrollwork of grape leaves and a solid design in impeccable condition, this wine cradle allows decanting and service with great ease.  Late 1800s, from Germany.  ($510)

 

Our final evening was spent in the clean, modern dining room of Kikkoreit;

Danish food prepared with French techniques.

 

Our host, a warm Dane named, not unusually, Niels Nielson, is a man of voracious appetites; a passionate eater and drinker, and a good client of the restaurant.  He took charge of our table, ordering the chef’s menu for the six of us.  We started with caviar and finished with local cheeses and drank Austrian Gruner Veltliner with the fish crudo and red Burgundy with roasted partridge. 

The service was sublime; the kitchen a quiet whirr of focused activity.

 

 

I was shocked and delighted that we had spent almost five hours at the table…… which, in essence, nicely encapsulates up my feelings about this lovely seaside city in northern Europe.

 

 

If any of the treasures in this newsletter move you, or would make a wonderful gift for someone you know,

write to me. 

May I be of assistance? 

Contact me directly at lisa@heritageartifacts.com

and I would be very pleased to discuss details. 

Please know each items is unique and one-of-a-kind, 

so when they’re gone, they are gone. 

I will do my best to fulfill your wishes.

 

Happy Holidays!

 

Until next time.

September First: Dove Season Opener

Good Lord, it was 4am and I was already late.  Puffy-eyed and tripping over my barely laced hunting boots, I crawled into the cab of John’s pick-up truck.  I laid my shot gun on the floor and put my picnic basket on the seat; its savory aromas immediately filling the car and making John’s bird dogs hungry with anticipation.  This, after all, is what Labradors live for:  opening day of bird season.  As we made our way further into northern California, John, a passionate hunter, regaled me with stories of his most recent, boys-only deer hunting trek.  Seems he scored his one allotted buck on the first day of a ten day trip in the High Sierras with his bow and arrow.  I slowly awakened in the front seat, sipping my Jasmine Pearl tea and looking out onto the still-dark flatlands of orchards and wheat fields, while imagining John, dirty and restless, on the remaining 9 days of his expedition.

We arrived into the agricultural town of Dunnigan, California well before sunrise, the official and natural start of the season.  In the shadows, I was able to make out yards strewn with rusty farm equipment and cinderblock fences.  We met up with the rest of the group, a dozen men and women, many of whom were members of the California Department of Fish and Game and all enthusiastic hunters and environmentalists.  Each can rattle off species of trees and breeds of birds and bees before they even come into clear focus.  And each is a great shot.  I was privileged to be in such expert company.

Our motley group was granted access to a private ranch through a friend-of-a-friend.  After greeting one another and petting our hounds, as many of us had not seen each other since the previous year’s dove opener, we scattered ourselves amongst the hundreds of acres and awaited the first light of day.  I huddled into the arms of an enormous oak tree, shielding my bulky silhouette from sight.  I was glad to have the warmth of my heavy hunting jacket, a hand-me-down gift from a friend who had recently traded up to a Barbour, a fancy English hunting coat.  I tried to acclimate my eyes, looking into the dusk for darting birds and listening determinedly for the flapping of tiny wings.  I could smell the cool earth, recently plowed on the neighboring farm and hear the distant screech of roosters greeting the day.  The wafting pungent smell of good California ganja from my fellow hunter’s pipe put me into a reverie.  I immediately regretted being momentarily transported, as the first flight of doves whizzed over my head, only to be knocked out of the sky further down field by a more attentive hunter.

As the red brush strokes of sky changed to orange and then to pink, the morning came quickly.  The thumping of gunfire, both near and far, signaled the arrival of dove, ironically the bird of peace, as my many appalled friends had reminded me weeks prior to this early morning.  I took aim and shot at many more of the tiny birds than I actually hit, although I managed to bag my limit of ten before midmorning.  Overly excited, the dogs quickly retrieved the birds as they fell into the tall grasses and long before the ravenous ground squirrels were able to drag them into their dark dens.

I returned to the truck, my hunting jacket shedding feathers and my pockets brimming with spent shells.  (I’m frankly embarrassed to admit just how many shells I went through to knock my ten small birds out of the sky).  Most of my fellow hunter-gatherers were already situated in a circle, propped on their three-legged hunting stools, removing the dove’s feathers and trading stories about the ones that got away.  The ranch property is surrounded by almond orchards and sunflower fields and the craws of the little birds revealed slivers of almonds and sunflower seeds; a testament to their incredible diet and our good fortune at being able to to hunt such marvelously situated land.

When the birds were finally picked clean and laid to rest on beds of ice, we opened coolers and picnic baskets to share our morning repast.  Freshly pounded abalone from a recent dive was served alongside pears picked the prior evening.  Crispy fried chicken and fresh figs with proscuitto found a place on the tailgates along with a succulent blackberry galette.  Cold beer and cheap white wine were enjoyed until the bottles were drained.  I brought an enormous fennel salumi I smuggled in from London’s Burrough Market and washed rind cheeses from Sonoma Valley.  As I sliced several pieces from the hunk of charcouterie, I noticed my dirty, blood-stained hands; as much a badge of honor as purple mits are to the winemaker or dirt-caked fingers to the farmer.

Home by midday, I slipped the small bodies into a marinade and was grateful for a hot, cleansing shower.  Later that evening, I sparked up the grill and pulled the cork on a mature, Italian Barolo.  I carefully wiped the excess marinade from each bird and lavished them with salt and pepper.  They were patiently cooked over a low flame until the skin was crisp and just beginning to pull away from the flesh.  Each breast yielded only one, sanguine bite, made all the more precious by intense flavors of earth and game.  With great appreciation, the birds of peace were silently savored.  Following dinner, the carcass’ were made into richly dense stock which will again nourish during the cold winter months ahead.

The American Southwest in Late Summer???

      The American Southwest in late summer?? Good God, it’s 10pm and it’s still fucking roasting.  What was I thinking exploring this part of the world in the heat of summer? 
For better or worse, I’m road-trippin’ to an antiques show in the Hill Country of eastern Texas, hoping to find a few treasures for my shop, Heritage Culinary Artifacts in Napa Valley. 
I decided to tuck into Palm Springs for the first evening,
after a day spent behind the wheel, sticking to the leather seats in my German tank and watching the temperature climb well over 100°.   There is a certain shabbiness to Palm Springs that’s oddly alluring. The peaceful Korakia Pensione is situated at the base of a mountain, a few blocks off the main drag. Casual and quiet, the hotel is reminiscent of Morocco, with stone courtyards, afternoon mint tea service, and brilliant pink bougainvillea flowers spilling into the pools.

  Each evening, the staff lights the many outdoor fireplaces, lanterns and fire pits, their glow reflecting off the pools and splashing fountains.  
I set a clumsy dinner table on the patio in the piping desert air; pulling the cork on a chilled bottle of old red Burgundy I brought along, opening containers of garlicy broccoli and greasy duck ordered from a near-by Chinese joint, and staring up at the purple-black sky.
The next morning, I made the rounds at a few galleries, known for their exceptional mid-century modern design.  As one former Palm Springs aficionado sang in 1961, Ring-a-ding-ding!! 

  What better for my first find than a terra cotta wild boar terrine?  In flawless condition, this fierce beauty’s head comes off completely, making it the ideal vessel for rich stews, hearty soups and ragùs made with said swine.  Measures 16" in length, from head to snout.  $265  

  A dozen crystal salts once graced a fine dining table in a modernist house in Palm Springs.  How did I get my hands on them, you ask?  Twelve pieces, each unique and all in wonderful condition. Set ($325)   A very handsome, double-sided, cast iron pot rack with an Art Deco aesthetic.  Hang with chains to accommodate your copper skillets, garlic braids, poorly behaved children, and pepper bunches.  American, early 1900s. Measures 48" in length.  ($1150)
 
I gassed up for the day ahead (gulp…$4.55 a gallon!!).
I’m always surprised at how quickly time passes on the road.  Sometimes I gab on the phone to old friends, sometimes I listen to local radio, (always highly entertaining in rural areas).  Sometimes Maria Callas or David Sedaris keep me company.  But mostly the time is spent in silence, wrestling my inner voices or merely staring at the passing countryside.  

