Wild boar

Last night, some friends and I went to the Toronado bar on Haight St. for Belgian beers. Apparently, April is Belgian beer month there and we couldn't pass it up. What actually sparked my interest was the sausage place next door, owned by the same guy who owns the bar, that serves just sausages on French rolls that you can take and eat at the bar out of little plastic baskets. Beer and sausages. Wonderful.

I ordered a wild boar sausage with grilled onions and spicy peppers. As Colin and I were waiting for our order, we passed the time watching the waitress mess up every order before ours and including ours. She did it in such a well-mannered way though that you couldn't get mad at her, and no one did. One guy said he would pay for and eat the two sausages that she cooked for him that weren't actually the ones he wanted originally. And, Colin bought the extra sausage that she thought we wanted.

The wild boar sausage was interesting. I'd never had one before. It was dark and very meaty. I think gamey might be the best way to describe it. Rather a bold sausage, I might say. The onions weren't quite as I hoped them to be. They were grilled but not grilled where they're really good, when the onions just caramelize and are soft and sweet. These onions were just slightly cooked, still crunchy, and still tasting very much like raw onions. The spicy peppers I got were spicy, spicier than I had expected too, which was a nice surprise. All in all, it wasn't a bad sausage.

The tough part, however, was eating it. The sausage juices got absorbed by the roll and the roll was falling apart. It was a bite of sausage, a bite of roll, and bites of the peppers and onions picked up with my fingers. A bit troublesome. But, perhaps I need to brush up on my sausage-eating skills.

The scallion stallion

Gardenburgers are a wondrous invention. Quick, easy, and they make you feel like you're eating something healthy and good for your karma. I'm a fan.

Today's Gardenburger lunch was one of their sun-dried tomato and basil varieties. It was a new one for me, as I'm usually particular to their portobello mushroom one. But, it was a nice and zesty little surprise that may have me changing my Gardenburger ways. I cooked it up with a little bit of sharp chedder melted on top. No bun nor toppings. I had just the patty with a side of potato salad, all eaten with a fork.

The little patty was a tasty little guy. There were bits of tomato and onions in there that I could actually taste and feel the textures of. I wasn't able to detect any basil, however.

I had concerns about the potato salad though. I made a test run of it in preparation for my upcoming barbeque (so, clear your calendars, friends--I'm thinking late afternoon on Mother's Day) two nights ago and worried if it was still good to eat. Who knows what happens to mayo, albeit soy mayo, when it gets mixed up with potatoes, green onions, cilantro, celery, and eggs and left in a container at the bottom of my refrigerator? I went a little bit too heavy on the green onions though, so that when I actually opened the container I got whacked in the face with the aroma of scallions. Other than that, it smelled fine and tasted fine. We'll see if my stomach actually stays fine though.

Smoothie solution

I forgot how easy it is to make smoothies. Throw some fruit into a blender with some liquid and hit blend. Simple. You can't really mess up.

The one I made today was with all this extra pineapple I had and frozen strawberries that had defrosted in their bag and then reformed into non-recognizable shapes. Really, what was I going to do with that pineapple the size of my torso that I bought because it was cheap and large and I didn't think about all the pineapple I would have to eat and a bag of frozen strawberry mush? Smoothies were my answer. And it was brilliant.

Pineapple, strawberries, orange juice and yogurt all blended into a refreshing and healthy amalgam that could be sucked through a straw. What more could I ask for on a warm Sunday afternoon?

Aw, shucks

Okay, so this is a late posting, just for you, Justin. Je t'aime, mon amour.

Jeanne, Justin, and I made a little day trip up to Tomales Bay to get some oysters. I thought it would be a nice little drive up Highway 1, where Jeanne and Justin could see what life is like outside of a LA suburb and why I like living here. We started later than we planned and, consequently, arrived later than we had intended to. We had packed all the necessities: oyster shucker, towels, bread, cheese, wine, beer, and a cooler with ice. We were ready to shuck.

We showed up at the Tomales Bay Oyster Company with gear in hand after being turned away from the Hog Island Oyster Company. We bought a big bag of oysters, a bottle of Tapatio, and a couple of limes. (I didn't think about preparing my own sauces beforehand.) We were set. Only there was a slight problem. We only had one shucker and I was the only one who knew how. Sure, I didn't really have a problem being Miss Shucker for the day, but I'm kinda slow at it and the last time I shucked a bag full of oysters I ended up with a sore arm. So, Jeanne and Justin got a quick lesson in oyster shucking. They picked up fast.

