It has been too long since I have written. It has been too long since I have been truly inspired and moved to write about food (how so so sad). But now, I find myself in a very strange state that I have never NEVER experienced in my life, having grown up (as my mom and aunt did) with a promise of family, education and food--I find myself alone in a temporary apartment far from home, and what's more, in an apartment devoid of food. An EMPTY pantry. And I have arrived at this befuddling state in a very interesting moment in my life.
I drove down to Los Angeles (six and a half long hours to drive with only the company of the radio) on Sunday. The Friday before that my family was evacuated from our house because of fires burning their way towards us. As my grandmother with a broken leg, my mom (surprisingly hysterical) and I packed our things (my grandfather, dad and brother were all gone) I was in "stay calm" mode, not thinking about the possibility that I could be leaving my childhood home for the very last time. That very sobering thought hit me as I ate dinner in my best friend's house (her family, bless them, took us in). It was possible that I would never prepare another meal in the kitchen where I learned how to cook (that first batch of chocolate chip cookies). Did I save the right things? What would I miss? I looked at my small collection of things deemed worthy of being saved--family photos and videos, my brother's artwork (saved on his computer), important documents (all in a fire box anyway), some of Grammy's valuable paintings...that's about it. Everything else is replaceable--even expendable--luxuries. (But, thank goodness, my house was fine (the fires were contained under 1/4 mile of dry grass away from our property) and I didn't have to face that reality....)
This brings me to my point. We don't really need much. In life, and (let's connect this to our pantry problem) in the kitchen. So I've been in my empty temp apartment, no furniture, no power (a problem that had better get fixed soon or my building's manager is going to get yet another earful), and no food, for 4 days now. And while the whole no power thing is more extreme than necessary, this very simplified existence has really put some of life into perspective for me. At first I was frustrated and frazzled (not helped by the lingering shock left by the fires) by not having these comforts of living. But now I'm finding peace in it. And with no fridge or snacks lying around (and not enough cash to be willing to eat out all the time) I'm really rethinking my relationship with food.
There are some different dogmas about food that I have been grappling with. I have been raised to enjoy food, not only to nurture my body but to fill and comfort my soul as well. Then there's the idea introduced to me by a very influential teacher/mentor in high school, that we should "not live to eat, but eat to live." I like both seemingly contradictory views, and haven't been able to find a marriage of the two. Now, as I stare at this empty pantry, I see a perfect opportunity to do just that. Find a balance. Work in the opposite direction from my Auntie Fe. I want to fill my new home with essentials. Food that is versatile and healthy and satisfying for my body and soul, but not so extravagant that I feel like food is something to live for, or invest my happiness (and money) in. I can build a pantry that will keep me far from needing a "Pantry Zero" operation.
I’ve started with good whole wheat bread, organic peanut butter and local honey from the farmer’s market (all these things don't need a fridge and are amazingly comforting and nutritious--whole wheat + legume = a complete protein!). When I get more settled in my permanent apartment (the lease starts in July) and finally get power and fridge, I plan to start slow and simple. Here are the essentials that will be the first things to hit those shelves:
Brown rice
Beans
Flour
Pasta
Basic spices
Good olive oil or vegetable oil
Whole wheat bread
With some fresh produce there is so much that can be done with these simple ingredients. And so my new apartment resolution is this: to live as simply as I can, because the parts of life that are out of my control (like fires) are complicated enough as it is.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Ruthie's Challenge - Part 1
Since "Pantry Zero" was initiated, I haven't had time to blog here until today, having obsessed completely over the last month on who should be the next President of the United States. So now, that has passed, he's in, we can continue our pursuit of innovative tastes, familiar ground, and chic and tasty gustatory frugality.
Which brings me to Ruthie's Challenge. Everyone, I hope you all remember Ruthie, my office spouse (please, I know its the San Francisco Bay Area, but I'm straight and she's a hetero-married mother of two).
Ruthie has been so motivated by Pantry Zero that she's personally challenged me, due to a completely unrelated turn of events, to a Pantry-inspired meal. It seems that the shelves in her pantry are getting replaced and that has caused huge displacement and an exciting discovery for the Simon Family.
