The Happy Apple Kitschen

Our pal Irene is famous among her friends for finding great places to eat, so when she suggested the Happy Apple Kitchen in Chicago Park, California, we went along happily with that idea. We headed off in tandem along the twisty back country roads toward lunch.

The decor inside the restaurant is pure country kitsch, with checked tablecloths and wooden paper napkin holders hand decorated with apples. A local artist's pretty paintings of orchards in bloom adorn the walls with discreet price tags announcing their availability for purchase. A counter by the cash register offers whole pies for sale as well as an assortment of jams and sauces. The service is direct, friendly and leisurely.

It was another feather in Irene's cap. I chose fried chicken, which had a thin, crisp coating on the outside, juicy on the inside - just as fried chicken should be. It came with forgettable fries and a green salad but there was so much chicken that it was probably a good thing I wasn't tempted to finish the fries. I needed to save room for dessert because the Happy Apple Kitchen is famous for their fresh fruit pies.

They make pies seasonally when the fruit is perfect. The day we were there, looking out at the peach orchard where some of their pies originate, the menu offered apple, French apple, peach and blackberry pies. My Beloved ordered French apple and Irene and I shared a slice of blackberry.

All I can say, is the Happy Apple Kitchen is justly famous for their pies. The berry flavor was so rich as to be almost like Concord grapes and the crust was flaky and tender. My Beloved ate his French apple down to the very last bite.

I doubt we will ever be back that way at mealtime but, if we are, we know just where to stop for a good country meal and a fat slice of delicious pie to top it off. Irene always knows.

Country Eggs

As we were driving back with Irene and Guy from playing in the river near Grass Valley, we spied a hand painted sign by the roadside - "Fresh Eggs $3.50."

Someone said, "Fried egg sandwiches" and the car turned itself into the driveway.

We were greeted by a beautifully aged red dog (turns out she is nineteen years young). We knocked and inquired - the dog's owner provided a dozen of the prettiest assortment of eggs you can imagine and recounted proudly his dog's age and charms. We all gave the old lady a pat, which she received with gentle grace, and piled back into the car with our loot.

The next morning, we turned half the eggs into fried egg sandwiches on buttered and oven-toasted sourdough bread. The yolks were so bright a yellow as to be nearing orange, standing tall and round in the pan. Guy squeezed fresh orange juice and My Beloved helped make strong coffee. Irene and I toasted and flipped, sliding substantial breakfasts onto plates for eager eaters.

Was the the country air, the sunny morning or the multicolored eggs that made our appetites so good?

Burrata

Last weekend, I had a peak experience.

On a deck in Grass Valley as the sun was setting on a warm, bright afternoon. Of course, My Beloved was there. So were our friends Irene and Guy.

Kinky? No, burrata.

Fresh mozzarella cheese with a soft middle like smooth ricotta. In a salad with the ripest, sweetest yellow and red heirloom tomatoes I have yet tasted this summer. A quick chiffonnade of basil and a drizzle of Dijon vinaigrette.

Everything was at it's peak. Memorable.

The Dog's Dinner

Whatever Lola wants.

















Lola gets.


In this case, Lola is an elegant black Great Dane of shiny coat and intelligent eye, who sneaked into the kitchen while we were toasting our friend Guy's birthday at his and Irene's baronial Tudor weekend home outside Grass Valley, and silently, stealthily ate nearly two pounds of Black Dragon tri-tip off the cutting board.

Invited to join the housewarming-and-birthday party at their new weekend home, we had come armed with goofy birthday presents and two beautiful tri-tips from Baron's Meats in Alameda to celebrate the end of the long purchase process and, of course, the birthday boy. The house is lovely, their dogs are friendly, and it was great spending some two-on-two time with two of our most intelligent and generous friends. We played in the Wolf River nearby, sitting in the chilly water and skipping stones as the afternoon whiled away. We toured the property and admired the setting and the house. We cooked dinner together in the companionable kitchen and caught up with each others' doings.

Guy grilled the two Black Dragons to perfection on his space-age grill - one very rare and one medium rare, to please all the eaters. We had taken slices off the two and settled in with our plates of savory meat, grilled corn, steamed green beans and tomato-and-burrata salad out on the deck as the sun set - it was still warm enough to sit outdoors in our short sleeves. Heaven. The meat was as delicious as I had remembered - spicy on the outside, succulent on the inside. Everyone was "oohing" as they took their first bites, and complimenting the chef.

Apparently, Lola was "oohing," too, back in the kitchen. To be fair, her nose is easily counter-level and the meat was just too much temptation. In her five years of life with Irene and Guy, she has never done anything so unladylike so we took no precautions, but the Black Dragons at eye level... well, what would you have done in her situation? All that was left of about two pounds of perfectly cooked meat was a smear on the cutting board.

She didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. She just licked her elegant chops and laid down on her bed for a nap.