Tasty Recipes from Recipe Wizards

Randall Grahm is the legendary founder of California’s Bonny Doon Vineyard, noted for creating delicious Rhone-style wines. He is an innovator not only in the vineyard, where he fearlessly experiments with different grape varieties, but also in the marketplace, where his eye-catching labels and fondness for outrageous punning have long entertained consumers.

Grahm has his opinions, especially about what makes good wine. He has not been shy about skewering the pretensions of California’s wine industry in his writings, a collection of which has just been published under the title “Been Doon So Long: A Randall Grahm Vinthology” (University of California Press, $34.95). Here, via e-mail, he answers questions about wine and his career.

Q: Why do you make wine?

A: Good question, and my motivations (as the good Dr. Freud will tell us) have certainly been mixed, if not mixed-up, but, in any event, have continued to evolve. I think that when I first started I was relatively naive about what a winemaker actually did (never imagined there would be so much travel and wine-schlepping). I imagined (pretty correctly, as things turned out), that the “lifestyle” of a winemaker would be attractive, not so much due to the gauzy soft-focus vineyard tableaux (which are in fact quite lovely), but rather because one is asked to draw upon one’s diverse talents, and is always working in a different, challenging capacity.

I make wine these days for two reasons: 1. It is something that I’m capable of doing well (and probably the most efficient way to remain gainfully employed); and 2. winegrowing, sort of by default, has become my artistic/spiritual path; in other words, this is how I will (if I can) bring some beauty into the world and learn how to become more present with myself.

Q: You’ve been in the business a long, long time. How do you think your wines have changed? How have you changed as a winemaker? What has been the catalyst for change in your life/career?

A: Certainly the biggest change in my own wines has been the migration from producing wines that were cosmetically attractive (better living through chemistry) to wines produced in a more hands-off, natural fashion, imbued with greater life force, and ultimately, one hopes, capable of evincing some sense of the place from which they derive. Another way of saying this is that I’ve become aware of the ultimate banality of vins d’effort and of the sublime preciousness of vins de terroir. … For the longest time, I made wines to try to please other people (typically influential wine critics), but I am now making wines to please myself. The catalyst for change in my career has been the gradual apprehension of my own mortality and the desire to: 1. make some sort of real contribution; and 2. leave this earth with minimal regrets for paths untaken.

Q: The wine industry, particularly in California, has often been an object of your scorn. What is the industry doing wrong? What is the industry doing right?

A: The industry on every level has become largely allergic to taking real chances, and from the low-end to the top-end (with a few notable exceptions) has become incredibly cynical and rather formulaic. Rather like big-budget motion pictures, execs are playing it safe, giving the customer what they imagine the customer wants, rather than what the consumer needs (something distinctive and original). What is the industry doing right? Lots of well-designed, clever wine labels, though some of them are just too over-the-top, even for me.

Q: What is your forecast for wine over the next decade?

A: I imagine a number of vineyards and wineries disappearing. The level of competition in the business right now is just absolutely insane and unsustainable. It does appear at least in the near term that wineries that are small and exceptionally well-differentiated as well as those that are monstrously large and fiendishly efficient have the greatest likelihood of viability and success, and virtually everything in the middle will not work so well.

THE WINES OF RANDALL GRAHM

Le Cigare Volant: Flagship Rhone red blend of grenache, mourvedre, syrah and cinsault

Le Cigare Blanc: White blend of grenache blanc and roussanne

Vin Gris de Cigare: Rose blend of grenache, cinsault, mourvedre, syrah, grenache blanc and roussanne

Le Vol des Anges: A dessert wine made from roussanne grapes

Vinferno: Dessert wine made from a blend of roussanne and grenache blanc

Syrah Le Pousseur: A blend of 96 percent syrah and 4 percent grenache.

Ca’ del Solo: A series that includes albarino, muscat, dolcetto, nebbiolo, sangiovese

If you look at it, smell it and taste it, whiskey would probably be one of your last guesses.

But white whiskey – which can also be called young or unaged whiskey – is most definitely whiskey. More or less.

The whiskey we are accustomed to, that delicious woody brown stuff, is distilled from grain, but takes on much of its look, aroma and taste from the barrel where it was aged. Death’s Door White Whisky, produced in Madison, Wis., is distilled like a classic whiskey (from wheat and barley in this case), but aged 72 hours at most.