She's got jars. Not only that, unopened, hermetically SEALED jars of fancy stuff that she's dying to try now that she's remembered she has them.
So Pantry Challenge #1 - Hoisin Sauce
My response:
Hoisin Chicken
Chicken thighs and wings
salt and pepper to taste
sesame seeds or chopped scallions
Hoisin Sauce
Preheat over to 375 degrees. Sprinkle salt and pepper onto uncooked chicken pieces. Put thighs in preheated oven first (they need a minimum 45 minutes to cook), followed by the wings eight minutes later. At the last fifteen minutes of cooking, brush hoisin sauce on the chicken parts and continue roasting. (If you want a crispier, more caramelized glaze, turn up the oven by another 25 degrees).
Remove from oven and sprinkle with sesame seeds or finely chopped scallions.
And please, if anyone of you has a Home Depot installation contractor who is replacing your pantry shelves and YOU find some forgotten and hidden gems lying in wait in YOUR pantry, do not hesitate to post a challenge here.
Which brings me to Ruthie's Challenge. Everyone, I hope you all remember Ruthie, my office spouse (please, I know its the San Francisco Bay Area, but I'm straight and she's a hetero-married mother of two).
Ruthie has been so motivated by Pantry Zero that she's personally challenged me, due to a completely unrelated turn of events, to a Pantry-inspired meal. It seems that the shelves in her pantry are getting replaced and that has caused huge displacement and an exciting discovery for the Simon Family.
She's got jars. Not only that, unopened, hermetically SEALED jars of fancy stuff that she's dying to try now that she's remembered she has them.
So Pantry Challenge #1 - Hoisin Sauce
My response:
Hoisin Chicken
Chicken thighs and wings
salt and pepper to taste
sesame seeds or chopped scallions
Hoisin Sauce
Preheat over to 375 degrees. Sprinkle salt and pepper onto uncooked chicken pieces. Put thighs in preheated oven first (they need a minimum 45 minutes to cook), followed by the wings eight minutes later. At the last fifteen minutes of cooking, brush hoisin sauce on the chicken parts and continue roasting. (If you want a crispier, more caramelized glaze, turn up the oven by another 25 degrees).
Remove from oven and sprinkle with sesame seeds or finely chopped scallions.
And please, if anyone of you has a Home Depot installation contractor who is replacing your pantry shelves and YOU find some forgotten and hidden gems lying in wait in YOUR pantry, do not hesitate to post a challenge here.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
If You Haven't Heard by Now (Pantry Zero - Part 2)
We're in for something we haven't seen for a while. As Pantry Zero below suggests, I have been waking from a coma of living outside my means as a form of pure entertainment--for want of something better to do.
My confession: Most of my young life, given my cultural and familial background, food has been a comfort, a refuge for being unloved, unworthy, and a form of entertainment. This is the deep water under that bridge of my life.
At present for better or worse, food has been my escape from a sometimes disappointing world. Because of that, and my need to create some beauty to fill in the darkest gaps in this all too dark world, my love of family and extended family, a cellular habit to deeply explore the realms of the senses, and my desire to honor the inheritance of a family of good cooks, food is a very satisfying form of creative expression. Next to theater, it is one of the great passions of my life.
But the zeitgeist of the times indicates clearly--now is the time to dust off my ancestral values about living and eating and functioning in this world--and to create my own means of living within my means. And to do it fucking well. Alot is at stake.
Are we going to hold on selfishly to our way of living in order to continue greedily at the trough while others starve? Can we/I continue to drive our cars while the impact of it being on the road means someone does not eat for the day? Or, if we're using ethanol, driving our cars despite the fact whole countries will starve?
The larger heart of me--the heart that learned that love and generosity begins at the table and flows out into the community--is pained to see that the world we live in is imperiled by the selfishness of the few. We are consuming so much so fast and at such a high level that other parts of our shared planet are shrivelling and dying. Our use of resources for our entertainment, functioning, and, face it, luxury are depriving the very lifeblood of those who cannot begin to imagine the kind of standard of living we enjoy. We consume and others starve. Water, land, animals, air. Are there other ways we can exist so that others aren't harmed?
