Whilst Trespassing

It's not every day that, while you are trespassing on private property taking photos for i live here: SF, you are discovered (i.e., caught) by the food editor for Esquire magazine, who just so happens to be visiting San Francisco for a few days to research some places for her next article, and then you happen to mention (i.e., blurt out) your favorite sausage place in the Lower Haight and highly highly recommend the bratwurst and the German potato salad, and then she gives you her email address so you can send her some information about it. And then when you get home and tell your Boy about who you just happened to bump into while you were trespassing on someone's private property, he gets a little miffed because if this certain sausage place gets famous due to some slight indiscretion on a person's (i.e., my) part and this certain sausage place is "discovered" by denizens of Esquire magazine readers, then when we want to go there, it will be terribly crowded and overrun by strangers, and the sausage place will have run out of German potato salad, and that unfortunate situation will all be my fault.

However, it is for precisely reasons like this that (a) I love San Francisco-- because it's the kind of place where you never ever know when something wonderful will happen but it will sooner than later, (b) there is a sausage place so yummy that I can recommend it to the food editor of Esquire magazine just in case I happen to bump into her, and (c) why I hate Mondays.

My life begins on Free Friday.

***

SAN FRANCISCO STREET CRED QUIZ

Without using The Google or wikipedia, who can tell me which famous San Francisco series of stories was inspired by the locale pictured above?

20% More Life

I don't know about you guys, but a lot of people I know are not really feeling the holiday spirit right now. I took this photo in Chinatown last week. The shop owners there are sometimes standing outside, asking people to come into their stores to look around. There are not many tourists or wanderers like me on the street to ask.

Normally by this time of year, I could expect random pummeling on the train coming home because we'd be picking up loads of holiday shoppers at Powell Station, where Union Square and the big mall are. Last year I can't tell you how many times we were smashed into strange configurations trying to accommodate lots of bags stuffed with stuff and excited shoppers bragging about their purchases.

So far this year, I haven't been smashed by an overloaded shopping bag once. Our office is adjacent to luxury shops such as Prada, Chanel, de Beers, and Hermes, to name a few, which are almost empty. And the other stores, like H&M, The Gap and MNG, have big red signs in the windows: 20-60% off! Buy One Get One Free! These signs feel desperate to me. And still the shoppers are scant. Some stores keep their doors open and you can feel the heat wafting out into the cold air. I guess enticing people into a store with a blast of warm air isn't nearly enough now.

***

Not going into too much detail, but starting next year me and some of my peeps will be having more free time on our hands during the week. I will be having about 20% more time, to be exact.

I'm going to look at it that way instead of having 20% less of something else.

One thing that could mean is that I'll be able to take 20% more photographs than normal. I really want to go back to Chinatown and explore more. Ever since I finished my book on The Mission, I feel like I didn't give Chinatown enough of my attention.

For instance, this photo was taken inside the Ma-Tsu Temple on Beckett Street. I had only taken photos from the outside previously. This little temple is full of shrines, gods and hundreds of incense sticks burning in urns filled with sand.

And this photo is the doorway of a divey bar all the way at the end of Grant Street. I had never walked to the end of Grant before, or else just had not noticed this space.

And these little men... just waiting to live under a bonsai tree as a souvenir of someone's San Francisco adventure. More chances to play with my macro lens.

And then the food in Chinatown is good and cheap. Dim sum-- you can get two chao siu bau for $1.00. Or har gow, 3 for $1.50.

And this is called a Chinese pancake: sticky, sweet glutinous rice filled with red bean paste. It's delicious and only costs $.60. Budget dessert.

Taking pictures is free but the enjoyment of capturing a perfect image is priceless. I have my beat up walking boots that were purchased for the Acqua alta in Venice, and now have trod many streets of San Francisco in them. And batteries are cheap.

***

What do you wish you had 20% more of?

Besides the extra time, I think I would like to have:

20% more compassion
20% more brain power and memory
20% more good eating habits and exercise
20% more surprises

We'll see how it goes.

More Crack for Thanksgiving

As a preemptive Thanksgiving gift/post, in addition to offering you all my most appreciative thanks for hanging out with me in the blogosphere* and being such lovely people, I wanted to share one of my Thanksgiving treasures with you: my special recipe for Crack Potatoes. This is a key dish in order for you to make your Food Baby on Thanksgiving Day (in case you actually needed help with that).

The Boy named the recipe for me. These Crack Potatoes are the centerpiece of our holiday table instead of the turkey. (No, that is not a photo of them. That's a picture I got off of the Corbis stock photo website. Our potatoes never last long enough to have a picture taken of them.)