The aging is a procedural step necessary to call the product whiskey. What results is a spirit clear as water with a nose somewhere between vodka and tequila that is showing up more frequently in bars and on liquor store shelves.

“It’s not whiskey, but it’s not not whiskey,” said Death’s Door owner Brian Ellison, 37.

His white whiskey is a strange and fascinating spirit that makes a complex cocktail base. I’ve asked a dozen bartenders and liquor store employees how it should be used, and the answers have crossed the board. Some said to think of it as a whiskey, and try it in a manhattan with dry vermouth. Others preferred it as a gin stand-in, maybe in a Martinez (mixed with sweet vermouth, maraschino liqueur and bitters). One said it reminded him of tequila.

Though Ellison has been particularly impressed with a white whiskey manhattan and a white whiskey margarita, he recused himself from the debate.

“We make these products for people to explore further,” Ellison said. “We do the canvas, the mixologist is the painter.”

Chicago-based Koval distillery does something similar, distilling individual spirits from wheat, rye, millet, spelt and oat, but without the brief barrel aging. Each is clear, with a unique and luscious flavor profile. They stand alone brilliantly on ice or make wonderful cocktails.

Both Death’s Door and Koval are working on traditional barrel-aged whiskies, but they are happy to shift attention toward clear grain spirits.

“We love being able to taste the grains,” said Sonat Birnecker, who co-owns Koval with her husband, Robert. “It’s a gap in the marketplace. There just aren’t enough craft distilleries doing this kind of thing in America.”

Whether you call it pizza, pita, tortilla, lavosh, injera or naan, flatbread is fashionable.

Although the first flatbreads date back to ancient times, health-conscious Americans are quickly adopting the breads as their own. You can find examples at fast-food joints and in supermarkets, but perhaps the best flatbreads are the ones you make yourself.

Never had the nerve to make bread?

The Star’s Caramelized Onion, Pear and Gorgonzola Flatbread is easy enough for beginners to master, and you’re bound to get rave reviews when you serve this delicious combination of rich, fall flavors.

Shopping tip: Be sure to use regular, not quick rising yeast for this recipe. For best results, use an instant-read thermometer to be sure the water is the correct temperature to activate (not kill) the yeast.

CARAMELIZED ONION, PEAR AND GORGONZOLA FLATBREAD

Makes 16 appetizer servings

Sponge:

1 1/2 teaspoons active dry yeast

1/4 cup warm water (105-115 degrees)

1/4 cup all-purpose flour

Flatbread dough:

1/2 cup skim milk

1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup whole-wheat flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

Caramelized onions and pear gorgonzola topping:

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced

1 tablespoon brown sugar

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

2 pears, cored and thinly sliced (unpeeled)

1 teaspoon dried rosemary, crushed

3 tablespoons gorgonzola crumbles

In a 1-cup measure, sprinkle yeast over warm water. Let stand a few minutes until the yeast looks wet. Stir in 1/4 cup flour. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand at room temperature 40 minutes.

Stir the milk into the sponge in a large mixing bowl. Combine the all-purpose flour, whole wheat flour and salt; add flour mixture to sponge and stir to blend well.

Lightly sprinkle a work surface with flour. Turn out the dough and knead 5 to 6 minutes or until smooth and elastic. Spray a medium bowl with nonstick spray coating and place dough in the bowl. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and allow dough to rise in a warm, draft-free area until double in volume, about 45 minutes to 60 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat olive oil in large nonstick skillet. Add onions and cook over medium high heat 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add brown sugar and vinegar and continue cooking for about 10 minutes or until onions are soft and caramelized; set aside.

Add pear slices to skillet and cook for 5 to 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until pears are soft and begin to dry out. Remove from heat.

Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Roll dough into a rectangle about 10 by 13 inches. Place dough on parchment lined baking sheet. Sprinkle with rosemary. Spread onions over dough and layer pears over onions. Sprinkle with gorgonzola crumbles. Bake 10 to 15 minutes until browned and bubbly. Cut into squares.

Per serving: 98 calories (19 percent from fat), 2 grams total fat (1 gram saturated), 3 milligrams cholesterol, 17 grams carbohydrates, 3 grams protein, 77 milligrams sodium, 2 grams dietary fiber.

Recipe developed for The Star by professional home economists Kathryn Moore and Roxanne Wyss.

You’ve probably heard some of the rules of the road when it comes shopping healthfully at the grocery store: Don’t go shopping hungry because you’re likely to buy more than you need. Shop the perimeter of the store, where you’ll find the fresh stuff – breads, meats, vegetables and fruits.