Special thanks to Milos Janus Outlook for their post at Daily Kos. Its a wake up call and inspiration.
More will come of this.
My confession: Most of my young life, given my cultural and familial background, food has been a comfort, a refuge for being unloved, unworthy, and a form of entertainment. This is the deep water under that bridge of my life.
At present for better or worse, food has been my escape from a sometimes disappointing world. Because of that, and my need to create some beauty to fill in the darkest gaps in this all too dark world, my love of family and extended family, a cellular habit to deeply explore the realms of the senses, and my desire to honor the inheritance of a family of good cooks, food is a very satisfying form of creative expression. Next to theater, it is one of the great passions of my life.
But the zeitgeist of the times indicates clearly--now is the time to dust off my ancestral values about living and eating and functioning in this world--and to create my own means of living within my means. And to do it fucking well. Alot is at stake.
Are we going to hold on selfishly to our way of living in order to continue greedily at the trough while others starve? Can we/I continue to drive our cars while the impact of it being on the road means someone does not eat for the day? Or, if we're using ethanol, driving our cars despite the fact whole countries will starve?
The larger heart of me--the heart that learned that love and generosity begins at the table and flows out into the community--is pained to see that the world we live in is imperiled by the selfishness of the few. We are consuming so much so fast and at such a high level that other parts of our shared planet are shrivelling and dying. Our use of resources for our entertainment, functioning, and, face it, luxury are depriving the very lifeblood of those who cannot begin to imagine the kind of standard of living we enjoy. We consume and others starve. Water, land, animals, air. Are there other ways we can exist so that others aren't harmed?
Special thanks to Milos Janus Outlook for their post at Daily Kos. Its a wake up call and inspiration.
More will come of this.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Pantry Zero (updated)
It's shocking how wasteful I was. A bin full of vegetables going straight to the garbage. Roasted chicken on the bone mummifying in the back of the fridge. Once plump juicy sausage dried out, desiccated, looking lonely, vile and mean. Seriously, if my parents, my uncles, my grandfather, heaven bless them all, saw what was happening in my refrigerator, I would have been summarily beaten.
You. Don't. Waste. Food.
In the 1960s, my father took home roughly $5,000 a year as a cook in a migrant labor camp. My mother worked in a cannery and brought home $12,000. In between were mortgage payments, clothes on our backs, raggedy sometimes, but mostly presentable, and we always always always had good food in the chest. Dad would bring home rice, beans, butter, bread and meat, while mama would make sure we had our eggs, vegetables, milk. We rarely needed to spend much on groceries, because both of them would bring home fresh food from work. And food was cooked and ready to go. Even my sister and I cooked meals as kids, so invested our family was in making sure we had requisite survival skills AND survived.
"We may never be able to leave you a fortune, but we will never let you go without an education or good food in the house".
Now here I was, the food that I worked so hard to pay for, rotting like abandoned convicts on Devil's Island. In total, I'd spent an average of $260 per month for food shopping, which isn't bad for some people, but I wanted to do better. I yearned to know what its like to depend on what I've got, instead of an ephemeral longing for quick bites that satisfy an empty, superficial desire, or a quick fix of some expensive cut of meat or fish bought out of mere convenience, leaving me financially adrift and spiritually numb. I've been shopping and consuming as if trying to entertain myself, with the newest, the latest taste sensation my next quarry. I needed something deeper--an appreciation of what I have instead of the constant pursuit of what I craved. All the great chefs and food writers that I care about - Bourdain, Ruhlman write about their admiration of the global, the simple, the crude and the humble foods that are alchemically transformed through cooking arts that come from the creativity borne of poverty, elevating the simplest of foods to the height of fullness.
In search of the simple and cheap, I had no further to look than five steps from my stove, where my pantry sat, tapping its foot, wondering when the hell I was going to get around to making something of its stock, laying dormant, warehousing food. Which brings me to the concept of Pantry Zero. The name of the top-secret plan to use up my pantry as the BASE for my meals instead of the afterthought, or pantry as storage and filing (aka known as Pantry-as-closet-for my-Trader-Joe's-bitter-71%-dark-chocolate-candy-bars).