***

Okay, don't laugh but the reason this recipe doesn't have any measurements is because I dreamt it. Seriously. Why can't I have dreams about how to play the stock market or what the winning lottery numbers are?

No. Instead I dream about recipes for mashed potatoes.

So that is why I have to fudge the measurements because I wing it. Just realize that more butter and more cream are okay.

For me and The Boy (who named this recipe Crack Potatoes because we could NOT stop eating them and then he eats ALL of the leftovers in the middle of the night), I use approximately the following (obviously if there are more of you then you need more ingredients, but you knew that already):

2 big handfuls each of the baby Yukon gold creamer potatoes and the baby red creamer potatoes
1 large onion
At least a stick of butter
Whipping cream or half and half
The secret ingredient: 2-4 packets of Savory Choice liquid Turkey broth concentrate. It's like a little ketchup sized packet with a thick turkey bouillon in it.

Large frying pan or saucepan with lid
Microwaveable bowl
Potato masher
Slotted spoon
Saran wrap
An empty tummy or two/pants with an elastic waistband

***

1. Wash potatoes and remove little eyes, spots, etc. Put in microwave safe bowl with a tiny bit of water and cover with saran wrap.

2. Cook potatoes in microwave to steam them, until they are just soft enough to stab with a fork. Not too soft.

3. While potatoes are steaming, cut up onion and carmelize in a large frying pan in lots of butter.

4. When onions are golden and gooey, remove potatoes from bowl with a slotted spoon and add to pan. Turn heat down to low and cover.

5. What you want is for the potatoes to get nice and browned on all sides and get very, very soft, so leave the lid on and just turn when necessary. Add more butter if necessary for browning.

6. When the potatoes are very soft, use a potato masher to mash up the potatoes evenly.

7. Add packets of turkey flavoring and stir through.

8. Add lots of butter and stir through. Add enough cream to make it nice and mushy!

Serve with or without turkey. You can also just eat the potatoes out of the pan with a wooden spoon.

Enjoy!!! This is a Boy Tested and Boy Approved Recipe.

***

*I have to work on Friday which is incredibly silly and I intend to spend many hours emailing you all and catching up on your blogs. So that will be a holiday in itself. Happy Thanksgiving! xoxo

An Adventure in Civics

"It's not the voting that's democracy; it's the counting." ~ Tom Stoppard, Jumpers

***

You guys aren't going to believe what happened today!

I almost didn't get to vote!

Or at least it sure felt that way for a few hours!

***

It's like Roseanne Roseannadanna says. It's always something!
Well, today it was my something.

I have to admit that first of all, I played hooky from work today.
I wasn't really sick, but I kinda felt like maybe I could go down that road, and... well, you know how it is some days? I just needed an extra brain day. I didn't want to hear any whining today.

So here I am at home, doing a little laundry, eating some popcorn, and then I think, Hey! I'll get dressed and go to City Hall and VOTE! That will make me feel good and productive!
When you live on the Left Coast, by the time your vote gets counted, the rest of the country is already asleep and the thing's decided. So I wanted to get my vote in early. And it seemed like a very good hooky-day idea.

I get down to City Hall, which is just the prettiest building ever with all of the marble and carvings and gilded metal and go down to the basement. I fill out a form, get in line, chat a little with the people around me. Twenty minutes later, it's my turn... and the woman behind the desk tells me I'm not in the computer.

Um, excuse me?

*freaks out a little inside*

She wants to know if I've registered, and yes, I have. I voted in the primary in February!

She looks for me again in the computer, every which way since Sunday. I'm not there.

*silent scream*

Then I have to go to another room, where three other people try to find me in the computer.

Not happening.

Wha?!! These things are supposed to happen in Florida! (No offense, Florida. I was going under the assumption that we had our voting sh*t together here.)

So they tell me that I have to petition the court.

Come again? WTF?!

They tell me I have to fill out some forms and go to the Civil Court across the street, and talk to the judge. Then, if the judge signs my petition, I can come back to City Hall and vote. (Needless to say, my fantasies of my weekday play date are evaporating quickly before my eyes. To their credit, everyone at the Department of Elections was very nice to me. I was also the epitome of calm.)

So I go to the Civil Courts building, find the courtroom, and proceed to not have a writing implement, except for a purple calligraphy pen, which I don't think is appropriate for filling out this bunch of forms. (Note to self: why do you never have a pen?! You always have like five different lipsticks and nothing to write with. That's bad! Very bad!)