I pushed onto Tucson, Arizona; the day’s highlights included passing Sore Finger Road, watching the thermometer reach 118°, and listening to a Willie Nelson-athon.  A couple of hours before sunset, I gratefully pulled into Ventana Canyon Resort, nestled against the base of Tucson’s Santa Catalina Mountains.   My grandparents, Manga and Gimpa, used to bring me to this lovely, deco-inspired hotel, allowing me to sip scotch and smoke cigarettes with them in the lounge, its enormous windows framing the mountains. 
  I recalled feeling so mature during my under-aged visits with them.   My nostalgia was short-lived as I was melting from the heat.  I stripped off my sticky sundress and quickly located the enormous pool, kept delightfully cooler than the air.  I floated for a good hour, watching the swallows emerge from their nests to refresh themselves in the waters, while the darkening silhouettes of thousands of saguaro cacti on the mountains waved their prickly green arms at me.   Braving a hot wind, I sat outside for dinner at the hotel’s Flying V Restaurant, requesting the bartender choose a good tequila from his impressive list, and serve it neat.  The waiter prepared a large earthenware bowl of guacamole tableside (extra jalapeño, please) and served it with thick, salty chips.   Divine.   I awoke early to hike magestic Sabino Canyon, only to be told that it was closed.  The state worried about a repeat of the wildfires that had plagued the northern part of the state all summer.  Instead, a sobering swim and a cup of shitty Lipton tea before visiting a couple of AZ antique dealers.  
  Fashioned from brass and antler, this bottle opener sits well in the hand.  Clearly, the artisan who made this put a good deal of thought into its creation.  The dragon’s head opens the bottle and the tail sports a carved brass flourish.  A fine piece measuring 9" in length.  ($85)
  My eye caught this wonderful set of mother of pearl-handled cheese knives.  In very fine condition with lustrous handles and sterling silver ferrules.  San Francisco, 1940s-1950s.  Set of six ($145)   Given the fact that Mexico was only a stone’s throw away, I assumed I’d find many wonderful examples of Mexican pottery.  Instead, I found only one superb piece:  a figural covered terrine.  This chicken makes me smile everytime I spy her!  Hand painted with vivid colors and in great condition, she measures 9" long, 7" wide and 7" tall.  Mexico, 1930s-1940s  ($210)
  Departing Arizona and continuing eastward, I watched as the sun set over west Texas in my rear view mirror.  It was now just the truckers (God bless ‘em) and me.  I hate driving at night. Getting old.    I stopped earlier at The Rib Hut (you can’t beat their meat!) in El Paso and took-away a rack of pork ribs and a pint of cole slaw, the latter of which appears to serve as a vegetable in these parts.  I got a room at the Van Horn Best Western Motel, parking right outside my door.  Hauled in my overnight bag, the ribs and ‘salad’, and a bottle of wine.  I always bring along a couple (or four) bottles of wine on a road trip, particularly if the area is not known for its gastronomic largess.    “What kinda dressin’ you want on that iceberg, sweetie?”   But truly?  I brought red wine to Texas in the blaze of summer?  What was I thinking about?   The Pinots I brought were all seeping, a sure sign the bottles got too warm and the wine expanded, forcing out their corks.  I filled my room’s wastebasket at the ice machine and plunged a warm Boillot Volnay deep into an icy bath.  I was hoping the 14-year old wine was mature enough to be nicely lean and acidic and any warmth from its car-cookin’ would only lend to a more supple mouthfeel.    But it truly didn’t matter.    I was gonna chill the shit out of it anyway.    I cranked the ancient AC to its highest setting and turned on the television.  What luck!  Valentino, The Last Emperor was playing; a wonderfully entertaining documentary about the Italian clothing designer and his VERY high-flying life.  
  I’m watching this imperious, talented little man dress a very tall, very thin Italian model in swaths of silk… while I’m sitting in a motel room in some Texas town, sweaty and half-naked, eating ribs with my sticky fingers and drinking cooked wine out of a plastic cup, its bottle chilling in a garbage basket.   Early the next morning, I went looking for breakfast, asking a local for his recommendation.
“Waaaall, little lady, I think you can git a coupla them breakfast burritos at the Conoco station up thar street.”   Lucky for me, I spied a row of pick-up trucks parked outside a large log cabin with a long porch.  I scored a breakfast of strong, black coffee and homemade biscuits with fresh, salty whipped butter and Texas honey squeezed from a bear.   Gassing up for the last of the ride at a small pump in a decrepit station, an enormous truck open to the sun and filled with two stories of bleating lambs pulled in next to me.  Were they coming or going?  I spent the day driving, watching for small tornedos of sand in the far, high desert hills, and listening to a pensive Tracy Chapman and the exuberant Franz Liszt.    The Texas antique shows were great fun, displaying wonderful early Americana and a mix of industrial and European design.  
  Hunting and fishing are big pursuits in Texas.  This superb metal match keeper and match strike is designed after a fishing creel or basket. American, late 1800s - early 1900s. Fine condition, measuring 5" in length and 3.5" across  ($285)  
  Scored from an older woman who specialized in early Americana and primitives, this cookie press was originally used to produce cookies for weddings and religious ceremonies.  In two pieces: the base was used for rolling dough and top is quite heavy; it’s weighted to create the indentation.  Highly unusual and well done; a rare piece in wonderful condition. Measuring 16" diameter.  American 1820-1830s.  ($645)     Living in Napa Valley surrounded by the fruit of the vine, I am always looking for fine grape shears.  Produced by artisans in the late 1800s during The Victorian period, grape scissors were very popular, as it was considered poor manners to touch food with one’s hands.  Quite fittingly, London’s Victoria & Albert Museum notes:  “With a few exceptions (such as for eating bread and some fruit), touching food with the fingers was frowned upon, and diners were presented with an alarming and growing range of specialist utensils for eating particular foods. It was important to be able to recognize items such as nut picks, sardine tongs and grape scissors, and to know how to use them correctly.” These wonderful grape scissors are made from high quality silver plate.  In superlative condition.   ($210)  

  Hot, famished, and tired of shopping and shlepping, I took an early Saturday evening supper at the Gold n’ Crisp Fried Chicken Shack.
Two perfectly cooked, heavenly plump breasts - meaty, succulent and piping hot from the fryer - were indecently (shield your eyes, kids!) consumed at an immaculate picnic bench painted bright white, and accompanied by an unsweetened iced tea with loads of lemon. 
As the last bites were savored in the languid heat while overlooking the train tracks and a lush cemetery, I realized this fried chicken meal will now be my benchmark for all others.   Drove to Austin and met up with my travel mate, who graciously agreed to do the return trip with me.  Before the long ride home, we holed up for a few days at the sleek, minimal Hotel San Jose in the heart of this funky city.  Spent the first evening together cooling ourselves in the small pool hidden by towers of bamboo, while sipping from a tall pitcher of icy sangria loaded with fruit, and giggling until late.   Austin yielded some fabulous finds:  
  This beer stein is highly unusual with amazing detailing.  One one side reads “Gaudeamus Igitur” meaning “So Let Us Rejoice”.  The opposite side reads “Juvenesdum Sumus” meaning “While we are Young”, a familiar refrain sung at University and penned in the early 18th century.  Measures 8.5" across and 6.5" tall.  Germany, early part of the 1900s  ($425)     This set of carved wood bowls, each with carved bull’s head on legs supporting the bowls, screams Texas!  The large mixing bowl measures 13" diameter and the five smaller bowls measure 6" diameter each.  For mixing steak tartare or a salad with equal aplomb! Texas, mid 1900s.  Set of six pieces ($65)  
 
Lunch included a drive to Lockhart, TX, landing at Smitty’s BBQ, the stuff of legends (as I reminded my travel mate, a former vegetarian).   It was well over 100° at high noon as we sauntered through the swinging screen doors, taking a moment to allow our eyes to focus in the dark hallway.  The smell of smoke enveloped us as we took in the scene:  a dark, cavernous space housing a meat market, a butchering room, and several fires blazing on the brick floors, each with a its own smoke box filled with Flinstone-like hunks of meat and tended to by burly men.  The entire back lot was covered in neatly stacked, aged firewood.   Waiting in line near one of the smoldering pits, I was reminded of Dante’s blazing misery.  But if this was hell, it wasn’t like the Sisters of Divine Providence explained it.
The aromas were powerful:  wood, smoke, roasted meat, sweet spices, dark earth, sweat.   The lady at the register took our order for a slab of pork ribs, which were split to order with a large cleaver, tossed onto a big rip of butcher paper, and weighed on a meat scale. 
We took our prized lunch into their brightly lit cafeteria, blessedly air-conditioned, and found a couple of free seats.  Armed with a handful of napkins and unsweetened iced teas, we sat and ate every damn morsel off those long, lovely, dry-rubbed bones.    It was a very fine and singularly Texan experience.    
      Leaving the very hip art community of Marfa, TX one early morning, we pulled up to a border patrol, manned by Homeland Security and complete with German shepherd; a rather unnerving site common in the state.  The dog must have smelled something emanating from my bug-splattered car, as he went wild. 
We were told to pull over and step out of the car, now brimming with antiques.    We sat on a small bench, watching the yapping dog and a large Federal officer dig through my car.  Of course, the dog went right for my toiletry bag, where I had buried a break-glass-in-case-of-emergency travel joint.
“I’m gonna slap the shit out of you,” hissed my road-mate.   I don’t know if the guy found the joint and decided to look the other way so as not to tie himself up in endless paperwork over something so insignificant – or he genuinely missed it, but we were eventually waved on.  Of course, in order to calm our nerves, we both smoked that last spliff on our way out of town, burying the roach remains in the high Texas desert.
  If any of the treasures in this newsletter move you, write to me.  May I be of assistance?  Contact me directly at lisa@heritageartifacts.com and I would be very pleased to discuss details. 
Please know each items is unique and one-of-a-kind,  so when they’re gone, they are gone. 
I will do my best to fulfill your wishes.
  Until next time.

New York State of Mind

  

New York State of Mind  
The tiny, cast iron bistro table in front of me was overshadowed by a tower of seafood, affording me only glimpses of the top of the curly head of hair of my dining companion.  As soon as the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac, we’d made a beeline to grab a late supper at Balthazar, New York City’s take on the French bistro.  It was almost midnight and I was slightly buzzed from the flight eastward – and maybe also enjoying the affects of a young Dauvissat Chablis I ordered to accompany the dozens of iced Wellfleet oysters, littleneck clams, chewy snails, Maryland crab, sweet Maine lobster and piles of shrimp.   Who EVER knows where shrimp come from?  And if you really knew, would you still eat them??   I came to the east coast in search of primitive American culinaria for my shop, Heritage Culinary Artifacts, in Napa Valley.  And I never need much of an excuse to get a little NYC air for a couple of days.   We rose early the next morning to a clear, humid Sunday and easily located our Zipcar rental, a red Mini Cooper Clubman. More than a few New Yorkers gave us the thumbs up for our hot wheels.