Justin wasn't a bad a shucker, after getting a little bit of supervision and positive feedback.

He, however, wasn't too good of an oyster eater. I've seen him grimace at various bivalves at dinner with my parents and wasn't sure how well he would handle eating live oysters. But, he always handled it in stride, taking a taste of everything, smiling, and saying, "Mmm..." when my mom would be like, "Eat. Eat." and drop food into his bowl. He tried again this time too. Shucking away.

It wasn't until we were packing our things up and clearing our picnic table when we realized that he wasn't doing too well. A bit too groggy looking, a bit too dazed. The windy roads, the raw oysters, and the lack of proper hydration were probably taking their toll. He had been such a trooper. We gave him some dromamine and I drove us home, pretending to know the way and nearly getting us run over by some tour bus.

Picture pub pizza

I remember the first time I tasted beer. My parents were throwing another dinner party of sorts, and Karen and I were in the space separating our house from the neighboring house with our contraband can. At the first sip, I remember thinking why in the world anyone would drink that nasty and bitter brew, and we poured the can out. I must have been about ten or eleven years old.

It's been a while since then, and beer has grown to become my friend. There are few things I enjoy more than a cold bottle, a good burger, and my patio. But, one thing that does come close is pizza, a good movie, a lounge-worthy couch, and a cool pitcher. And, if you've ever been to the Speakeasy in Oakland, you know what I'm talking about.

Susie and I went there last night to see Born into Brothels, a movie I've wanted to see for a while now and one that I would definitely recommend. We bought our tickets and stood in the food and drink line trying to figure out what we wanted. "Do you know what you'd like?" we were asked. "A pitcher," we replied together confidently even before consulting one another. We got a pitcher of a pale ale and a pepperoni and mushroom pizza.

Okay, so food at the Speakeasy isn't all that great. The pizza is usually a bit bland and tastes like the tomato sauce came out of a tube. The pizza we got last night was better than the times I've had before, not tasting too much like plastic tubing, and with a toasty crust that I like that got soggy by the end of the movie, which I don't like. The waiter man who brought us our food, however, noticed that we had taken the fake grated cheese, red chili flakes, and dried oregano shakers and said that they belonged out front. I wasn't about to leave the movie to return things I wanted. So, he came back for them and I had to hand them over. Lesson to me: next time when in possession of similar canisters, place them out of view of wait staff.

The beer was good though. The same beer out of a tap anywhere is pretty much the same beer. It's tough to make that taste like plastic. Ours was cold and came with not too much foam on top, a decent pour. The tricky part is always pouring a good pint in the dark theater without spilling. And, not to brag or anything, but I think I've almost mastered it--tilting the glass so that a trickle of the amber liquid hits just the glass and slowly fills it as the tilt of the glass becomes less acute, all while trying to read subtitles. Not a task for amateurs.

We left the theater and the sun was still out, so much to early to call it a night. More drinks, it was decided. We went to this Japanese restaurant on Grand that advertised Kirin for 99 cents. We had to see if this was for real. We asked the waiter guy if we could just get drinks. He said no, we couldn't do that, and then he said, okay, yeah, we could order our beers while pretending to look at menus and then tell him later that we decided not to order any food. For this, however, he had to sit us in the corner. I felt like such a bad kid, being relegated to the corner, like I was back in kindergarten and being told that it wasn't cool that I threw paste at little Jimmy and had to stay in the corner until I learned my lesson and was ready to apologize. Susie and I were okay to find our drinks elsewhere but the waiter guy had such a slightly elaborate plan that we couldn't fail him and let it fall through, so we sat in the corner.

Our beers came icy cold in glasses that must have been stuck in the freezer. It was so cold that there were actually chunks of ice that had to be pushed around with wooden chopsticks. The Kirin was so light and crisp compared to the pale ale from earlier in the night. I thought that we would have one beer and that would be it, but waiter guy kept asking if we wanted another. We didn't know what was up but were like, okay, if that's okay with you? And he was like, sure, I'll be right back. Waiter guy was awesome. He knew what the deal was and he was ready to humor us. I was about ready to marry waiter guy, he was that great. But, I didn't. Instead, we left him a very nice tip.