There's no one else there except for another woman with the same forms I have. She sees me rummaging around and kindly lets me use her pen. We chat a little, and discover that both of us have the same story. Registered to vote in the February primaries, voted, and now don't exist. Not that we're paranoid, but WTF?

Then someone comes out of the courtroom and says they're closed for lunch. Come back in an hour and a half.

***

So I'm walking around the Tenderloin, looking for something to do for 90 minutes. I see a drug deal, some people in very bad shape sitting in wheelchairs and more than a few lawyer-y looking types. (For those of you who don't know the lay of the land, City Hall is adjacent to a neighborhood known for violence and poverty, the Tenderloin.) The Tenderloin has some very cool, old buildings, but it's not a place you want to hang out and gawk. You can look but you keep moving and you pay attention to who's around you.

The good news is that I happened upon a Burmese restaurant I read about and wanted to try, except I'm never near the Tenderloin at lunch. So I decided to have some tea leaf salad and some coconut milk and chicken soup. What's a tangobaby post without a foodie story anyway?

I love Burmese tea leaf salad (La Pat Dok). It's made with fermented tea leaves, dried shrimp, cabbage, tomate, fried garlic, sesame seeds and peas and nuts. This one was very good.

While I was sitting there, still feeling nervous about having to go to court and talk to a judge, I realized that I should be very grateful to be here eating tea leaf salad and having some recourse to the law and my rights. If I was sitting in Burma, or Myanmar as it's now called, I could be eating some kick-ass salad with NO voting rights. Or I could be in prison. For a fascinating book about Burma and also George Orwell's ties to that country, read Finding George Orwell in Burma by Emma Larkin. It's a fantastic read.

And then it was time to go back to court.

***

"I'm tired of hearing it said that democracy doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work. We are supposed to work it." ~ Alexander Woollcott

While I was waiting, I made two new friends, Theresa and Kathy. Theresa told us about some past elections in the Philippines and let's just say that we should be glad that eye gouging and intimidation and prison aren't direct results of the democratic process here. Bless her heart, Theresa is 76 years old. And Kathy was our court angel. She provided me with a paper clip for my important documents because I didn't have one of those either.

Then the bailiff said we could enter the courtroom.

Here's the courtroom. Just like on TV, right?

We never saw the judge. A clerk came out, talked to each of us individually and then took our documents back to the judge for evaluation. I was the first one to get my petition signed and then back to City Hall for me.

***

And about an hour later, I had voted.

As I was leaving, I saw three weddings.
One "traditional" (for lack of a better word) and two lesbian couples.
All were lovely. And I wouldn't have seen them if I hadn't been scurrying around to get petitions signed and eating Burmese tea leaf salad. Sometimes timing really is everything.

I hope my vote on Proposition 8 helps those gay and lesbian couples who want to have the right to marry.

And City Hall is just so dang beautiful. You should really come and check it out.


And then no other but Abe Lincoln himself thanked me for coming out today.
Now that's an adventure in civics!

Insert Your Own Title Here

This doesn't have anything to do with anything.

I like this photo that I took and I really love onion rings. (This was my lunch on Sunday. The hamburger was topped with bleu cheese, sauteed onions and mushrooms, fyi. Thank you, Burgermeister in Cole Valley!)

That's all.

***

Okay, Blogger is freaking out right now. It just ate my post (maybe it was the hamburger?). I know this post is very Seinfeldian (i.e., about nothing) but still, I want my nothing to be heard!

***

Okay, I think it's better now. Whew.

What I wanted to tell you, in a random way because this post has no theme, are the following:

Please see Christina's lovely photo here. I think it's one of her very best.

And then, please visit emma tree and read her magical story here. You will love it.

And then, I really wanted you to see Princess Sparkle Pony's Photo Blog, which is going to give me hours of laughs, thanks to my buddy Tara. I mean, with a name like Princess Sparkle Pony, what's not to love?

And then I wanted to share with you the object of my latest obession: baby pandas. I have never given much thought to baby pandas, until P at What Possessed Me posted this. And now I will never be the same. I keep coming back to look at this photo, like I need a hit of baby panda.

I dare you to look at this photo and not instantly succumb to the power of the baby panda.

And that, my friends, is that. I'm outta here.

Come On, It's My Treat

I think it might have been a bit of a week. I don't know exactly what kind of week, so I'll just be vague.

I know a lot of you have been sad, felt overwhelmed (baby on the way, work overload, missing loved ones, political slime, and other stuff we can only guess at), sick at home with sore throats and sneezes.

And some of you have things to celebrate: getting into nursing school (GO SARAH!), sending the little one off to kindergarten, making a new friend, starting an etsy store.