 

Strong coffees and everything-bagels slathered with an extra-thick layer of chive cream cheese nourished us on the hour-long ride to outdoor antiques show in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, just across the New York border.  Arrived into a true slice of America: Pennsylvania’s Tinicum Park Preservation, a beautiful field tucked behind an enormous red barn and nestled against the Delaware River.  

 

The field was teeming with dozens of antique dealers; all east coast folk, specializing in Americana.  They were friendly, funny and knowledgeable about their wares.  I kibbutzed with several chatty old men who had the most divine culinary tools.

 

The chopper on the left is hand-forged carbon steel with copper rivets and ferrule.  The wood is tight and has a gorgeous patina.  Dating to the mid 1800s, the piece measures 12" long and 10" high.  ($245) The hand chopper on the right is made from carbon steel and wood.  It has solid connections and the wood is tight.  I bought it immediately, as the patina on both the wood and metal is wonderful.  It also dates to the mid-1800s and measures 8" long and 6.5" high.  ($92)

 

Finding an early butcher’s trade sign in prisitine condition is a brilliant stroke of luck!  Made of bronze over cast iron, its medallion reads “Gloeklers, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1887"  The sign measures 20” high by 2’ across.  Fabulous!  ($2250)

 

I’m always on the look-out for good baking accoutrements.  The metal rolling pin is an older industrial piece.  It’s quite heavy and can be easily chilled; perfect for making all kinds of doughs.  From the mid-1900s, it measures 26.5" long.  ($110) These baking tins are so cool!  The patina on the tin is dynamite - and will make wonderful sweet and savory (onion and bacon, anyone??) tarts.   The smallest tin is 4" in diameter and the largest is 8.5" in diameter.  Set of five tins.  ($125)     This set of six citrus spoons was produced in the early 1900s by Benedict Manufacturing Company (1894-1953) of East Syracuse, New York.  The shape is quite handsome and unusual, and they are in very fine condition.  ($145)  

 

This pitcher called to me!  Its bright orange hue is warm and its form unlike anything I’ve seen.  The piece is unmarked by a maker, and is in flawless condition.  The crazing on its creamy interior dates it to the early 1900s.  ($85)

 

We shlepped and shlepped until the little car was packed to the gills.  Now, all I could think about was partaking of a cold beer and a few salty chips.   On a local’s recommendation, we tooled our bulging Mini down the narrow road curving alongside the Delaware River, taking in the late afternoon sun and balmy air.  Stone houses with barns built hundreds of years ago under the shade of enormous maple and oak trees speak to my New England soul.

   

Sat on the patio of the historic Black Bass Inn overlooking the river. A footbridge, hung with an enormous American flag, fluttered just beyond us.  I ordered the local brew, Self Righteous Ale, for my friend who was expounding upon yet another atrocity perpetrated on the planet.  Seemed too lovely an afternoon to get all worked up and I was pooped.    And hungry.   Dinner awaited us back in the city at Babbo, Chef Mario Batali’s place on Waverly Place in the Village.  The baldpated maître d’ at the front desk was just surly enough to be hot, already whetting my appetite.  We sat upstairs near the Sommelier’s table, which was laid with prestigious Italian wines and crystal decanters.  Their sipping station.    Crunchy grilled octopus with stewy borlotti beans was followed by pasta bucatini with tomato and wonderfully salty shaved botarga. Saddle of rabbit and “Sicilian Lifeguard Style” squid swimming in a spicy red sauce were enjoyed with a 1996 Piedmontese Barbera.  Lemon budino and my new favorite digestif, Amaro by Italian producer Nonino, sealed the deal.  Delightful.   But I wasn’t excited to return to our hotel.   Well….. you should know.  I fell for it:  the Priceline promise.  You name a price, pay for it up front and they name your hotel.  I got sucker-punched into staying at the cookie-cutter Marriot Hotel downtown Manhattan.  The view outside our dreary hotel room window?  Ground Zero.  Slept fitfully.  Every night.  Ghosts everywhere.

 

Awoke early from my restless slumber and walked the expanse of Battery Park along the Hudson River; green, clean, in full bloom and teeming with joggers, execs on their way to corporate gigs, nannies with strollers.  Asian boys played take-no-prisoner handball while a generous breeze off the water kept us all comfortable.    I indulged in a welcome wake n’ bake before breakfasting at Robert DeNiro’s latest Tribeca venture, Locande Verde, the restaurant tucked into The Greenwich Hotel.  A strong black iced coffee and a slice of olive oil cake was as good as the service was bad.  Atrocious, actually.   A day of visiting dealers on Long Island yielded a few more east coast treasures.  

 

I love this primitive piece!  Elegant, simple and functional, this early cast iron cheese cutter measures 13" high and 17.8" long.  The wire is strong and the cast iron boasts the flourish of a twisted handle, making it easy to hang for display when not being used.  ($195)

 

Carved from one piece of wood, this unusual bowl reminded me of an Egyptian hieroglyphic in its curve and line.  The hue on the wood moved me immediately.  The serving utensils were fashioned out of the same wood as the bowl.  Someone put great effort and care into the production of this truly artisanal piece.  The bowl measures 27" in length.  ($310)

 

I had to have these girls!  Primitive (having gone native!), this pair of pottery salt and pepper shakers have little corks and are hand painted.  By whom??  Perhaps the only question is:  do you prefer your pepper or your salt reclining?  Measuring 3.5" in length.  ($62)       Back in the city, I wandered Soho and found a tapas bar that once housed a fantastic bookstore.  I remember waiting in line there to buy Maddona’s book Sex on the day it was released in 1992 and feeling surprisingly aroused just tearing into the oversized book’s Mylar wrapping.  

 

No less sexy was our dinner at that tapas bar, Boqueria, named for the ginourmous food hall in Barcelona.  An older, deliciously funky Rioja set the proper mood to graze on grilled bread smeared with tomato, translucent slices of Jamón Ibérico, blistered padron peppers with salt, fried quail eggs with Romesco sauce, and an unbelievable unpasturized Merino sheep’s milk cheese, which tasted of earth and forest.   Spent the next morning wandering the West Village.  Saw Sarah Jessica Parker shopping, looking carefree and happy, her big chicklet teeth chomping on gum.  Had my hair cut by the very charming Bernardo, his long flat on Waverly Place filled with flowers and music.  Bought bar upon bar of small producer chocolate from around the globe at The Meadow, before stumbling on a couple more treasures:  

 

Large mortar and pestles are quite scarce.  This gargantuan piece measures 12" across and 6.5" high.  It is marked “Thomas Maddock and Sons, Trenton, New Jersey”.  The company was established in 1861, and at the turn-of-the-century, they produced earthernware and crockery such as this fine, very heavy example.  ($845)     This lollipop board is a wonderful example of early, east coast Americana.  Measuring a generous 20" in diameter, the wood’s patina on both sides is striking.  ($265)

   

Eataly on Fifth and 23rd, the enormous Italian mecca to all things gastronomic, provided an afternoon snack.  A partnership between Italian cooking superstars Lidia and Joe Bastianich, Mario Batali and Oscar Farinetti, the space is an almost overwhelming Italian grocer.  Browsed a bit and then grabbed a couple of stools in the center of the emporium. A hot young thing from Sicily (we asked) brought us a wooden board laid with Italian cheeses, salumi and proscuitto, luscious fig moustarda, a pile of arugula simply dressed in oil, and a loaf of fig-walnut bread.  We washed it down with cold Peronis before stumbling back into the humid afternoon.    The Picasso exhibit at Gagosian Gallery on West 21^st Street was all that I hoped it would be.  The show was devoted to the master’s many works inspired by his young lover and greatest muse, the blond, surprisingly androgynous Marie-Thérèse, spanning the years 1927-1940.  The colors, the drama and the passion were all on full display.  

   

Our last stop was Torrisi, a tiny restaurant on Mulberry Street in Little Italy.  The innovative chefs are creating unique foods with a twist. Pepperoni tartare topped with an egg yolk?  You betcha!     If any of the items in this newsletter move you, write to me.  May I be of assistance?  Contact me directly at lisa@heritageartifacts.com and I would be very pleased to discuss details.  Please know each items is unique and one-of-a-kind,  so when they’re gone, they are gone. 
I will do my best to fulfill your wishes.
Until next time.

Sightseeing in São Paulo, Brazil

I pressed my brow against the cab’s window as we departed the airport, cooling my head; the cabbie’s music an auditory introduction, helping me to acclimate to my new surroundings. Several glasses of Pommery Champagne at 20,000 feet lessened the joylessness of air travel; the overnight flight already a hazy memory. A city bus crammed tight with evening commuters idled next to us, announcing my location: Cidade de São Paulo, Brasil. The third largest city in the world, São Paulo is now home to more than 20 million people and thriving economic growth. While the city’s greenery was minimal, the low, gray concrete buildings throughout the city were tagged with colorful, expressive graffiti. My guttural Spanish would be of no assistance shopping here as Portuguese is the national tongue. I’m hoping to find a whole host of goodies for my shop in Napa Valley, Heritage Culinary Artifacts. My mouth was agape as the car pulled up to Hotel Unique, our home for the next several days. Visually stunning, the architecture was crafted by Brazilian Ruy Ohtake, known for his dynamic and highly original design. The half-moon shaped building brings to mind a modern day Noah’s arc, set afloat in a sea of succulents and rock-lined tributaries: moonscape landscaping.