And what better companion to embark on Pantry Zero than Wendy. My friend Wendy and I have this close-knit sisterly friendship that's been forged by years of standing together at the stoves of our respective kitchens, getting into a groove fugue concocting dishes from ingredients fabulous and plain, with always great results. We cook together as if we're having a conversation, but the words are the ingredients, and the feast the story. Both our parents are children from the Depression, her mother a former teacher in home economics and with my parental background, we had it in our genes to accomplish what our parents did in their day.
Last Sunday, we began with me purchasing $15 worth of ingredients, and $40 of goods already bought lying in wait in the pantry or freezer. Black eyed peas, a smoked ham hock. Onions from the vegetable bin in the fridge. Uncooked zucchini from last week's barbecue, some stalks of scamp, celery, carrots and minced garlic go into the pot to sweat. Wendy at the other end of her kitchen counter grinding spices she already had in her drawers, a couple of cans of garbanzo beans from the pantry, and some ginger, onions, garlic, and chilis. I pull out six pre-cooked boneless skinless thighs from a foil wrapper and clice these up into bite-sized chunks and put them in the pot of sweating savory vegetables. Stock is added. Simmering begins. I was lucky to have tons of garlic, parsley and lemons from last week's barbecue to do a gremolata to spoon on the chicken-vegetable soup to finish it (add a pinch of parmesan and its really ready). With the pot of black-eyed peas with ham, some brown rice and this soup, I have enough pre-done meals to carry me through the week, lunch and dinner. At a cost of roughly $30, and no more going to the store. No need to spend a ridiculous $8 bucks for a sandwich, a drink and some chips for lunch when I could have homemade chicken soup with vegetables, gremolata and freshly grated parmesan for a fraction of that cost.
But there's more to be done. I'm thinking next time we do lumpias of all stripes. And I wonder what Wendy's planning? She's taken a class in Indian cooking and she's unfolding knowledge gained as we work together. Since we're both getting good at the economics for Pantry Zero, the thing we're approaching now is the fun of doing something new, innovative, and fresh with the old tired simple shit we've had on hand forever.
Just like everyone else around this world. And really, isn't that what it means to truly live?
You. Don't. Waste. Food.
In the 1960s, my father took home roughly $5,000 a year as a cook in a migrant labor camp. My mother worked in a cannery and brought home $12,000. In between were mortgage payments, clothes on our backs, raggedy sometimes, but mostly presentable, and we always always always had good food in the chest. Dad would bring home rice, beans, butter, bread and meat, while mama would make sure we had our eggs, vegetables, milk. We rarely needed to spend much on groceries, because both of them would bring home fresh food from work. And food was cooked and ready to go. Even my sister and I cooked meals as kids, so invested our family was in making sure we had requisite survival skills AND survived.
"We may never be able to leave you a fortune, but we will never let you go without an education or good food in the house".
Now here I was, the food that I worked so hard to pay for, rotting like abandoned convicts on Devil's Island. In total, I'd spent an average of $260 per month for food shopping, which isn't bad for some people, but I wanted to do better. I yearned to know what its like to depend on what I've got, instead of an ephemeral longing for quick bites that satisfy an empty, superficial desire, or a quick fix of some expensive cut of meat or fish bought out of mere convenience, leaving me financially adrift and spiritually numb. I've been shopping and consuming as if trying to entertain myself, with the newest, the latest taste sensation my next quarry. I needed something deeper--an appreciation of what I have instead of the constant pursuit of what I craved. All the great chefs and food writers that I care about - Bourdain, Ruhlman write about their admiration of the global, the simple, the crude and the humble foods that are alchemically transformed through cooking arts that come from the creativity borne of poverty, elevating the simplest of foods to the height of fullness.
In search of the simple and cheap, I had no further to look than five steps from my stove, where my pantry sat, tapping its foot, wondering when the hell I was going to get around to making something of its stock, laying dormant, warehousing food. Which brings me to the concept of Pantry Zero. The name of the top-secret plan to use up my pantry as the BASE for my meals instead of the afterthought, or pantry as storage and filing (aka known as Pantry-as-closet-for my-Trader-Joe's-bitter-71%-dark-chocolate-candy-bars).