For all of those things and more, I'd like to take you to what might be my new favorite place in the city: Bombay Bazaar on Valencia Street.

What you see here is the best ice cream in town (they make it in their shop), with flavors that encourage dreaming: rose, saffron rose, almond saffron pistachio, chai, cardamom (or at least to me they do).

So consider yourself invited, and the treat's on me.

You can even have two scoops. I'm going to.

Happy Friday. Be happy, special people.

xoxo

I Will Marry This Person

This lovely delicate thing pictured here is a sugared cherry blossom.

Look to see what she does with it here.

I am nuts for this photography, and am imagining these delights on my mind's tongue.

Enjoy! Happy weekend!

xo

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!

Please join me in wishing the beautiful, wise and loving Ms. Wellspring the happiest of birthdays today. For those of you who know her via the blogosphere, rest assured that she is as wonderful and kind in person as you imagine her to be.

.

Happy, happy, happy birthday, sweet friend!

.

xoxo

me

.

ps. Since I can't bake, I'll have to give our birthday girl a virtual treat. Visit the incredible Jocelyn at Kuidaore and pick out which gorgeous sweet treat you would give our Ms. Wellspring today.

An Impromptu Feast of Food and Friendship

"Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly." ~ M.F.K. Fisher, An Alphabet for Gourmets

***

Tonight I just had one of the culinary treats of my life. Not only was it a night of delicious food, but even more memorable, it was an unexpected experience of sheer generosity and welcoming and sharing.

You might remember my little friend C. Tonight I was keeping The Boy company at the salon while he got a manicure, with little C chatting up a storm (she and The Boy get along famously, like two peas in a pod). She was telling us in great detail about her first visit to the bowling alley.

As The Boy was the last appointment, C's mother and aunt were closing up shop while C's dad, grandma and grandpa waited so the family could go home after a long day. C's aunt Mai asked us if we had any plans for dinner, and then invited us to join them for a "real" Vietnamese meal.

What a treat.

They took us to a restaurant called Tay-Giang (2543 Noriega). Mai said that it's one of the only Vietnamese restaurants in town that they think is truly good enough to visit often, and to bring guests.

Since our experience with Vietnamese food only extends to iced coffee, pho and spring rolls, we were excited to hear about the extensive menu, with specialties we would never know to order or that aren't even offered in most Vietnamese restaurants.

As C's aunt ordered in rapid-fire Vietnamese to the waiter, The Boy attempted to practice his nascent Vietnamese to the delight of our hosts. Almost immediately, the first treat arrived, my fresh coconut drink. Of course, I had been expecting a drink in a glass, but to my astonishment, the drink came right in the coconut, just as nature had intended! Mai explained how to drink the water inside with a straw and then eat the meat with the small spoon.

Then came dish after dish of the most incredible food. I stopped taking pictures after the first few dishes (they were very amused that I am toting a camera around for all eventualities) but seemed pleased that I was documenting our feast.

Mai explained how to soak the translucent, hard rice sheets in the bowls of hot water to soften them, and then how to roll the delicious fried catfish with the fresh mint leaves, basil, pickled onions, mung bean sprouts, carrots and cucumbers. Already a fan of fish sauce, I am now enamoured of the preserved fish sauce with garlic, which Mai wasn't going to let me try until I convinced her I would like it.

Plate after plate of glorious food, full of fresh vegetables and vitality, kept arriving to our crowded table. But more lovely than the food was the sharing of information: about this food compared to the food in Vietnam (sign me up and I'm already saving for plane fare), the people of Vietnam, the money exchange, the weather there.

Every question we asked inspired a smile from our hosts and sometimes a giggle. In between questions, we stuffed ourselves silly.

At the end of the meal, we were not allowed to pay for our portion. They insisted: No! We wanted you to know what real Vietnamese food is like.

Real Vietnamese food and real Vietnamese hospitality. My tummy is full and my heart is fuller. Who could have guessed that a little nail salon in a nondescript neighborhood would bring such a wonderful exchange of culture and thoughtfulness? Sometimes I feel my life is truly, truly charmed.

Flamenco Night and My New Boyfriends

I have two new boyfriends. Technically, I guess you would call them crushes because they probably don't know that they are my boyfriends. Well, the first one might. Let's take this one at a time...

To the left, you will find the adorable Mattin of Iluna Basque restaurant in North Beach. (If you think he is cute here, you should see him in person. In fact, I think you should see him in person, and order a lot of his food because it is good.)