The hotel boasts a highly contemporary lobby bar situated against an enormous wall of glass. A welcome respite from the humidity, the afternoon rains pounded the towering glass wall, its deluge deafening. The restaurant lies on the arc’s roof, providing incredible views of the entire metropolis. Just beyond the quiet modernity of the dining room is a sun soaked deck and pool, vibrating with techno music night and day, and is stacked three deep most evenings; bronzed Brazilians in tall heels and short dresses and men with smooth, dark chests in white shirts mixing it up. Our room was a joyful expression of the modern: lots of wood and white. With the flick of a button, the wall pulled back to reveal a large, round window – an eye opening onto the expanse of the park below and the city beyond. As I stripped off my putrid airplane clothes and slipped on a sundress, my first thoughts turned to food. I made my way to the opposite side of this ginormous city, locating Paulistano Mercado Municipal, known simply as Mercadão. Stall after stall displays unusual South American fruits, fresh fish, cheeses, spices and thrillingly hot peppers. I grabbed a stool at Hocca Bar (www.hoccabar.com.br), buried in the center of the Market. Established in 1952, this tiny joint is famed for its pastéis de bacalhau, fried pastry pockets stuffed with salt cod. Here, the cod’s flavor is not dumbed down with the usual addition of potato, but its fishy goodness highlighted with a sprinkling of chopped onions and parsley. Shared condiments of fiery Molho de pimenta, Brazilian sea-salt and good quality Portuguese olive oil are slathered onto the delicately fried pocket. An iced-cold local brew, Bavaria beer, is a perfect foil to the salty-good, fiery heat. Divine in its simplicity and a steal at 13 reais. I walked part of the way back to Hotel Unique, in hopes of finding a couple of treasures.

My first find was a highly decorative cast iron nutcracker with a copper overlay. Marked Lilium on the inner handles, the piece is double riveted: the smaller rivets at the top are for smaller nuts, while the larger ones below accommodate walnuts. A well-done and expressive lion’s head adorns both of the outer sides. The piece is heavy and measures 6.75" high and 1.5" across. ($65)

This incredible character preaches one thing: Temperance! Equal parts compelling and eerie, this delicate porcelain set is comprised of a figural liquor bottle and six goblets, which sit on a round tray. Made in Germany in the early 1900s. The bottle measures 8.25" by 4"; the goblets are 1.75"; and the tray is 9" in diameter. ($1850)

These glass jars were originally used to store herbs in an apothecary. Each has a tightly fitting glass stopper and they are all in marvelous condition. The glass dates to the turn-of-the-century One jar: $85 Three jars: $225 Six jars: $465

Japanese restaurants abound, as São Paulo is home to the largest population of Japanese outside of the isle of Japan. I truly scored, as I positively adore the culture-rich cuisine. But I overdid it. Awaiting our 10:30pm dinner reservation at a Japanese restaurant, we stopped into a neighboring bar for a cocktail. The bartender insisted he made the best caipirinhas in town. Would you accept a drink from this man?

Muddled fresh fruit, two heaping scoops of sugar, and a hefty shot of Cachaça, Brazil’s beloved liquor, made for a sweet and powerful concoction. One cocktail and I was hammered. A short walk to the restaurant did little to sober me, and the sugar blast made me super ravenous. A gorgeous Japanese woman in Christian Louboutin stilettos led us up the stairs to the dining room. It was crowded and dark and there was an oil lamp on the table that smelled surprisingly noxious. We sat and I ordered. And ordered. An additional table had to be pulled up next to us to accommodate all of the beautiful foods and sake that arrived. We barely made a dent in the sushi hand rolls, sashimi platter with fresh wasabi, seared squid, wakame salad, and an enormous platter of the best shrimp and vegetable tempura I have ever eaten. My dinner companion has forever banned me from ordering in a Japanese restaurant. And now, whenever I’m in danger of overdoing it (as is so often the case), the code word ‘tempura’ is muttered, immediately yanking me back onto more moderate ground.

The following day, I roamed the posh Jardim district, heavy with fancy boutiques, galleries and restaurants. Brazilian brand Cris Barros, known for its surfwear, cater to the legion of board riders the world over who visit Brazil for its superb waves. And judging from the hundreds of shops given over to unusual footwear, it was easy to deduce Brazilian ladies lusted for architecturally splendid shoes. The Brazilian boutique Osklen provided me with a decidedly less lady-of-the-night pair of funky lace-up sneakers to soothe my bedraggled dogs, tired from traipsing the city. Artistic expression is everywhere you turn: tucked in between two buildings was an outdoor space devoted to Post-It art in the neon shades. Outrageously good.

Just up the street, I had a café freddo in Italian-inspired Cafe Santo Grão. The short glass of iced espresso, sugar and lemon was the ideal boost to brave the humid afternoon and a bit more shopping.

Imagine my thrill at finding a very fine F. Dick knife? This German company (est. 1778) has been making high-quality butchering knives, cleavers and tools since 1889. This butchering masterpiece dates to the turn-of-the-century and has a sturdy handle with a warm, rich chestnut patina. The carbon steel blade is solid, sharp and well cared for. Measures 16" in length. ($225)

I am not usually drawn to Chinese porcelain, unless the colors are truly outstanding. These sweet-meat dishes are a fine particularly joyful expression of Chinese art. The colors are deep and vivid and the long legged egret in the center is surrounded by flowers. Pictured is a top and a bottom. Each measures 10.5" long and 7.5" across. All in very good condition and dating to the mid-late 1800s. (Set of six $745)

The cow reigns supreme here, as Brazilians love their beef. São Paulo is rife with steakhouses, many of them serving cuts from cows raised in the famed hills of neighboring Argentina.I lucked upon this highly detailed cow bank from the early 1900s. Measuring 10.5", this is an exceptionally heavy iron piece with a bronze overlay. ($345) Another late supper lie ahead. I had read about Restaurant D.O.M. and was excited to check it out. Could only score 10:45pm reservations, so we perused a neighboring bookshop, skipping the pre-dinner caipirinhas. D.O.M. is an acronym for the Latin expression “Deo Optimo Maximo”, (God is optimum in wisdom and maximum in forgiveness). The expression was later applied by the Roman Catholic Church to the Benedictine monks, famous for preparing food using only the very best ingredients available. Hottie Brazilian Chef Alex Atala, the culinary God of São Paulo, adopted the not-so-humble name for his formal dining room.

And it was divine.A salad of tomato and watermelon celebrates the ripe end of summer, while an earthy broth of mushrooms, floating with mysterious funghi, heralds the oncoming autumn. Hearty Amazonian fish, sautéed to just barely cooked, was toothsome and served with local grains. A young Châteauneuf du Pape finally began to unravel just as the plates were cleared, but I took solace knowing the last of the bottle would be sensational with dessert, recalling the plate of small, sweet delectables I spied on the way to our table. While I’m a late eater from way back, my dining companion is more in the ‘not for me’ category; head nodding toward tablecloth come midnight. I had to ask for the check…. and before the fucking mignardises arrived. Eyes opened early to locate the Sunday Antiquities Market, held outside at The Art Museum of São Paulo, known locally as MASP (MAHS-pee). This striking concrete and glass behemoth is without a ground floor. Instead, four huge pillars jack up the building; the heaviness of the Brutalist-style made light by its loft. In its massive shadow, the outdoor market yielded treasures of all kinds.

I’m a sucker for local folk art, no matter where I travel. I found this egg basket from a dealer specializing in Brazilian folk pieces from 1920s-1930s. With mesh handles and iron flourishes, this chicken is a true delight. ($185)

How fun are the Japanese? The naughty Japanese porcelain pieces I seek out date to the 1940s and this girl is one fine example. Her toes are even polished! Salt and pepper, anyone? ($95) Cloches are always so hard to find and always look so great on a table or counter. I use them to cover cheeses, resting cuts of meat and to hang the walls. These two very unusual tin cloches have handles to grab and hooks to hang. Early 1900s. Larger 16" ($210) Smaller 12" ($165)

Ravenous for lunch and spent from shopping, I walked into the last seating for a solo lunch at Dalva e Dito, hottie Chef Alex Atala’s more casual dining room. As soon as I was seated, the table was laid with small bowls: various dips and assorted peppers whose heat made me warm with pleasure. On every table is also placed a large orange tin of butter, Manteiga de Primeira Qualidade. Good Lord, it was so yellow and rich and good that I tracked down several tins to take home. The young waiter practiced his English in earnest, tasting me on a regional specialty, Priprioca, an Amazonian root that yields a syrup reminiscent of patchouli and pot, making me instantly long for my stash left far behind in California. It’s weird: everyone drinks soda here. Cans of Coke and the national orange soda abomination Laranja litter tables in both casual cafes and serious restaurants alike. A platter of pork arrived, which had roasted slowly for two days: succulent inside and crispy outside. It was accompanied with ‘smashed potatoes’ the color of lemon curd; infused with picau, an unusual Brazilian fruit. There was a refreshing lack of music in the dining room; the sound of families enjoying a weekend lunch together and the clatter of silverware bouncing off the high ceiling providing the only acoustics. Completely sated, I shuffled languidly in the late afternoon heat, ducking into two more shops.