But perhaps the rule that is most perplexing is the one that asks shoppers to read the nutrition facts labels on products before buying them. Many people simply don’t know how to read the government-required label, and few understand what the label is saying if they bother to look at it.

Yet food experts say reading the label, and knowing what it says, is vitally important.

“We should all take responsibility for our own health, and it’s really hard to do that when you don’t know what’s going into your own body,” says Christine Kopf, a dietitian with the Native American Health Center-WIC in Oakland, Calif. “Good labels are one of the only ways we can learn about what goes in our mouths.”

The nutrition label has been mandated in the United States for nearly two decades under the Nutrition Labeling and Education Act and is on more than 6 billion food products. Recently, that label has been applied to the items on fast food menus.

Mary DeBusman, a nutritionist with Alameda County Family Health Services and a professor at Merritt College in Oakland, says considering the label when you buy, say, a can of soup can help you make more healthful choices.

“It’s especially good when you are considering like items,” she says, noting that similar cans of soups or chilis can offer widely varying fats, salts and nutrients.

The first portion of the label lists serving size and the number of servings in the container you’re buying. DeBusman says this is the first pitfall for shoppers who only look at the calories.

“Most people just zero in on the calories,” she says. But a tiny pint of ice cream, for example, could have four servings with 280 calories per serving. If the label reader sees only the 280 calories and digs into the entire pint, they could be ingesting 1120 calories in one sitting.

The calories, or energy reading per serving is, again, helpful only if you know how large a serving is.

“We’re eating humongous portions,” DeBusman says. Counting the calories in regards to portion size is the only way to know you’re getting the right amount, she adds. The USDA says that foods with 40 calories per serving or less are low-calorie foods, foods with 100 calories are moderate and foods with 400 calories or more are high-calorie foods.

If you don’t know how many calories you should be eating, DeBusman says, 2,000 is a good start because “many people are eating way more than that now.” Each person needs a different amount of calories per day based on weight, height and activity level, which is measured with a complex Estimated Energy Requirements formula. Several Web sites, including www.nutrihand.com, can help you estimate the amount of calories you should consume for your particular needs.

A section down from the calorie information is the nutrients portion of the label, and the first line offers the total amount of fat in the food and what percentage of fat recommended in a 2,000 calorie daily diet that amount contains.

The USDA says most people get enough fat, cholesterol and salt nutrients, perhaps even more than they need. The organization recommends that when people look at the total fat portion of the label, they should note that a label reading 20 percent or more is high for total fat. The same is true for saturated fat, cholesterol and sodium.

Buying products with lower percentage numbers, closer to 5 percent, are the best choices, the experts say. Saturated fats, found mainly in animal products, and trans fats, found in processed and fried foods and baked goods, are considered “bad fats,” and you should have as little of these as possible, experts say. Monounsaturated fats, found in nuts and olive oil, help lower bad cholesterol and boost good cholesterol and polyunsaturated fats, those found in salmon and fish oil, do the same. Both are considered “good fats,” according to the USDA.

Most Americans, the USDA says, don’t get enough dietary fiber, vitamin A, vitamin C, calcium, and iron in their diets. That is why these are also important listings on the label. A good rule of thumb for reading these numbers is that if the product has 5 percent of the daily value, that is too low and 20 percent or more is high. Buying products with higher percentages in these sections is preferable.

A food that is labeled “high in calcium” must have at least 20 percent of the daily value of calcium, while products labeled “contains calcium,” must have at least 10 to 19 percent of the daily value of calcium. Similar labels are given to foods that are deemed “high in protein,” meaning they must have a certain percentage of the daily value to merit that label.

As far as the sweet stuff is concerned, the USDA suggests when comparing products you buy the one with the least amount of sugar. Depending on the amount of calories you should consume, you should limit your sugar intake to 22 to 66 grams per day, according to the food pyramid. Many products, such as yogurt, have widely varying amounts of sugar in them.

DeBusman warns that all consumers should check the listed ingredients as well and avoid all products with hydrogenated oils, or trans fat. A product could have 0 grams of trans fat listed on the label if it has less than .5 grams total per serving. All amounts of trans fats should be avoided, she says. Look for “partially hydrogenated” oils on the ingredients list.