A little bit of soul

After spending a good portion of my Saturday afternoon watching the Food Network, learning about the origins of fried chicken and witnessing Battle Catfish, I had a bit of a hankering for some good soul food. We read in the paper earlier in the week about a place called the Purple Plum in Oakland, which was described as having the healthiest soul food on this side of the Bay. Our growling stomachs told us that it was time to make a little journey.

After getting a little bit lost and circling back the way we came, we found the Purple Plum. Eleanor and I had actually driven by it before on a hunt for biscuits one morning, and I remember commenting on how cute it looked and that we must visit there when it was open for customers. I guess it was our time, er, my time, since Eleanor's in New York for the week.

Susie, Quressa, Q's cousin Thelma, and I were greeted by a very nice bartender, who was the only one who greeted us or who was nice to us. No host or hostess was around. And, when we caught the attention of various wait staff, we were told that someone would be right with us. Sure. We waited and I was impatient, just about ready to storm out and head to the Everett and Jones. (Gosh, can you picture me storming out? It would be quite the quiet storm.)

We decided to wait it out and that drinks would help pass the time. I ordered the Peach Plum Passion Love Who-knows-what-else Martini, which was a mix of plum wine, plum sake, sake, and peach puree. It was sweet and fruity, very refreshing. Susie ordered something with raspberry in it, which was also made of sake and very good as well. (I was getting more ideas for summer cocktails.) I couldn't figure out why the people at the Purple Plum decided to feature sake as their alcohol of choice. My afternoon TV lesson on soul food mentioned nothing about sake.

We still waited. Finally, a waitress noticed us and told us that the table we're waiting on is just about done but they're having some sort of celebration and they didn't want to rush them so would we like some bread if we were absolutely famished? Sure, since we were absolutely famished. Not a bad call on our part. The bread came in a basket wrapped with a napkin and very warm. There was cornbread, rolls, and a dish of butter. The cornbread was delicious, flaky and dense with a great texture but not too greasy. The rolls were equally impressive, so light and airy and tasting of fresh eggs. And, my god, the butter. The butter. I'm not even a big fan of butter. I'll try avoiding it when I can, but I couldn't resist this one. It tasted like it was churned in the back by some poor child boy just churning his heart out to make us good butter. It was creamy and cool, spreading easily across the bread and roll and melting just as easily. I spread on some butter and then spread on some more. I ate that whole dish up and had no regrets. It was, really, butter from the gods, and this is coming from an atheist.

So, the meal. If the bread and butter could be that good, what would my actual meal taste like? I was about to die--I was so hungry and anxious. I ordered the apple cider glazed pork chop with ginger candied sweet potatoes and sautéed greens. And, yes, it was one of the best meals I've had in a while. The pork chop was juicy, lean, and tender, covered with grill marks set at the perfect angle to one another. The sweet potatoes were just as marvelous, a nice consistency, thick, and honey sweet with just a hint of ginger in the background. And, the sautéed greens were delicious as well, with flavors reminiscent of something my mom makes but I knew my mom would never add bacon to her greens as they did there. I was so full on bread, but I couldn't not clean my plate of all that deliciousness.

When the waitress asked if we wanted dessert, we all shook our heads in silent unison. There was no way more food could have been stuffed into us. We waddled out of there happy.

This milkshake's better than yours

I don't know why I never thought of it before. In my eternal quest for the perfect summer beverage (one among many of my eternal searches), I don't know how it could have slipped under my radar. What better warm-weather combination could there be than the snowy chill of ice cream blended together with the inherent lounge-inducing quality of liquor? This dreamy concoction was right under my nose too, waiting for me at the appropriately named Le Bateau Ivre.

Susie suggested that we go there to get these alcohol-laden milkshakes, and there was no way I was going to pass that up. I ordered a Kahlua and vanilla ice cream milkshake, and Susie got one with chocolate ice cream, orange juice, and Grand Marnier that was called the Napoleon for some reason. They came in those pretty tall milkshake glasses but without the extra in the metal canister that one would usually get at any soda fountain (I suspected some greedy kitchen staff).