Clearly, someone enjoyed a post-dinner smoke enough to have this highly unusual pipe handmade by an artisan. Crafted from ivory and 18K gold, the pipe measures 5" in length. This is a very fine and unique piece. ($750) Wild boar head?? I had to have it!! Made of rubber and wood, this ferocious looking devil was created as an advertising sign in the 1940s and measures 22" from head to snout and 10" across. ($585)

There is a distinct rhythm to São Paulo. Music plays everywhere. Oddly, I heard very little Brazilian music. Instead, emanating from every cab, every shop, in the lobby of every hotel, and every fine dining room was funky, techno-driven house music, with the occasional American pop tune. With a few hours before our flight departed Brazil, we lunched at Kaa. The restaurant’s façade is an enormous, non-descript door situated on a busy thoroughfare. Walking into the dining room is to enter a different world. Soaring and airy, the room is an indulgence in modernity, complete with retractable ceiling, wood finishes, and leather furnishings. The eye-candy is a massive living wall with more than 7,000 live plants. A bottle of mature Soave accompanied hand-pulled cheeses and baby lettuces, a plate of house-made salumi, and fresh tagliatelle with a ragú of mushrooms and rabbit. Dark chocolate and berries and short shots of espresso jolted us back into the blinding sunlight. No revenge better for a long, cattlecar-like plane ride than by boarding with a stomach full of wonderful food and good wine. São Paulo is brimming with wonderful surprises. The warmth and hospitality of its inhabitants, the appreciation for art and beauty, the cutting-edge modern architecture and design, and the richness and diversity of its cuisine made for a highly memorable trip. If any of the items in this newsletter move you, write to me. May I be of assistance? Contact me directly at lisa@heritageartifacts.com and I would be very pleased to discuss details. Please know each items is unique and one-of-a-kind, so when they’re gone, they are gone. I will do my best to fulfill your wishes. Until next time.

United Kingdom

   

The first day in London poured cold rain, making it highly pleasurable to spend the day in bed, lazily acclimating to the time change.  The second day finds me venturing out into a breathtakingly cold, clear day - completely bundled for winter.   Now only slightly jetlagged, but still in desperate need of strong, short coffee and a buttery croissant, I tuck into a communal table at Monmouth, the wonderfully rustic (read:  lots of old wood and iron) coffee bar in London’s Borough Market.  Wrapped in their tweeds and caps against the city’s deep chill, dozens of Brits are escaping their offices to join me for a late-morning caffeine hit.    The coffee bar’s barn doors are always wide open to the market beyond, which now proudly exhibits winter produce from across Europe.  A typically patient queue snakes out the door from Neal’s Yard, it’s counters piled high with winter cheeses.  Stalls with cured salumi from Seville, fresh bread from Paris’ Pouliane, and jars of spicy Indian chutneys are set alongside butcher’s stands, now dense with hanging birds, winking pigs, and fat, furry rabbits from the English countryside.  

 

Fueled and considerably warmer, I stroll the city in search of a few antique shops and unusual galleries. I’m aiming to see incredible pieces of Victorian and Sheffield silver, an English specialty.  Two hundred and fifty years ago, Sheffield Silver Plate was an affordable, quality alternative to sterling silver.  Today, it’s not just a collectible, but highly sought after.   

 

This carving set has delightful detailing on the handles.  It consists of a sharpening steel and a carving knife and fork.  I also found a Sheffield serrated bread knife in the same shop that is not an exact pattern match to the carving set, but certainly a lovely compliment to the carving set, so I am including it.  The four pieces date to the early 1900s, are all Sheffield, and are in great condition. ($185)     Sheffield also produces extraordinary pewter pieces.  I couldn’t resist this tankard with the naked lady handle.  Is there a more ideal mug in which to drink beer?  Unfortunately, there is only one, so you’ll have to pass her ‘round. ($85)  

   

And incredible pieces of sterling silver abound in London!  A salt cellar with a colbalt blue liner and its own sterling spoon is matched with a sterling pepper shaker.  Both pieces are balanced on three ornate feet, with the elaborate culmination of a lion’s head at the top of each foot.  The three pieces are clean and polished and quite impressive.  ($165)  

 

I’m a nut for figural pieces and immediately bought these amazing sugar tongs.  Made from sterling silver and marked ‘Germany,’ it is a heavy and fully functional piece.  The detailing on his hands, feet and face is quite precise.  I’ll miss him when he’s gone.  ($385)

 

Wandering a small alley, I happened upon a curious shop with all kinds of old wood, shiny brass and various hunting accoutrements.     I was ecstatic to find a Clockwork Spit, also referred to as a ‘spitjack.’ What an ingenious design!  The meat hangs on the hook over the fireplace’s embers to slowly roast.  The clockwork mechanism slowly causes the meat to revolve, rotating one revolution one way, then back the other way, and then back again.  A cast-iron wheel and four, adjustable hanging loops are suspended by a brass clockwork rotating mechanism. Marked 30 Salter Warranted.  From England, late 19th century, it measures 16" long and 7" diameter.  ($325)

   

I also scored a fabulous brass kettle, polished to a high sheen.  It sits proudly on a brass stand and has a warmer below. The piece bears a circular mark enclosing conjoined “WS&S” for William Soutter & Sons of Birmingham, England.  The height overall is 13.25” ($210)

     

The final piece of brass I scored is a brandy warmer with a spout.  Who wouldn’t want such a fine tool, particularly on a cold winter’s night?  The bottom of the piece is woven into place, signifying its age into the mid-1800s.  The condition is marvelous, as it is spirit ready.  ($155)   

     

With warm brandy on the brain, I took a break and warmed myself in the afternoon sun at a table along the Thames, daydreaming about the previous evening’s sublime dinner at The River Cafe. Wood fired roasted squid, explosive with flavors of the sea, was followed by a salad of thinly shaved Puntarelle tossed with fresh anchovy and accompanied by an unctuous Soave.  Locally hunted roasted whole grouse still managed to sing when paired with a mature Chianti, its rose petal and cherry notes perfectly playing against the gamey bird.  Affogatos with homemade vanilla bean ice cream and Nonnino grappas punctuated the evening.  The dining room’s convivial spirit added to the divinity of this seasonal meal.  Even the grass-green olive oil on the table was small production, freshly pressed and spicy as hell.  Opened in 1987 by Ruth Rogers and Rose Gray, the dining room brought fresh, seasonal flavors to the then drab London cooking scene. The restaurant earned a Michelin star in 1988, but quite sadly, the world lost Ruth Rogers in early 2010.       

   

Awoke late to a smattering of rain, an all-too familiar London sight.  Quickly packed a small bag and located a Volkswagon reserved through Zipcar.  Acting as navigator to the countryside town of Somerset, three hours south of the city, meant sitting white-knuckled, neck veins bulging, screaming directions at my pilot while she drove the dark, winding, tiny, and often one-way roads in the rain - on the wrong side of the street from the wrong side of the car!!!!!   We finally arrived into the sweet Somerset village of West Coker and to The Lanes Hotel.  This little hotel is housed in a former rectory whose old stone and wood structure has been made new again; restored to a highly modern sheen incorporating glass, colorful paintings, art, and warm lighting.  I took a seat in the lobby in front of a mod gas fireplace, cleverly tucked inside an enormous old stone hearth, and found that a bottle of Meursault and a terrine made from local, wild game helped to soothe my frazzled nerves.

 

Even in the chilly rain, the hotel was full, but I never saw more than a few people.  I soaked in the spa, sans garments, for nearly an hour and didn’t encounter a soul.   It was late and I was hungry. Darted across the lawns and through a couple of stonewalls to an ancient pub, only to be told that the kitchen was closed, but they’d accommodate us with chips.  Platters of greasy, salty, thick-cut fries were washed down with never-ending pints of beer. A neighborhood gang of old British men sang local dirges and played every instrument imaginable, showing off for the couple of Americans fortunate enough to have wandered in off the wet, cobbled street.     The next morning found us on a too early train to the historic city of Bath.  I made the pilgrimage into the imposing stone Abbey, which dates to 675 AD, and sat for a long while in the creaking wood pews.  I was mesmerized watching tourists from all over the world slowly read the highly descriptive epitaphs on tombs located inside the sanctuary.    “Here lies Anne Mann; she lived an old maid and died an old Mann.”    Indeed, the walls do talk…     Blinking into the sunlight outside, I skipped the tour of Bath’s baths and headed to the antiques market, where the old men were properly attired against the frigid morning.  I was immediately attracted to a gentleman with a bushy salt and pepper beard who was manning a table laden with early pieces of copper, wood and porcelain.  

   

This impressive copper funnel is 15 inches tall with a great tin lining.  And like the desirable French belle that she is, her fine condition belies her turn-of-the-century age.  ($310)

   

I grew excited to find a box of six bone spoons.  Dating to the late 1800s from England, the custard hue and lines are compelling. Perfect for bone marrow, salt or caviar.  Maybe ceviche?  ($85 each or all six for $435). 

   

I indulged my senses with two porcelain creamers, both produced by Royal Bayreuth in the early 1920s in Bavaria, Germany.  The figural fish head ($245) has warm coloring, an enormous mouth, and measures 4 inches tall.  Unflawed.     I always smile at the St. Bernard’s woeful expression.  He measures 3.5 inches, has great hues of gray and brown, and remains in brilliant condition ($245).