And what better companion to embark on Pantry Zero than Wendy. My friend Wendy and I have this close-knit sisterly friendship that's been forged by years of standing together at the stoves of our respective kitchens, getting into a groove fugue concocting dishes from ingredients fabulous and plain, with always great results. We cook together as if we're having a conversation, but the words are the ingredients, and the feast the story. Both our parents are children from the Depression, her mother a former teacher in home economics and with my parental background, we had it in our genes to accomplish what our parents did in their day.
Last Sunday, we began with me purchasing $15 worth of ingredients, and $40 of goods already bought lying in wait in the pantry or freezer. Black eyed peas, a smoked ham hock. Onions from the vegetable bin in the fridge. Uncooked zucchini from last week's barbecue, some stalks of scamp, celery, carrots and minced garlic go into the pot to sweat. Wendy at the other end of her kitchen counter grinding spices she already had in her drawers, a couple of cans of garbanzo beans from the pantry, and some ginger, onions, garlic, and chilis. I pull out six pre-cooked boneless skinless thighs from a foil wrapper and clice these up into bite-sized chunks and put them in the pot of sweating savory vegetables. Stock is added. Simmering begins. I was lucky to have tons of garlic, parsley and lemons from last week's barbecue to do a gremolata to spoon on the chicken-vegetable soup to finish it (add a pinch of parmesan and its really ready). With the pot of black-eyed peas with ham, some brown rice and this soup, I have enough pre-done meals to carry me through the week, lunch and dinner. At a cost of roughly $30, and no more going to the store. No need to spend a ridiculous $8 bucks for a sandwich, a drink and some chips for lunch when I could have homemade chicken soup with vegetables, gremolata and freshly grated parmesan for a fraction of that cost.
But there's more to be done. I'm thinking next time we do lumpias of all stripes. And I wonder what Wendy's planning? She's taken a class in Indian cooking and she's unfolding knowledge gained as we work together. Since we're both getting good at the economics for Pantry Zero, the thing we're approaching now is the fun of doing something new, innovative, and fresh with the old tired simple shit we've had on hand forever.
Just like everyone else around this world. And really, isn't that what it means to truly live?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Pastes, Jars, Squeeze Bottles and Cakes
Probably because I've been on a very simple diet of a low-fat protein and a vegetable, and starving for a little variety, I have been hungry for a different trajectory in tastes lately. Probably spurred on by my introduction to the variety of Indian and Thai curries. Probably because the Thai Market, called Tuk-Tuk, is within walking distance of my home and I can get palm sugar, red curry paste and kaffir lime leaves there with little effort. Probably because I need to find a different way to making boring vegetables, like, cauliflower--delectable.
You heard me, delectable. Nothing makes cauliflower more delectable than in an Indian curry. And its so simple. Red curry paste, a can of coconut milk, kaffir lime leaves and Thai basil make it work. Its the combination of sweet-spicy that makes it so satisfying, and great with brown basmati rice.
Then there's mole. My family came back from Mexico bearing gifts of Mayan artifact replicas, a squeeze bottle of Mexican vanilla, and a cake of spicy black mole. I've used it as a sauce base with hoisin sauce, which makes for a spicy-sweet black hued glaze that's multi-layered and complex.
Once in awhile, I take out my jar of Thai crab paste with garlic and chilli and add it to a garlic rice and shrimp dish. It adds a beautifully rich deep seafood flavor not unlike a seafood stock, only spicier. Throw in a little black bean chili paste to a steamed fresh piece of fish, add some sliced fresh ginger and scallions and we have the fresh and spicy flavors of Canton available in Berkeley. Heaven.
Most of these savory flavors cost no more than $3.00 at an Asian supermarket, and they pack miles of punch--adding a flavor boost to pasta, fish, meat, poultry, rice, soups, stews, pilafs and whatever you can think of. Scrambled eggs with chili paste? You betcha!!!
Attention college students, a little exploration in ethnic food markets can yield an attractive array of flavors available on the cheap for your ramen bowls, pasta jags, and even maybe a pizza or two.