And Kopf suggests shoppers pay particular attention to the ingredients label when buying products labeled “whole wheat.” Only those with whole grains listed as the first ingredient should be purchased, she says.

DECIPHERING THE BUZZ WORDS

What does “Low calorie” or “Lean” really mean?

There are several buzz words on the packages of the foods you eat. They are not just tools to convince you to buy them, for the FDA has rules about what these words mean. Here’s a quick guide:

-”Calorie Free” means that there are fewer than 5 calories per serving.

-”Low Calorie” means there are 40 calories or less per serving or 120 or less in meals or main dishes.

-”Sugar Free” indicates there are fewer than 0.5 grams of sugar per serving.

-”Fat Free” means that there are fewer than 0.5 grams of total fat per serving.

-”Low Fat” means the food contains 3 grams of total fat or less per serving.

-”Low Saturated Fat” means the food contains 1 gram or less per serving.

-”Low Sodium” indicates the food contains less than 140 mg of sodium per serving.

-”Very Low Sodium” means the food contains less than 35 mg per serving.

-”Low Cholesterol” means the food contains less than 20 mg of cholesterol per serving.

-”High” as in “high in protein” means one serving of the food contains 20 percent or more of the daily value for a particular nutrient.

-”Good Source” as in “good source of calcium” means one serving of the food contains 10 to 19 percent of the daily value for a particular nutrient.

Source: www.fda.gov

Calorie breakdown

If you’re confused about where your daily recommended calories should come from, the USDA says:

-60 percent of your calories should come from carbohydrates.

-10 percent of your calories should come from protein.

-30 percent of your calories should come from fats.

Source: www.usda.gov

Food for thought: Where would we be without Taco Bell? It may not be authentic and it may not be gourmet, but Taco Bell helped familiarize Americans with Mexicans and their culture.

For many foodies and their lefty amigos, Taco Bell belongs in the pantheon of all-time anti-Mexican conspiracies – a notch below Lou Dobbs but more onerous than the swine flu.

These custodians of cuisine and culture rail against the fast-food behemoth, bemoan how it mongrelizes one of the world’s great food traditions with its chalupas and enchiritos, its Volcano Menu and cheese roll-ups. The chain’s ubiquity makes it just another foot soldier in corporate America’s drive toward nationwide blandness, they’ll argue. And how insulting was that darn Chihuahua campaign from a couple of years ago? “Yo quiero Taco Bell?” Muy racist!

Full disclosure: I’m one of those whiners. Ever tried one of their burritos? Blech. But with the recent death of Taco Bell’s founder, Glen Bell, it’s time to praise the multibillion-dollar powerhouse. It deserves a spot in Mexican American lore, in the gallery honoring those brave pioneers who helped us join the melting pot – below Cesar Chavez but higher than George Lopez.

When Bell sold his first crunchy taco in 1951, Americans outside the Southwest largely were unfamiliar with Mexican society beyond Hollywood’s banditos and the spicy senoritas of song. It was the years before the Great Brown Migration, and without a widespread population to introduce Mexican dishes to the general public, the nationwide reputation of Mexican food languished in the realm of slurs – “pepper belly,” “taco bender” and the ever-dangerous “Montezuma’s revenge.”

But Bell – a white man operating a burger stand in San Bernardino’s Mount Vernon barrio – saw an opportunity. “I figured if Mexican food (sold in a fast-food environment) was successful, potential competitors would write it off to my location and assume the idea wouldn’t sell anywhere else,” Bell said in his 1999 biography, “Taco Titan: The Glen Bell Story.” He began streamlining the taco-making process, modified Mexican foodstuffs for mainstream acceptance and opened his first Taco Bell in Downey, Calif., in the early 1960s, franchising nationwide soon after. “I didn’t invent the taco,” he remarked, “but I believe I improved it.”

That claim is still debatable, but what’s certain is that Bell’s mass-produced version of Mexican food – owing more to the palate of suburban Southern California than the Empire of the Sun – caught on across the United States. It was a more innocent time, one in which communities welcomed encroaching Mexican culture not with protests and vile slurs but with an order for three hard-shell tacos, easy on the sour cream.

Competitors quickly popped up and spread “Mexican” food to all corners of the republic long before actual Mexicans arrived. Some kept versions of Taco Bell’s original mascot, the archetypal peon sleeping under a cactus; others modified the food further to match local tastes (oh, how I’d love to see gourmand purists react to Taco John’s, a chain with hundreds of outposts in the upper Midwest whose signature breakfast burrito contains crunchy Tater Tots). It’s now a multibillion-dollar industry, with Taco Bell firmly on top.