   

Careening the back roads of the English countryside, only slightly stoned from half an old joint I lucked across in my toiletry bag.  Having chatted up the hotelier, we got the skinny on the area.  Green slopes.  Black and white cows.  Red barns and gray skies that shifted shade.  Late morning found us in an empty pub with a fireplace the size of a child’s room for a coffee, before making a detour into the little town of Axminster.  We fortuitously happened into The River Cottage Canteen, a project by English Chef Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall.  I’ve always been a big fan of his books, which are not merely cookbooks but rather ethos on eating.  His casual, comfortable dining room, with its locally produced foodstuffs and rich beers held the promise of a fine lunch.  A duck pate made from the contents of a generous neighbor’s hunting bag was so dense and rich, so incredibly dark, gamey, livery, minerally… that surprisingly, I couldn’t take more than three bites.  The lack of indulgence left plenty of appetite for grilled sardines, pulled from waters off the Dorset coast and dressed simply with lemon and chopped parsley.  The beer was a local affair, full of hops and spice. A slice of gooey goat cheese made on a nearby farm and a salad of hearty winter lettuces left me refreshed.   Pushed on to the coastal town of Lyme Regis; its claim to fame having been the location for the movie The French Lieutenant’s Woman.  I was more impressed to find the stellar Town Mill Bakery.  We took refuge from the angry, spitting sky with large steaming mugs of ’Workman’s Tea’ (also known as Builder’s Tea) doused with local honey and accompanied by dense lemon cakes.  We watched from the communal tables of the warm bakery as the wind blew salt from the crashing surf.   I was glad I ventured into the few shops which remained open.  I found a very heavy, brass mortar and oversized 5” brass pestle.  It screams to be on a wood counter to grind herbs and spices.  ($225)

   

My last find in the UK was quite special:  a pair of salt and pepper shakers, with superbly detailed silver elephant heads made from the Victorian period.  The crystal bodies are heavy and in very fine condition.  English from the mid-1800s, and measuring 3 inches from trunk to base.  Highly unusual.  ($285)

 

My treasures and I made it home unharmed.  The U.S. Customs Officers, however, managed to locate most of my contraband salumi.  Ah, well.     It was a fine trip.     Always love traveling.  Always love returning home.   Until the next adventure…

Lisa Minucci | Heritage Culinary Artifacts

Oxbow Public Market | 610 First Street, Stall 14

Napa, CA 94559 |

Maine's Autumnal Splendor

Share This:     I arrived into Boston‘s Logan Airport just after dawn, and managed to locate my boat of a rental car, its radio station set to Harvard University’s ‘Hillbilly at Harvard’ program.  I was looking forward to finding some East Coast treasures for my shop, Heritage Culinary Artifacts in Napa Valley, but first needed a boost.  At the first sign of its familiar orange and pink sign, I cruised into Dunkin’ Donuts, ordering a tall regular (still made with real cream), and a cruller for… well… for dunkin’.  I then meandered the back roads of the northern coast of Massachusetts, into lower New Hampshire, and then into southern Maine.  Good Lord, the colors of autumnal New England, the pervasive sea air, the colonial architecture - complete with pumpkin-laden front stone steps - are almost too beautiful to bear.
  I explored quintessentially East Coast antique shops, smelling of must and potpourri, and chock full of dark wood, lace runners, and early American glass.  I even found a shop selling pieces from Casper Weinberger’s Maine estate.
  I was now ravenous.  The rush from a sack of Cumberland apples from an Ipswich farm stand had long since worn off.  I spied a restaurant jutting into Maine’s Kennebunkport harbor, home to the Bush clan (which tourists still flock to see?!).  I took a seat on the porch in the warm fall sun.  By the time my late lunch was over, I was covered in clam and lobster juice and slick with sweet butter.

  I watched the old school Maine schooners navigate the tiny harbor, as I finished my dark local ale.  My seafood stupor didn’t inhibit me from finding a few treasures.

  This sensational honey pot, dating to the early 1950s, was created by Frankoma Pottery, started in Oklahoma in 1933 by the world-renowned sculptor, craftsman, educator, and humanitarian, John Frank. He designed pieces to be functional as well as artistic and to reflect the beauty of the American Southwest.  I coupled it with an olive wood honey dripper from Italy (pair $85).
  A hammered sterling silver cake server with an intricate handle was my next purchase.  Measuring 8.5" long, this is a highly unusual and unique piece hailing from the turn-of-the-century Connecticut silversmiths ($265).  
  Created by Bennington Pottery of Vermont (est. 1948) in the early 1960s, these two teapots are exceptionally well made and in wonderful condition.  The larger one has a raised depiction of a girl at the well with great decorative flourishes ($210).  The smaller teapot is lighter in coloring and boasts delicate scroll work ($185).
  Which came first:  the chicken or the egg snippers??  Produced in the mid-century in Germany, they are designed to cut the top of the shell off a soft boiled egg - allowing easy spooning or perhaps the ability to add a dollop of caviar or crème fraiche. ($78)  

  I was thrilled to find this immaculate, rare three piece coffee set.  Made by and marked Ironstone China in England, this particular wheat pattern is further marked Wm. Adams and Sons and was made between 1890-1910. ($285)  

  My last find of the day was a heavy, covered copper roasting pan.  Measuring 15" long from handle to handle, and 9" wide, it is perfect for roasting vegetables and loins.  Unlike much of the copper I come across, the interior is in great condition and ready for roasting - and the weaving on the pan’s bottom dates it to the mid-1800s. ($310)  
    It was late afternoon and I was tired; my red-eye-piece-of-shit-totally-crammed-turbulence-tossed-too-small plane not having left until almost 1am.  Still, I opted to drive further north to Orchard Beach, strangely reminiscent of a rather forlorn Atlantic City.  Now in its off-season, I was able to score a very pretty, end room right on the beach at the Edgwater and share the beachfront with only a few older, well-traveled couples. Limitless Wi-Fi and chocolate bars from the nerdy dude at front desk ensure a couple of days ahead of reading, writing and walking on the long stretch of deserted beach.  I watched the moon rise over the Atlantic and sipped a 1992 Torre Muga Rioja Reserva schlepped along for just such an occasion.  I fell asleep with my door open, listening to the endless surf.  Awoke early to a soak in a deep, lavender-strewn tub and an unmistakably EAST COAST everything bagel with cream cheese.   Rested and revived, I forged on.    

  With lobster on the brain (and in the belly…), I was immediately drawn to this delicate set of crab or lobster picks.  They were produced by Wallace Silversmith in Connecticut in the early 1800s. (set $165)
    Anywhere I travel, I always bring along this hunger-defying trio:  a utility knife made by Oregon blacksmith Michael Hemmer from reclaimed carbon steel (sharp as a tack) with a handle made from Oregon myrtlewood; a sauscion board I had made in Napa Valley from hard maple, which makes cutting salumi a delight (the design is based upon the sausage boards from the French countryside); and a cured, small production salumi from The Fatted Calf in Napa Valley, which is truly a pork lover’s artisanal treat!  Would this not be a wonderful holiday gift?  (three pieces $120)  

  Indeed, one of the most unusual oyster plates I have ever seen!  Produced in Valleris, France (the same town where Pablo Picasso had his pottery studio), this plate dates to the early 1920s and is in flawless condition.  The octopus’ slitty eyes made me laugh out loud!  Oysters are nestled between his tentacles.  Highly unusual.  ($265)  

  Always on the look-out for well-done horn and bone items, I was fortunate to find this substantial horn-handled corkscrew.  Dating to the turn-of-the-century and purchased from an English family, this is quite a treasure. ($195)  
  Spent the morning writing in my hotel room, the windows and doors open to the Atlantic.  By mid-afternoon, I was out of rolling papers, there were no Belgians left in the tiny fridge, and I was in need of a change of scenery.  I drove out to Cape Elizabeth, Maine, a bit of land that juts into the sea by way of a rocky coastline.  When I was much younger, my folks bought and renovated the old coast guard station on the cliff at Two Lights, situated in between two lighthouses, one of which is still relied up.   It looks so small now.  I recalled laying in bed there at night, watching the flashing beam from the lighthouse bounce off my walls until I fell asleep.  The sound of the foghorn is still ever present.   

    At the base of that cliff is The Lobster Shack, a funky old restaurant hugging the rocks above the rough surf, operating since the late 60s.  I’m quite sure not much has changed.  I had a lobster.  Actually, in truth, I had two.  Bathed in butter.  I sat outside on an old red picnic bench, the gulls greedily scanning their territory.  Nothing but the sea and the horn and the high school girl calling your number when your food is ready.  I had a couple of fried clams to start.  Their dark, gamey bellies were perfectly fried.  

  This carbon steel cleaver is from the renowned German cutlery house F. Dick, and dates back to the mid-1800s.  The house has been making some of the finest professional cutlery since 1778.  This substantial and weighty cleaver measures 15.5" in length, including the handle. I have paired it with an English sharpening steel from the same period to keep its razor edge. (pair $245)         From the esteemed English silversmith of Mappin and Webb, this fish set of eight knives and eight forks in is exceptional condition.  The set for eight dates to early 1900s and was purchased from an English family residing in Maine.  I have never found a fish set of such age in such prisitine condition as this.  (set $385)  

    I drove into Portland along Route 1, its urban blight of Chicago Dogs and cheap furniture stores reminding me of the road into the other Portland.  I tried to get a seat at the much-lauded restaurant, Fore Street.  An hour’s wait?  You must be kidding me.  I put my name in anyway and wandered this seaside city’s small streets.  Found a head shop with beautiful glass blown pipes where I bought some papers and a leather shop where I bought a pair of clogs.    I spotted The Corner Room Kitchen and Bar, literally on the corner of Federal and Exchange.  It was warm and inviting, with good lighting and lots of wood, and populated with enough people to make it feel lively, yet without the chaotic scene of the wildly popular Fore Street.  Snagged a seat at the chef’s counter, where the chef actually presided.  The top of the menu read “A casual, affordable rustic Italian inspired restaurant by Harding Lee Smith. “  Out of the gate, I ordered a plate of lardo, thinly sliced and creamy with a slight scent of animal.  It melted in my mouth.  The wine list was a long page, chock full of well-priced, food-friendly Italians.  I requested the 2007 Damilano Barolo be roughly decanted for a bit of air on the young drink.  I sent the chef a large glass to inspire him to make my supper.  I was rewarded with a dish of which I still dream:  a hunk of grilled ciabatta, slathered with their tangy house-made ricotta, layered with slices of warmed, house-cured duck proscuitto.  It was topped with a poached egg from a local farm, which was perfectly cooked (meaning barely…); the yolk incredibly rich and runny, binding together all of the wonderful flavors and textures.  Damn, it was a fine plate!  Finished with a double order of sautéed local rapini with chili flakes and garlic and the dregs of the Piedmontese, now lush with cherry and game.  
  Have I mentioned how wonderfully thick and expressive the Northeastern accent is???  