The shake itself wasn't too bad. It was tasty, with just enough Kahlua in there to taste but not to overwhelm. There was some bad blending, however, that left large chunks of very visible vanilla ice cream smushed up against the glass. And, yes, it could have been thicker. But, the quality of the milkshake wasn't what I was there for. I was there for the slightly ridiculous fact that there was alcohol in my drink, a drink that I remember often having while innocently hanging out with high school friends on warm southern Californian nights, a drink that only a week ago I saw little kids drinking at Ozzie's.

I finished my shake and left feeling giddy. I don't know if it was because I hadn't eaten much during the day and the alcohol was doing its work or because I felt slightly guilty for drinking lazily on a Saturday afternoon or because this childhood drink was turned into something a little bit lushy. I don't know. I do know that I left Le Bateau Ivre with a smile on my face though.

Déjàvu Dining

I thought I was doing pretty well with the posting of things on this blog for a while, but then the week got busier than I planned. Er, or, yes, I'll admit it, a bit lazier than I planned. So, here's the week's recap:

Monday, April 11
-Leftover endamame salad with feta, lemon zest, sun-dried tomatoes, and olive oil.
-Leftover spring rolls.
-My daily orange from Mom. (She sent up a huge bag full of oranges with Jeanne and Justin too that I've been slowly and steadily working on eating.)
-It was salad and spring rolls for breakfast, lunch, and dinner--I have a problem with quantity control when I cook.

Tuesday, April 12
-Toasted onion bagel with lox and cream cheese. (Why are lox called lox, by the way? Does anyone know? So good though.)
-More spring rolls.
-A black and tan ice cream soda at Ozzie's Soda Fountain with Susie.
-Finally, the last of the spring rolls.
-An orange.
-Chicken enchiladas with rice, beans, cabbage, a huge dollop of sour cream, and a Modelo especial (I don’t know what made it special) from some place in Oakland with the nicest waitress ever.
-Four Girl Scout thin mints.

Wednesday, April 13
-Omelet with ham, onions, cheddar, and toast.
-Creamy tomato soup and stoned wheat crackers.
-An orange.
-Spicy coconut soup that I made with rice noodles. Totally delicious and easy. Here’s the deal: Heat 4 cups of chicken broth, 1 cup water, 1 ½ cups of coconut milk, ¼ cup fish sauce, ¼ cup lime juice, zest of one lime, 2 tablespoons of sugar, 1 ½ stalks of lemongrass chopped up, and thinly sliced ginger in a pot. Simmer for about 15 minutes. You can add chicken or seafood to it if you wish. I had a combination of scallops and shrimp. Cook just until tender. Add two teaspoons of chili sauce and chopped cilantro. Simple. The sucky part is that there was all this inedible lemongrass that I had to pick out. I would suggest chopping up the lemongrass, putting it in a tea infuser, and then removing it before eating.

Thursday, April 14
-A bowl of Smart Start cereal with non-fat milk.
-Leftover noodles and soup.
-An orange.
-A Junior Bacon Cheeseburger and Biggie Fries from Wendy's. Yeah, I ate at Wendy's and not just any Wendy's but probably the saddest one in existence on Broadway and 12th St. in Oakland. The counter lady was telling a customer to say please when asking for water and three cups of ice. I was hungry and that was the only thing that was open at 4 in the afternoon for some reason.
-A Portobello and tomato pesto sandwich from the café/cafeteria thing at CCA in San Francisco. A rather surprisingly good sandwich.
-Yogurt with banana slices. But, it wasn't just any yogurt--it was whole milk yogurt. Yuck! I made the mistake of buying the wrong yogurt and buying the big tub too. It wasn't too bad though. I actually couldn't feel the fat coating my tongue like I can with whole milk.
-Six thin mints.
-Wheat crackers and fancy cheese.

Friday, April 15
-A Crunchy Peanut Butter Cliff bar and banana as I'm driving.
-More rice noodles and coconut soup.
-A grilled cheese sandwich with a better cheese to bread ratio and tomato soup.
-An under-ripe nectarine.
-Five strawberries.

Reconstituted spring rolls

I'm my mom's daughter and I'm starting to realize that more and more. From whom else would I get the idea to use my leftover dinner, reconstitute it as something else but in a different form, and then spend almost the entirety of my Sunday afternoon making it and eating it? And, I assure you, it wasn't as gross as it sounds.