My Flamenco friend E. and I decided to go here for dinner last night before we went to see the Flamenco performance at Peña Pachamama.

We were greeted and seated by Mattin, who told us that usually he works in the kitchen but tonight was his first night waiting tables. My friend and I automatically congratulated him on his "promotion" and it wasn't until a few minutes into the conversation that Mattin let slide that he owns the restaurant. And has worked very hard day and night since he came here five years ago from the Basque country. He pointed shyly but proudly behind him to the flag over the kitchen: "That's my flag."

Not only is Mattin extremely boyish and charming, but he has the most adorable accent ever (my friend and I were instantly smitten with him). We asked him to order for us, and we shared a lovely spread of a variety of tapas: Baby Shrimp and Potato Croquettes with Aioli (crunchy crispy outside and heavenly creamy inside); Seared Tuna with Bleu de Basque Sauce (the sauce is to DIE for); Egg Mimosa with Anchovies Toast (a light egg salad topped by pickled anchovy fillets--YUM!); Mache Salad with Feta and Walnuts and Stuffed Calamaries with Ink Sauce over Spanish Rice. This last dish--OMG--the rice was out of this world.

Mattin chose a nice bottle of Rioja for us to go with our meal, and he came over often enough so that we were able to grill him on his family, how he came to open a restaurant in San Francisco and why he loves what he does. He showed us pictures of himself when he was 10 years old--he's been in the restaurant business for that long! Anyway, we were looking for excuses to have him chat with us. We were unabashedly enchanted by him. I have a feeling we are not the only ones.

And then it was time for dessert. Mattin told us that he started working at 10am that morning on his special rice pudding and it was "still warm" so of course we had to order that. But we also got the yummy warm chocolate cake that I can't remember the name of. Both desserts disappeared in minutes.

We probably would have stayed all night and kept ordering food if we didn't have prior plans to meet some friends across the street, which leads me to Boyfriend #2.

Boyfriend #2 is Jorge, the guitarist from my Flamenco class. In class, Jorge is sitting quietly in the corner, playing for us while we limp and struggle through our beginner's exercises and routines.

But tonight, here he was, dressed and polished in black with a grey blazer, and he was the muscial star of the show. The talent that I knew he must have from the snippets I've seen in class were blazing mightily on the little stage at Peña Pachamama.

His passionate gypsy guitar rocked the house.

Accompanied by singer Azriel El Moreno, the dancers Carola Zertuche and Roberto Aguilar made the floors shake with their rhythmic percussive steps. Flamenco is so in-your-face, and I love it. The dancers were sweaty and strutting. Some of Carola's hair clips went flying as she twirled but it seemed like a natural part of the excitement her dance. Even her hair could not be contained.

At the end of the performance, Jorge came over to talk to me and my friends. I think he was glad to see us outside of the classroom setting, so we could see what his passion was all about.

He was holding his guitar like it was a beloved child and his face glowed when he talked about his music and how much he loves to play his guitar, for hours and hours at time if he can. He talked about his touring and who he's played with, and all the while sounded like a guy who was head over heels in love with a beautiful girl. But the girl happened to be the guitar he was holding so close.

I could not help but want to catch that moment of his happiness, which he kindly obliged.

Being around talented people who love what they do is such a wonderful gift.

The Other Spice Girl

“I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates? - none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' the sun.” ~ The Winter's Tale

***

(This post is inspired by my dreamer friend Relyn and my gourmet gal pal Christie at Fig & Cherry, thank you!)

I am a Spice Girl. Not a Posh or Baby or Sporty or even a Tango Spice Girl (she is the secret Spice Girl you may not know about).

I am a Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme Girl. Actually more like a Saffron, Herbes de Provence, Garam Masala, Cardamom and Coriander Girl. You purists are going to say that some of these are herbs, not spices, and yes, you are right. But bear with me.

Before I moved to San Francisco, I used to cook a lot. One of the benefits of living in this town is that the opportunities for adventuring in the world of food is pretty endless and is as irresistable as catnip for any foodie.

So, why cook when you can explore? To me, eating is another form of travel, especially when you can try foods from all over the world in just one place.

Although my neighborhood trends more towards Asian cuisines--fresh Hong Kong-style dim sum, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai, Indonesian and Vietnamese--I can also easily get a variety of other cuisines, including Mexican, Italian, Indian, Fusion, Mediterranean, Ethiopian (which I have not tried yet but mean to) as well as good ol' American fare like hamburgers and onion rings. That is not counting the bakeries, cheese shop, gelateria and numerous coffee houses.