Cavorting on Cape Cod

Share This:   If you’re fond of sand dunes and salty air, Quaint little villages here and there, You’re sure to fall in love with Old Cape Cod.
Written by Claire Rothrock, Milton Yakus, and Allan Jeffrey, 1957 and sung by Patti Page. Landed at Boston’s Logan Airport on a recent gray and windy afternoon. I could feel the wonderfully damp chill of New England the moment I ran screaming from the foul, putrid air of the plane.  How I love to travel, yet how I loathe the process!  Hungry and tired, I craved restoration in the form of an old-school Boston experience.  Walked into The Daily Catch in the city’s North End just as a coveted table in this tiny 20-seat room freed up.  Run by a Sicilian family, the green awning has been hovering over this spot on Hanover Street for as long as I can remember (from the hazy little I recall from my stupor-induced college days in Boston, anyway…) Quickly ordered a cheap bottle of young Chianti and was overwhelmed by the comforting smell of frying garlic. That familiar aroma always brings me to my knees.  
 
Plates arrived in a slow rhythm.  Tomato and onion salad made tangy by red wine vinegar was followed by baked haddock pulled from the local waters; naked but for a dusting of crumb and a dab of butter and served on its still sizzling cast iron skillet.  Doused with lemon, it was the essence of New England simplicity.  A steaming bowl of pasta then arrived:  the house specialty.  Homemade black pasta made with squid ink and topped with chopped calamari, parley and handfuls of fragrant garlic.  We ordered another bottle of Chianti, its bright acidity a perfect foil to the richness of the dish, and proceeded to eat every damn bite, sopping up the oily goodness with that nasty, doughy stuff that constitutes Italian bread on the east coast.    Early the next morning, we slowly meandered southeastward from Boston, driving Route 6A through the entirety of Cape Cod.  The quintessentially east coast architecture of the boxy Cape Cod homes, the Spring carpets of purple crocus and the sunny bonnets of the daffodils, and the American flags hanging from the front porches brought back fond memories of growing up on this windswept peninsula jutting into the Atlantic.  
 
Had a hearty New England breakfast of pancakes and bacon at The Sailing Cow Café in Dennisport, in the middle of the Cape, before foraging for a few pieces of great Americana for the shop.   The first antique shop yielded a few of my favorite finds of the trip.  
  One of the better food signs I have ever found, it reads ‘OYSTERS’ and hails from Cape Cod from the early part of the 1900s, probably 1930s-1940s, complete with old nails.  It measures 3’ long by 9” wide.  ($510)  
  These five brass pitchers appear to have been handmade.  They all have spouts and large handles and are in wonderful condition.  Surely, they can be cleaned up but I enjoy the patina.  The five measuring mugs are early American, mid-to-late 1800s (set $245).    
 
During the 1800s and into the early 1900s, grocers used brass stencils to mark their boxes of fruits and vegetables.  Marked Lima Beans, Assorted Fruis and Sugar Peas, each stencil has an fabulous patina and measures 9”across.  They can be framed, displayed – and even used!  ($95 each)    
Heavy cast iron pieces always catch my eye, especially cool figural pieces that can go from oven to table so beautifully.  This fish measures 13” from lips to tail and 8.5” from top fin to bottom.  It hails from Japan, early 1900s ($185).  
  I’m always on the hunt for beer related antiques.  High quality pieces are extremely difficult to come by, so I could barely contain my enthusiasm at coming across this very heavy bronze beer tap with a figural fish spot.  Measuring 11” across and 9” high, it’s a very fine European piece from turn-of-the-century or earlier. ($485)     Making our way further down Cape, we stopped in the too-picturesque seaside town of Wellfleet for a late afternoon platter of their famed oysters, which were dug that morning from just beyond the back door of our harbor side perch.  I also indulged in a huge bowl of steamers, dredging each one in hot salt water to clean them of sand and then in a butter bath before feasting.  Their sweet/saltiness is a true, seasonal east coast joy.  Washed down the bivalves with several bottles of cold Red Stripe, the tasty Jamaican brew.  From there, we forged on to Provincetown, located at the very tip of the Cape.  I was fortunate to find a couple of treasures in the very few shops that were open.  
 
I swooned for this little three legged lamp has figural feet and a fringed shade made from animal hyde, which gives off the most lovely hue.  It dates to the early 1900s and measures 12” tall.  ($190)  
 
Mid-century pottery always catches my eye.  Its color and form are always distinct, clean and oh-so-modern.  This platter from Frankoma Pottery was produced in Oklahoma in the early 1950s and is in wonderful condition.  The color is rich and vivid and it is the perfect vessel for serving olives, cheese, nuts and condiments.  It measures 12” in diameter. ($88)  
 
Tin and metal molds are such fun, especially the more unusual, figural pieces.  This chocolate mold sports the shape of pretzels, reminding me of my early days in New York, when the twisted doughy bread studded with salt and smothered in yellow mustard was this poor working girl’s lunch.  It’s heavy and measures 5.75” across and 6.5’ high.  ($185)     Bunked for a couple of nights in Provincetown at The Brass Key, a lovely complex of rooms, which open onto a fabulous courtyard, all done up by several men of impeccable taste.  My room sported old-school floral wallpaper and a shower with four heads stocked with great product.  The downstairs bar is hysterically named ‘Ship Wrecked’, and I’m sure that during high season, more than one or two sailors are found beached there.  Wandered Commercial Street, P'town’s aptly named main drag, now quiet as off-season looms but still managing to see plenty of leather harnesses and stud collars on parade.  
And speaking of which… who says there is no such thing as a phallic culinary artifact?   I scored this ceramic penis decanter from a dealer situated down a peaceful little alleyway.  Originally from Portugal, legend has it that the bride-to-be would fill it with liquor and pass it around to her bridesmaids the night before the nuptials, allowing each girl to take a pleasurable gulp from it.  Made of ceramic and painted in great hues. ($345)  
 
Wrapped in a heavy sweater and seated in a quiet, empty outdoor café, we tucked into yet another lobster and a bottle of Italian white wine, departing only as a chilly fog descended on us.  Slightly tipsy, I stumbled into a late-night candy shop on the return to the hotel.  I bought half a pound of the appropriately named Drunken Fudge, the smeared crumbs of which I found in my sheets the following morning.  Slept buried under my blankets with all the doors and windows open, listening to the fog horn moan in the far off distance…   Awoke to warm sunshine and took a soak in the large hot tub, enjoying the breeze and the solitude.  Went to Race Point Beach, which circles the northern coast of Provincetown, and took a long morning walk to the lighthouse.  Found a large cuttlefish skull picked to a white sheen by the gulls and the pounding Atlantic.  It’ll be perfect for the shop!   Sat in the unseasonably warm sun on a bench overlooking Provincetown Harbor, the tide far out and a lovely sea breeze blowing in.

  Went to Devon’s on Commercial Street for breakfast, the windows open onto the harbor.  Spinach and black truffle cheese scrambled eggs with applewood smoked bacon; English muffins layered with house made raspberry jam served from pottery crocks on each table.  Rich, dark coffee, freshly squeezed pulpy grapefruit juice, and Red Bliss potatoes made with Old Bay seasoning made it a truly memorable breakfast.
Fortified, we drove off-Cape to Rhode Island, stopping to see the decadent Newport mansions situated right on the edge of Newport’s famed cliffs.  Good God, have you seen these places?  The Breakers, commissioned by the Vanderbilt family in the late 1800s, is so over-the-top that I’m sure my mouth was hanging open during the entire tour.  What opulence!  I brought myself back down to Earth by haunting various antique shops in the tiny state of Rhode Island.