Take a chance.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
A New Leaf
It was the dizziness in the morning that alarmed me. And the sudden cravings for something sweet mid-afternoon that gave me a clue. When I went to the doctor, my blood pressure was 168/90.
I was scared. Bad cholestrol was higher than the good kind, and fasting blood glucose was high normal at 100, when it should be in the low 60s.
So now, the changes begin.
Instead of the occasional gym, one Pilates workout and two classes at Rhythm and Motion, it will be five classes, one gym session and Pilates workout for the unforeseeable future. I will walk with my workmates during lunchtime, and get my big ass out of the desk every hour to stretch and take a walk through the building I work.
Butter is verboten. And sob, no more pork with fat. Salt use down by half and white sugar and flour are tossed. Instead of blogging four hours, I will do something to organize my house better. Toss out old clothes, shoes and those fucking papers that have accumulated in my computer hutch.
A note to my family and friends - no, I'm not going to die. I'm going to manage myself better. I won't tell you how many pounds I want to lose, but I will tell you I have a long, hard slog.
But does this mean I will have no more gustatory pleasure in my future? Am I not going to cook anymore? Am I not going to share what comes from my ample table with others?
Hell. Fucking. No.
What I will do is make what I've got work. And use the pallette that fabulous and healthy food provides to make this new leaf work. So today's recipe is for ginger carrot soup.
6 big carrots, sliced
1/2 sweet maui onion sliced
5 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 Tbs. grated ginger
Braise the carrots, onions and ginger in the broth until tender. Pour mixture in blender to puree, or use a hand blender to do the same thing. Serve with a dollop of yogurt, or blue cheese, or feta.
Now get your butt out there and walk for 30 minutes.
I was scared. Bad cholestrol was higher than the good kind, and fasting blood glucose was high normal at 100, when it should be in the low 60s.
So now, the changes begin.
Instead of the occasional gym, one Pilates workout and two classes at Rhythm and Motion, it will be five classes, one gym session and Pilates workout for the unforeseeable future. I will walk with my workmates during lunchtime, and get my big ass out of the desk every hour to stretch and take a walk through the building I work.
Butter is verboten. And sob, no more pork with fat. Salt use down by half and white sugar and flour are tossed. Instead of blogging four hours, I will do something to organize my house better. Toss out old clothes, shoes and those fucking papers that have accumulated in my computer hutch.
A note to my family and friends - no, I'm not going to die. I'm going to manage myself better. I won't tell you how many pounds I want to lose, but I will tell you I have a long, hard slog.
But does this mean I will have no more gustatory pleasure in my future? Am I not going to cook anymore? Am I not going to share what comes from my ample table with others?
Hell. Fucking. No.
What I will do is make what I've got work. And use the pallette that fabulous and healthy food provides to make this new leaf work. So today's recipe is for ginger carrot soup.
6 big carrots, sliced
1/2 sweet maui onion sliced
5 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 Tbs. grated ginger
Braise the carrots, onions and ginger in the broth until tender. Pour mixture in blender to puree, or use a hand blender to do the same thing. Serve with a dollop of yogurt, or blue cheese, or feta.
Now get your butt out there and walk for 30 minutes.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Food that Makes a City Great
I've never been one to sprint to the latest trendy restaurant in this city. I live in a region so diverse and food-obsessed that its a constant, pleasurable process trying to figure out what you want to eat for lunch or dinner. Low $? High $$$? Chinese, fusion, Latin, European, American, pizza, shawerma, pozole or soup dumplings? By the time you've narrowed down your choices, your blood insulin levels go off the chart, you become delirious and head for the nearest Rite-Aid for a bag of chips and the rack with the latest edition of the SF Bay Guardian and its food review section.
It can stress you out.
UPDATED: I am grateful that I live in a region where its a veritable genie's lamp as far as food choices. And I have my preferences: tapas on Valencia Street (Ramblas is great for that), the Los Compadres taco truck at the Civic Center parking lot for their Lengua Super Tacos, perfect chicken congee and fresh-fried Chinese donuts at Hung Ling on Broadway, or the $9 worth of dim sum that you can pick up at the place near 6th and Clement that can easily feed a family of four. The fresh warm hand-made tamales by the women who manufacture their food products at La Cocina in the Mission District. The incredibly soft pan dulce at the Mexican panaderia run by Chinese bakers on Mission between 24th and 25th.