All of this bounty lies one, two, three blocks from my front door. The possibilities are even more exponential if I hop on the N-Judah to the next neighborhoods of Cole Valley or the Haight or the Castro, or grab a cab to destinations farther across town.

One of the things I do miss though is the exploration and acquisition of unique food stuffs. When I lived in Silicon Valley, my favorite haunts were the Indian and Middle Eastern groceries. I loved filling my basket with herbs and spices I'd never heard of but wanting to have them in my larder, just in case.

I am, or was, a spice collector. I don't know why. A lot of the things I never even used. But it was such great fun finding them and wondering what they were. The Indian groceries especially were a delight.

In between the piles of colorful boxes of incense and black hair dye, you could find aesofotida, which I purchased but never used, or glass jars of pickled limes or dented cans of coconut cream from lands far, far away. You could peruse the countless types of dal while listening to Bollywood hits and watching women in colorful saris pick out their vegetables. Just being in those small, independent markets was like an instant passport to somewhere else, all for the price of a bag of interesting groceries.

I've done my share of exploring the Asian markets at the end of Irving Street, where the live fish swim in tanks before they meet their makers and where tough old Chinese ladies push each other (and you) to get at the produce, and I've wandered the less exotic Russian market where the stony-faced man guards the deli case full of bland-looking meats and sausages, but these shops don't have the fantasy-producing ingredients of the spice markets I've left behind.

***

The photos in this post are some of my favorites. Taken in Venice, which to me evokes dreams of the Spice Trade and ships laden with nutmegs and cinnamon and black pepper, is this shop in Cannaregio, very close to the Rialto Bridge.

When I saw this shop window, I stopped dead in my tracks. It was the Spice Shop of My Dreams. The displays were so perfect and lovingly prepared with every imaginable kind of spice and seasoning.

In thinking about this post, I've been doing my homework about the Spice Trade and its history. Unfortunately, it's a history fraught with the destruction of habitats, cultures and empires.

But the more I read and learn about history, it seems that most human endeavors are filled with such things. I tend to go for the fantasy and leave the hard truth behind at times.

Perhaps knowing more about the history and spirit of where these spices came from gives me more to digest that just the taste they bring to the food I eat. And hopefully because of it, I might appreciate my food all the more.

For more interesting information about spices and the Spice Trade, check here, here and here.

Forget the Brownie

Remember that brownie I told you about?

Old news. I've moved on.

It's all about Kara's Cupcakes, baby. In the Marina, on Scott. Bake sale cupcakes were never this good, ever.

From left to right: Sweet Vanilla (yummiest), Chocolate Velvet (popular flavor but not the yummiest IMHO) and Sweet Chocolate (second yummiest).

I know I haven't been to Miette at the Ferry Building, which is shocking since I go to the Ferry Building all the time. So expect a cupcake report from there in the future.

I do this for you, people. In case you ever come to San Francisco, it's really important that I keep up with all of the food options for you.

Thanks to The Boy for treating and making sure I didn't have to eat all three of these by myself. On a sunny day, you can sit outside Kara's with your cupcake(s) and your little pint of milk and feel like a 5-year old who can drive a car. It's fun!

PS. For some reason, a lot of the food porn I look at secretly is really focused on cupcakes. Like this one. And this one. I'm such a victim of the media. heh heh heh.

The Brownie I Had for Breakfast

Cold pizza for breakfast is so passé.

I am eating something for breakfast that is not for the faint of heart.

It is a decadent remnant of the ice cream lollapallooza that Ms. Wellspring and I endulged in the other night on my sofa.

It is called The Adult Brownie. It is about four times as large as a regular brownie. I had half of it warmed up in the microwave, which I then topped with two kinds on Ben 'n' Jerry's. My initial thought for the brownie is that it would be a substrate for the real attraction: the ice cream. But my head almost fell off when I took the first bite. This might be the brownie of my dreams. It was so intense that I couldn't finish even that half.

So I am trying the brownie again this morning. The label on the brownie wrapper says: The Adult Brownie. For mature tastebuds only.

The disclaimer reads: This sinfully delicious dense chocolate brownie is made from scratch in our bakery using a secret recipe that will have you begging for more.

For once, truth in advertising.

A Little North Beach Love

Not much to say.

Just meandered around North Beach tonight, all bundled up, eating cannolis and drinking caffè macchiatos.

Looking towards the financial district with the tall buildings all lit up, the moon above half-covered by wisps of clouds.

I could live in North Beach real easy.


Thanks to The Boy for his stylish pic of his favorite pizza spot.