The company’s introduction of a culinary scaffold on which Americans learned to crave Mexican food proved momentous to American tastes. Without Taco Bell, salsa wouldn’t have become as big a seller as ketchup and mustard. No Taco Bell, then no Doritos empire or Super Bowl Sunday rush for guacamole. Without Taco Bell, Mexican food wouldn’t have entered our gustatory vernacular alongside pizza, the hot dog, pita wraps and other vestiges of ethnic America.

Far from warping traditional recipes, the success of Taco Bell-style Mexican eats sparked a backlash led in the 1970s by author and culinary expert Diana Kennedy, and carried to the present day by Rick Bayless and other celebrity chefs to popularize “authentic” Mexican dishes so amateur cooks could ditch the taco kit and experience the real deal. And the continual influx of Mexican immigrants into this country ensures that “real” Mexican fare won’t soon disappear.

More important, Taco Bell and its spawn became a gateway for Americans to accept Mexicans. It hasn’t been an easy ride, of course, but one smoothed by an endless stream of refried beans and nacho cheese. If you can sit down and enjoy the cuisine of newcomers, then surely you can start thinking of them as fellow citizens, right? And with Taco Bell’s recent push into international markets, it’s making as bold a statement as any in the immigration wars, one that’s downright revolutionary: Mexican food can represent U.S. culture with nary a second thought.

I ate at Taco Bell the other night for the first time in years in honor of Glen Bell, just to see if my bad memories of the chain were still justified. They were. My burrito contained bland pinto beans, cheese that tasted like chalk, all within a clammy flour tortilla. But in front of me in the drive-through line were whites, Asians, even Mexicans, all trying to grab a slice – scratch that, a taco – of America.

But here’s hoping they doused their grub with Tapatio instead of requesting extra packets of Border Sauce Fire – it’s still Taco Bell, after all.

From the avalanche of attention Thomas Keller has been getting for Bouchon, you’d almost think the arrival of the new Beverly Hills restaurant was the second coming. Actually, it is, in a way. For those without a long memory, Keller was executive chef at Checkers Hotel in downtown L.A. in the early ’90s, well before the French Laundry, Per Se and his seven Michelin stars. Now Keller is back in Los Angeles in a big way, this time as a phenomenally successful chef trailing all the high expectations and jealousies that exalted status entails.

Take a deep breath. The Beverly Hills Bouchon is, in the end, just another Bouchon. (Keller has two others, the original locals’ hangout in Yountville, Calif., and a second more palatial spot in Las Vegas.) But, because of Keller’s commitment to excellence and unflagging attention to detail, it is, hands down, the best French bistro in Los Angeles. Under chef Rory Herrmann (formerly of Per Se), the kitchen turns out classic bistro dishes tweaked to Keller’s modern sensibility. Not only that, the 2-month-old bistro has an authentic sense of place and joie d’esprit. It’s the real thing in every sense.

Seated at a table at the edge of the room, I take in the scene. The Sharon Stone look-alike and her two girlfriends demolishing golden fries heaped in a metal cone. The young couple greedily sipping Champagne and eating their way through an extravagant two-tiered seafood platter. The skinny-legged model in flirty short skirt toting the latest Chanel bag as she trots across the patterned tile floor to the ladies room. The two guys sharing some juicy industry gossip over a charcuterie plate and a carafe of wine at the curved zinc bar imported from France.

SERVICE A STRONG SUIT

Waiters are dressed like those in Impressionist paintings: black vest, white shirt and long white apron knotted at the back, which gives them all a look of tipping slightly forward. There is a lot of service here. Everywhere you look servers and support staff are rushing by. If they’re not serving or taking an order, they’re deftly changing tablecloths without letting the surface of the table show, covering it with a sheet of butcher’s paper, pushing tables together to make a larger one. Managers patrol the room, eyes flicking over each table, checking if anything needs doing. It’s this constant state of motion that makes Bouchon feel like one of the grand old bistros or brasseries in France.

Adam Tihany designed this Bouchon as he did the two previous ones, with a sure eye. Bouchon isn’t a faithful copy of a Paris bistro, yet it captures a certain je ne sais quoi with tall foxed mirrors, graceful dark wooden chairs and yards of shiny brass. Giant glass vases of gladioli disposed about the room add notes of color, mostly fire engine red, but occasionally cream. And enigmatic frescoes that recall Magritte run across the top of the walls, adding a wry charm to the restaurant. All in all, it’s quite the stage setting, albeit with just a touch of Las Vegas build-out.