The entire list can read like the first chapters of a gustatory Genesis.
I love that my city does not mess around when it comes to food. Evidence the farmer's markets that occur weekly throughout the city. Now I am not going into which restaurant serves the best gnocchi, or who has the most unctuous uni, or whose pizza crust is the best (a topic of considerable controversy). And I don't care about who serves the best martini, fried olives or roast duck. That isn't my point. There are tons of writers who DO research and investigate that. I'm talking about MY San Francisco, and its a personal journey de cuisine.
I prefer the braised chicken feet at City View over everyone else's, but that doesn't mean I don't love Ton Kiang's scallion dumplings. Its just that there's a difference in approach to each at each site to merit frequenting both. And I always go to Mara's Italian Bakery on Columbus because on a cold rainy day, a latte and a slice of their almond cake makes you ache with pleasure from the soul. Hayes Street Grill's creme brulee is the absolute, while the hamburger with a crisp cold martini at Zuni Cafe provides an experience in pure satisfaction. And I happen to love the shaken beef at Sunflower (Vietnamese) Restaurant on Valencia Street, and willing to stand in line after an evening of theater to get my fix, along with a Vietnamese crepe and a Singha. A perfect Saturday night. And then there's the ritual weekday lunchtime trek to the Tenderloin where a perfect chicken biryani awaits.
There are thousands of personal journeys undertaken each day in this culinary hub. Its a small city, yes, with less than a million people. But it stands pretty well-balanced on its shaky seismic legs, has managed to re-build and transcend itself many times over, and still has room for the traditional and experimental.
When you're in a city at the very edge of your continent, there's nowhere to go but everywhere.
It can stress you out.
UPDATED: I am grateful that I live in a region where its a veritable genie's lamp as far as food choices. And I have my preferences: tapas on Valencia Street (Ramblas is great for that), the Los Compadres taco truck at the Civic Center parking lot for their Lengua Super Tacos, perfect chicken congee and fresh-fried Chinese donuts at Hung Ling on Broadway, or the $9 worth of dim sum that you can pick up at the place near 6th and Clement that can easily feed a family of four. The fresh warm hand-made tamales by the women who manufacture their food products at La Cocina in the Mission District. The incredibly soft pan dulce at the Mexican panaderia run by Chinese bakers on Mission between 24th and 25th.
The entire list can read like the first chapters of a gustatory Genesis.
I love that my city does not mess around when it comes to food. Evidence the farmer's markets that occur weekly throughout the city. Now I am not going into which restaurant serves the best gnocchi, or who has the most unctuous uni, or whose pizza crust is the best (a topic of considerable controversy). And I don't care about who serves the best martini, fried olives or roast duck. That isn't my point. There are tons of writers who DO research and investigate that. I'm talking about MY San Francisco, and its a personal journey de cuisine.
I prefer the braised chicken feet at City View over everyone else's, but that doesn't mean I don't love Ton Kiang's scallion dumplings. Its just that there's a difference in approach to each at each site to merit frequenting both. And I always go to Mara's Italian Bakery on Columbus because on a cold rainy day, a latte and a slice of their almond cake makes you ache with pleasure from the soul. Hayes Street Grill's creme brulee is the absolute, while the hamburger with a crisp cold martini at Zuni Cafe provides an experience in pure satisfaction. And I happen to love the shaken beef at Sunflower (Vietnamese) Restaurant on Valencia Street, and willing to stand in line after an evening of theater to get my fix, along with a Vietnamese crepe and a Singha. A perfect Saturday night. And then there's the ritual weekday lunchtime trek to the Tenderloin where a perfect chicken biryani awaits.
There are thousands of personal journeys undertaken each day in this culinary hub. Its a small city, yes, with less than a million people. But it stands pretty well-balanced on its shaky seismic legs, has managed to re-build and transcend itself many times over, and still has room for the traditional and experimental.
When you're in a city at the very edge of your continent, there's nowhere to go but everywhere.
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