Those Who Are About to Eat, Salute You

This post is part PSA and part curiosity-seeking on my part.

Being in Buenos Aires on a typical tango two-week jaunt, I felt like I was always running from a dance class (once I could peel myself out of bed and dress myself) to a shoe store to a milonga. Food was secondary, even though I didn't mean it to be and anyone who knows me knows that food is never secondary to me. But tango definitely came first.

So in amongst all of that running around, my meals consisted of a lot of empanadas. Pretty much all kinds of empanadas. And a little pizza. I remember having some okay risotto, an okay steak, and a lot of cortados.

I came home with a lot of wonderful memories, a suitcase full of shoes, but no clue about the food of Argentina. I know I missed out as far as the eating is concerned and I didn't plan my restaurant-ing the way I normally would. Reading The Tango Addiction's recent adventures made me see that I didn't know where to go to get a really good meal.

I found this food article by Gael Greene, New York Magazine's "Insatiable Critic." It's her Hot List for Buenos Aires, and I'm really curious to know if any of you agree with her reviews because I'm much more inclined to try something written by a food critic than something I found in a random travel book. I read a lot of food writing and so that's where my tendencies lie.

And, for those of you who are planning a trip to Buenos Aires soon or might already be there, perhaps some of these restaurants would be of interest to you. I sure wish I had tried a few of them. Tina--there's a place called Persicco Ice Cream that has nine kinds of dulce de leches! Did you go there yet?!!! (J. Salguero 2591 T: 4808-0888)

Bon Appétit!

The Food Baby Strikes Back

For those of you who remember that I had a baby on Thanksgiving, I'm now pleased to tell you that the Crack Potato and Turkey baby now has a new sibling named Thanh Long.

If you live in or near San Francisco, or plan to swing through town, you must visit this restaurant (it's much nicer and less crowded and touristy than its sister restaurant Crustacean on Polk). If you live near the N-Judah line, the train stops right in front of the place, so you don't even have to drive!

Hear me now, do as I say and just order these things: the Roasted Crab, and Garlic Noodles. Also the Colossal Royal Tiger Prawns. You can get an appetizer and dessert if you want but the food baby you have will be large enough without them.

Definitely wear pants with elastic. Sweat pants would work. My jeans are seriously unbuttoned right now.

Carole Lombard Never Made You Mashed Potatoes Like Mine

Just say you love me.




You still owe me a quart of egg nog.

The Food Baby

The Boy has a friend named Dan who publishes a funny cartoon called Bizarro.

Last week he was telling me about one cartoon in particular that made him crack up. I don't have it here so you'll have to imagine it from the description.

Two women are sitting and talking. One woman has a pregnant belly. The other woman says to her friend: "Congratulations! When is the baby due?"

And the other woman says, patting her tummy, "Oh, I'm not pregnant. I just had lunch. This is my food baby."

***

Let's just say we had some nice Food Babies at our house yesterday on Thanksgiving. I'm hoping to give mine up for adoption today.

For those of you who don't spend enough time on the internet already, here is another fun place to hang out (if you like to cook): The epicurious video website!

PS. I'm never organized enough to brine my turkey ahead of time, but this is the first year I injected it with butter, broth and spices...and let's just say this turkey was my best so far. Plus, you get to use this gigantic stainless steel syringe and you look like a crazy veterinarian. It's fun!

To Eat in Venice

I had read in several sources that the food in Venice is not as good as food throughout the rest of Italy.

Now, I've nothing to base that comparison on, as I've never been anywhere else in Italy, but I do have to say that I had one extremely fine meal that will rate in my memory banks right up there with L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon in Paris and the French Laundry in Yountville. And it happened by accident, too!

But I'll save that part for last. Most of my meals in Venice were grabbed on the go, as it seemed I was always en route to somewhere else, and stopping too long for food would interfere with my desire to see as much as I could.

But even the small snacks were delightful, if simple. The local coffee shops, a favorite being in Campo Santa Margherita and simply called Caffe, served a variety of delicious sandwiches with savory fillings. The slices of bread, as soft and white as Wonderbread, but with actual taste and texture, were filled with tuna, pork or shrimp and a variety of accompaniments, including Gorgonzola cheese, marinated red peppers, olives, or grated carrots. These simple sandwiches were as delicious as they were economical.