  This sign, ‘State Hatchery’ is originally from Maine and had hung in the dealer’s home for 50+ years.  It dates to the 1930s and is in wonderful condition.  The truly amazing aspect?  It’s double sided and can be hung in the middle of a room or over a kitchen island.  It measures 22” tall, 52” wide and 2” deep.  One of a kind.  ($1450)

  This Victorian-era butter service is quite unique, topped with a dairy cow.  In wonderful condition, it is fitted with a butter knife and an interior tray, which rests on a bed of ice.  In wonderful condition, this piece was created by Simpson, Hall and Miller Silverworks in the late 1800s in Connecticut.  ($245)

  Cast iron calls to me.  These heavy, figural sheep are very well done with great detail.  They can be used as doorstops or bookends.  I love them!  (pair $185)

    As my background is in wine and my shop sits in the heart of Napa Valley, I am always hunting for unusual wine antiques.  This European wood, picking basket is a rare item, and still boasts its leather straps.  The patina is rich and lovely and would be perfectly suited to hang on the wall of a kitchen, or over a hearth. Dates to the mid-1800s. ($1650)       The last night’s dinner was a long anticipated affair at Rhode Island’s famed Al Forno.  A bottle of young Barolo accompanied a rustic, rich dish of tomato and eggplant covered with local, bubbling mozzarella, which had been roasted in their wood fired oven. God, how I adore the east coast Italian sensibility!  Guinea hen, smoky and succulent from the wood oven, was served with locally produced polenta and freshly plucked dandelion.  Food and service were all top-notch, but I’m not a fan of being asked to order dessert with my entrée.  Surely, this consistently packed dining room sets such a policy to keep tables turning, but it feels rushed and less than hospitable.  And I usually prefer a green salad and a piece of cheese to hunk of chocolate cake at my meal’s end.
  Too much good booty to pack away in my suitcases, so I spent the final, precious east coast morning negotiating with a shipping company to deliver the pieces westward, safely and before the turn-of-the-century.  I’m happy to report all arrived and my cuttlefish skull, retrieved from Race Point Beach that fine morning, continues to waft its briny scent throughout my shop in Napa Valley.
   
  Wedding season is nearly upon us.  I have been asked repeatedly to offer personalized gift registries of unique, one-of-a-kind items.  May I be of assistance to you?  Please contact me directly at lisa@heritageartifacts.com and I would be very pleased to discuss details.   And of course, if any of these items in this newsletter move you, write to me.  Please know that each items is unique and I only have one - so when they’re gone, they are gone.  But I will do my best to fulfill your wishes.
  Until next time.

Lisa Minucci | Heritage Culinary Artifacts

Oxbow Public Market | 610 First Street, Stall 14

Napa, CA 94559 |

Wandering Whidbey Island, Washington

Share This:     Late summer found me on a ferry to Whidbey Island, off the coast of Washington State.  I wanted to spend a couple of peaceful weeks off the beaten path in the great Northwest, combing for treasures for my Napa Valley shop, reading from my enormous pile of mags, and cooking seafood pulled from the nearby waters.  The rented cottage, set directly on Puget Sound, looked so much more charming online than its scruffy reality.  A larger-than-life, carved wooden monstrosity of a fisherman greeted us at the front door, making me roar with laughter each time we entered The Shack.

From an Adirondack chair on the porch, I watched eagles eye schools of tiny silver fish from their perch on the old wooden jetty. They would suddenly alight after their morning catch, snatching the wriggling fish in their craws and delivering the doomed creatures to waiting mouths high in the nearby pines. Half a joint smoldered in the clamshell ashtray and a deep, low rumble from passing ferries kept me company as days slowly passed.  I found an old clam rake and took advantage of its use at low tide, digging for clams on exposed sand flats, competing for the bigger scores with a Chocolate Labrador, who curiously buried them elsewhere on the beach.  A weird animal-to-bivalve catch and release program?  We were rewarded with bowls of rich chowder, dense with white Island corn, pancetta I dragged from home, and the few succulent clams I managed to basket.  It was perfect with our never-ending supply of hoppy, hearty Alaska Ale.

Before arriving onto Whidbey, we made the requisite pilgrimage to Seattle’s Pike Place Market, scoring jars of local honey for tea, bags of yellow and green beans, ripe tomatoes, different strains of spicy garlic, stinky goat cheeses from nearby farms, and an entire Copper River salmon, its bright orange flesh a color I had never before seen in nature.  The Shack’s kitchen was equipped well enough to allow me to knock out a Gravlax with the whole fish.  It rested for two days in a salty brine, made fragrant with freshly gathered dill and weighted under heavy rocks scrounged from the beach.

I picked up a weighty loaf of seeded rye bread from Macrina, a small Seattle bakery. I cut it thickly and slathered it with locally made crème fraiche, pungent red onion and piles of the thinly cut cured fish, sliced with these super-sharp, carbon-steel knives spied in a local gallery.
  I tracked down the blacksmith, Michael Hemmer, who resides in a remote Oregon town.  A multi-faceted, talented hippie, he once lived on a 300+ person commune in the late 1970’s; working alongside fellow farmers on one of California’s first organic farms.  Tired of communal life, he moved to Oregon in the mid-1980s to pursue his craft in peace.  His studio is in a dilapidated barn, housing an enormous forging hammer from the early 1800s shipped in from Boston. He only uses recycled carbon steel, which as every chef knows, holds the sharpest edge.  His handles are crafted with rose, ash and birch woods.  Each one is different; a unique piece of art, to be used every day.  I keep a large utility knife in the glove box for fruit, cheese and intruders.
Chopper  $165 Large Utility  $95 Small Pairing  $65    

  Weekend neighbors announced themselves loudly, their children and pit bull in tow.  We fled our porch heaving and gagging after they sparked up their grill by emptying an entire bottle of lighter fluid onto the briquettes.  Surely it went unnoticed by the family; the constant smog from the head honcho’s Marlboros having anesthetized the entire brood’s olfactory senses.  We decamped The Shack for more luxe accommodations at The Inn at Langley.  Situated on a quiet corner of Puget Sound in the charming town of Langley, it’s owned by the former mayor of Seattle, who makes the rounds at breakfast, introducing himself and offering up island lore. The small hotel’s exterior architecture is pure seaside clapboard, reminiscent of New England.  The rooms are contemporary, with fireplaces and enormous, deeply sunken tubs where one could fit an entire family – or perhaps a select group of friends you want to get to know better after cocktails at the local dive bar…
    Roaming little Langley, I found a shop run by a studious, highly informed woman who sold all kinds of wonderful, antique prints and botanicals. I bought several for the shop, including this fine original chromolithograph, circa 1902, of the American Lobster (Homarus Americanus), which shows the underside of the egg bearing female.  Created by master Sherman Foote Denton (1856-1937), a naturalist, artist and author in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. His chromolithographs of the fish of New York State were used to illustrate the New York State Fish and Game Commission annual reports from 1895 to 1907.  This piece was a color-printed lithograph in which a separate stone was used for the application of each color, thus requiring meticulous registration to recreate the subtle tones of blended color simulating the iridescence of fish.  This technique was pioneered by Denton.  As stated in the Annual Report of the State of New York Fisheries, Game and Forest Commission, “No colored figures of fishes in existence exceed them for their truthfulness or beauty of execution.”
This original print is in fine, unaltered condition, printed on heavy coated stock and measures 2’ by 1’ framed.  The carved wooden frame and its glass are suitably from the early 1900s.  $345

  Born and raised on Cape Cod, I am immediately attracted to all things pulled from the sea; lobster in particular.  In a small shop further up-island, I scored this wonderful lobster platter from a fellow collector of fine mid-century pottery. The talented American potter Brad Keeler created this piece in his Los Angeles studios in the early 1940s.  It’s in ideal condition; the colors bright and expressive.  ($265)     Three, large white enamelware lamps were rescued from an ice-cream factory outside of Seattle.  Dating to the 1930’s, they have great character and would be sensational hanging over a kitchen island or large farmhouse table.  They measure 2’ wide in circumference and, with the pole attachments, 5.5’ tall and are fully functional.  ($825 each)

 
With its long history of hunting, fishing and gathering, the great Northwest is a magical place to find all kinds of special hunting and fishing accoutrements.  This hunting knife is a solid, finely made piece, clearly marked ‘Ebro’ on the blade.  It has an antler handle boasting a wonderful patina and a sterling silver cap on the end.  Made in England by Sheffield in the early 1900s, it is an exquisite piece ($145).
 

One of my favorite finds is this incredible Templeton Cheese Cutter with its original red paint.  The knife is heavy, sharp and in great condition.  All of the mechanisms are in place and in working order.  This beauty was built by Templeton in Ohio in 1902 ($985).


This intricately carved cutting board sports serpents, flourishes, and a heavily lidded man who oversees all that is sliced here.  Measuring 10” tall by 13” long, it’s a unique piece of American art.  $165
    Always on the look-out for Ironstone pottery in flawless condition, I was ecstatic to find this coffee service with the cream and sugar.  Marked Wm Adams and Sons, England, each piece has the raised wheat pattern. The set is a wonderful addition for any collector or admirer ($265).
    My last find of the trip made me laugh out loud.  Made from cast iron and dating to the mid-1900s, I know dozens of people who would truly appreciate, or even deserve, this horse’s ass bottle opener. ($62)
   
 I am always on the look-out for grape scissors and this sterling silver pair is particularly wonderful.  The motif on the handle shows a fox poised to eat the grapes ($185).  
    The heavy, gorgeous dinner knives are in the Grand Colonial Pattern and hail from Wallace Silversmiths, Boston, Massachusetts.  They were produced in 1942 and are in wonderful condition (set $135).
 
Always on the hunt for a great breakfast joint, an islander mentioned Mukilteo Coffee Roasters. Unmarked by signage and tucked into the woods, it is truly a local’s joint.  The blueberry pancakes were studded with ripe, foraged berries, the strong coffee sensational, and the staff young and hip.  I found a tiny space in the car, now brimming with my booty, into which I tucked pounds of their freshly roasted coffee beans and house-made granola, fueling the ride home to Napa Valley.
  Each piece offered is unique, and one-of kind.  Thus, I only have one of them – so when they’re gone, they’re gone.  If there is something that moves you, send me an email (lisa@heritageartifacts.com) and I will do my best to fulfill your desire.
lisa@heritageartifacts.com www.heritageartifacts.com Lisa Minucci | Heritage Culinary Artifacts

Oxbow Public Market | 610 First Street, Stall 14

Napa, CA 94559 |