The menu is a single crisp, folded sheet of brown paper. And like that of many bistros in France, it doesn’t change much from week to week. Specials, just a few, are chalked on a blackboard. C’est tout. And yet the dishes are not exact copies of the ones you’d find in France. Everything is interpreted through Keller’s lens, incredibly delicious, yet more polished than the originals. And executed consistently.

On this menu, you could pretty much close your eyes and point and not come up with a bad or a boring dish. The seafood platter, it’s true, is very expensive, but high-quality seafood costs. And this version delivers. I could happily order the grand seafood platter with another person and spend the evening working through the oysters, clams, shrimp, Dungeness crab and more, polishing off the lobster at the very end.

FOR EVERY BUDGET

The rest of the menu is less expensive than you’d expect. You can walk in and have a croque madame at the bar (or a table) for $17.95. Or grab a slice of quiche, maybe the Florentine, a fragile custard interleaved with gorgeous emerald green spinach leaves. The crust is thin and crisp, and the quiche comes with a perfectly dressed little salad on the side.

Some of the dishes look amazing. Chilled leeks shocked with red wine vinaigrette are showered with bright gold grated egg yolk and beribboned with strips of red pepper. Roast chicken grand-mere arrives with the breast stacked on top of the leg and thigh, with pretty pearl onions, the tiniest fingerling potatoes, button mushrooms and lardons strewn around in its winter savory-infused juices. It’s one of the most comforting dishes I know.

Foie gras terrine is served from a little canning jar, easily enough for four or even five to make a feast, spreading the duck liver on rafts of toast stacked like logs. Unctuous and sticky, delicious pork rillettes are turned out of a cylindrical mold onto the plate. They’re some of the best I’ve had in this country, precisely seasoned with a perfect dose of salt.

Look around. You don’t see many plates going back with the food untouched. Even that Twiggy-thin model is polishing off her plate.

It’s a joy to find boudin noir on the menu. The fat link of blood sausage flavored with sweet spices is perched on a dreamy potato puree that doesn’t stint on the butter, with beautifully caramelized apples alongside. The flavors, so clear and distinct, make beguiling music together.

Roast leg of lamb really tastes like lamb, the deep rose slices fanned out across a layer of deep green chard in a lake of jus reflective as a mirror. Pommes boulangere is a perfect touch with the lamb, thin slices of potato stacked like a deck of cards, and suffused with the taste of a good stock.

But a special of crispy-skinned wild striped bass served in an oval copper pot may be even better, complemented by frilly hen-of-the-woods mushrooms, caramelized salsify and arrowhead spinach slicked with butter. The clean taste of the fish against the deep earthy sweetness is wonderful.

If there’s a weak spot, it would be the wine program. Not the selections, which are intelligent and wide-ranging, but the prices. If you have to spend $75 for anything beyond an entry-level wine, something is wrong. Though the wine list from sommelier Alex Weil is filled with bottles I’d like to drink, prices are breathtakingly high.

Either pony up the eminently fair $25 corkage fee or stick with the excellent wines by carafe commissioned by Weil in one- or two-barrel quantities. Right now they’re pouring a lean, steely Santa Barbara Chardonnay from Matt Dees, winemaker at the cult winery Jonata and a Santa Barbara Pinot Noir made from organically grown grapes by Central Coast specialist Sashi Moorman, both 2008, at $25 for a half-carafe and $50 for a liter-carafe. It’s quite a deal for wines of this quality.

Desserts are simple and satisfying. A wedge of puckery lemon tart on a thin, crisp crust. Profiteroles drizzled with a deep dark chocolate sauce. Vanilla-orange pot de creme in a lidded porcelain pot, served with sugar-dusted shortbread cookies. Or the signature bouchons, fat cork-shaped chocolate cakes, two bites each, with a ball of vanilla ice cream and a puddle of that velvety chocolate sauce.

I’m sure we’d all like to see Keller conceive a startling new restaurant here in L.A. on the order of the French Laundry or Per Se. But that’s not happening, at least not soon (though we can look forward to a Bouchon Bakery sometime in the future). For now, I’m just happy he’s given us the exquisite simple pleasures of Bouchon’s updated bistro fare.