Pictured above is a cicchetti bar. Cicchetti are a variety of appetizer-like dishes, either served as salads or atop slices of toast. Seafood is a common element, including salmon and anchovies. We shared a number of cicchetti in a small bar near the Guggenheim Museum on our first day in Venice, while resting our feet a bit during that first stroll to get acclimated with our surroundings. Other favorite meals grabbed throughout the days were sweet cantaloupe voluptuously draped in thin layers of proscuitto (sweet and salty together is a wonderful thing indeed!), fresh warm bruschette with a topping of soft, sweet cherry tomatoes sauteed in garlic, olive oil and basil, and a tagliatelle with olive oil and mushrooms. All of this food reminded me that freshness and simplicity make the best dishes!

Gelato is ubiquitous in Venice, and all that I sampled was wonderful. We were lucky enough to be staying near Nico, which has a reputation of serving the best gelato in Venice. I had the Gianduitto (hazelnut) and took my cone to go while strolling along the Zattere, watching all kinds of boats roam up and down the waters between me and the Giudecca.

Okay, now for the pièce de résistance. I had been wandering the narrow alleys of Santa Croce and San Polo after having spent the morning in two incredible museums: Ca' Pesaro and the Palazzo Mocenigo (more on those later). I hadn't eaten anything for breakfast that morning (just hungry for beautiful sights and not food, I guess), and was making my way back towards the Rialto Bridge. On a particularly tiny alleyway was a small restaurant window that made me backtrack as I almost passed it by. Nothing in the window would indicate that this was a spectacular restaurant in any way, but after reading the menu in the window, I knew this was the place for me to reward myself after the morning's activities.

It was late, getting on towards 2pm, when I entered the almost empty restaurant, called Vecio Fritolin. The waiter, obviously a professional like the kind you would encounter in Paris, warmly welcomed me to a small table by the window. That's where the fun began.

My eyes glazed over at the menu choices, and my stomach responded with eager anticipation. While I read the menu, a basket of the most delicious, warm bread (three kinds that they make at the restaurant) arrived at my table, along with the spritz, an apertif of sparkling water and Campari served with a slice of lemon, that I ordered. I only remember one of the breads, although all were delicious. But this one was so fragrant with olive oil and studded with sunflower seeds that it left the other breads behind.

My waiter (pictured above) was the epitome of gracious service. I finally decided on an appetizer of soft-shelled crabs with Venetian polenta and a main course of pumpkin gnocchi with smoked duck. Believe me, this was a very tough decision. While I devoured the bread and savored my spritz, a woman came in to make her dinner reservations. Apparently, my little lunch hideaway was recently reviewed in the New York Times. Bingo!

Which is how I got my perfect pictures of the restaurant! Thanks, New York Times website! That is my nice waiter, above! (For all I know, he could be the owner. I was so engrossed in the place that I didn't make much small talk. Plus my mouth was full of that bread and I was trying to be demure.)

Let's just say that the chef created the culinary equivalent of tango bliss in my mouth. I swooned. What the hell is Venetian polenta and why do you want to dip your entire body in it? (Now I know that all polentas are not created equal and I will have to wander the world looking for this silky warm pudding again.) The crabs were incredibly soft and full of the salty flavor of the sea. The pumpkin/duck gnocchi: ridiculously good.

I did not lick the plates, even though I wanted to--badly. I did tell the waiter to please tell the chef that I wanted to marry him. I was totally serious. Which got a chuckle out of the waiter but did not produce the chef to my table, sadly.

It's probably a good thing I did not order dessert or else I'd still be there.

A perfect* day in San Francisco

A slightly foggy, cool Saturday morning.

1. Wake up (always a good thing).
2. Throw on some clothes and go with a friend to Ella's for breakfast.
3. Get parking (!)
4. Share one of the famous sticky buns, chicken sausage benedicts and ricotta pancakes with strawberry sauce. Unbutton top button on pants.
5. As you're leaving, find out in the SF Chron that it's the 85th anniversary of the historic Castro Theatre and all movies are only 25 cents that day.
6. Speed down Divisadero and make it just in time for the 11am show.
7. Get parking (!)
8. Win a baseball cap in the pre-movie trivia contest because you answered the trivia question about Oliver Hardy's nickname (Babe).
9. Watch Tom and Jerry, Bugs Bunny, Tweety and Sylvester, and a Tex Avery cartoon.
10. See Way Out West, one of Laurel and Hardy's best films, on the big beautiful screen at the Castro Theatre.
11. Listen to all of the children giggle as you crack up laughing with them. Little kids love Laurel and Hardy.



*After the movie, find out that you got a parking ticket for $35 because the wheels on your car weren't turned into the curb enough as they're supposed to be when you're parked on a 3-percent grade, according to the ticket. (I left my protractor at home.)

So the movie actually cost me $35.50, but it was still a great day in my book.