After having plenty of leftover rice noodles, mint leaves, lettuce, mung bean sprouts, and pork patties from my Vietnamese noodle dinner and getting a bit tired of eating it, I thought I might try my hand at turning those ingredients into spring rolls. A spring roll is really all those things wrapped in a clear rice paper wrapper, so it seemed easy enough to make. I'd seen my mom and Jeanne do it tons of times, so I figured so could I.

I should have known it would be a challenge when it started with a hunt for the wrappers. I went to three stores before I found those elusive rice paper wrappers. Back at the apartment with rice paper wrappers in hand, I made a spicy peanut dipping sauce for the spring rolls. Peanut butter, fish sauce, garlic, ginger, honey, coconut milk, some red rooster chili, and a touch of hot water all got whirled together in the blender. It was quite a tasty, peanut buttery concoction, and I was thoroughly impressed with my blending skills. I thought I was well on my way to having some delicious spring rolls soon.

I chopped and assembled my ingredients in an assembly line that Henry Ford would have been proud of. The rice paper wrapper got dunked in a bit of hot water, drained of the excess water, put on a plate, topped with some rice noodles, mung bean sprouts, mint leaves, lettuce, and pork. Then, came the tricky part: rolling it together. Tricky, very tricky. I made the mistake of being too generous in my filling. The wrapper couldn't get around all the stuff I put in it. And, of course, rather than taking some of the filling out, I tried rolling it anyhow. The ends had no room to get tucked into anywhere, so I just rolled it with open ends. I rationalized that it would taste the same regardless of the ends being tucked in or not, and that, really, it would all just end up in my stomach.

And, right enough, it was yummy. The peanut sauce had a spiciness that was accentuated by the mint. The rice noodles and lettuce were cooling. The crunchiness of the bean sprouts was paired with the chewiness of the rice paper wrapper. It was such a great mix of textures and flavors.

If only I could master the skill of rolling them. I tried again with fewer filling materials, hoping that that would remedy my problem, but no luck. This time the roll burst. Noodles spilling out, as if they were escaping for air. After a few more failed attempts and being frustrated, I asked Quressa for help. The show-off that she is, she was able to make one with ends tucked in and filling inside on her first try. She rolled them as I washed the dishes.

Stick it to 'em

After a monstrosity of a lunch yesterday, I knew I had to make it up with dinner and knew that I would since I was going to dine with Erin. We went to Asqew Grill on 16th and Market, which apparently grills everything. The line was out the door at this place, which seemed to bode well that I wouldn't be having a repeat of my disappointing lunch.

I ordered a half order of the chicken, basil, pesto skewer with red onions and crimini mushrooms on a bed of garlic mashed potatoes. Erin had their barbeque chicken skewer with corn and a side of asparagus. After a bit of a wait and a couple of table changes, our food finally made it, the asparagus first. We gobbled that dish up. The vegetables came perfectly grilled--crunchy yet tender, although I had a piece that was still quite woody at the bottom (they should trim better)--and we topped it with a squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of some pinkish-orange sauce that we struggled on figuring out what comprised it. It was a yummy, slightly tangy, and creamy sauce. I kept dipping my finger in it. Erin had enough class to use a fork.

My chicken skewer plate arrived and I was happy. Bits of chicken and mushroom stuck on a stick. Stick food, really, is the best food. I was nervous about the mashed potatoes though. For the longest time, I wouldn't touch them and would even wince when friends would order it because of an upsetting school lunch incident in the 6th grade that left me ill and scarred. The ones last night caused no stomach turning. They were actually quite tasty too. They were a bit fluffier than I like, but there was something appealing about it, like I was eating clouds. The potatoes just melted on my tongue.

Bad news burrito

I made a bad lunch decision today. I don't like to admit it, but I did. I ordered a chicken burrito from the Mexican food place at the Metreon food court thing. What was I thinking? Really. What was I thinking?

Burritos in San Francisco outside of the Mission lack all the glory that makes a good burrito a good burrito. No way did this wannabe-burrito compare to those at Cancun Tacqueria. There was no grilled tortilla, no large chunks of avocado, no chicken that actually tastes like chicken, and no spicey salsa verde. What I got instead was a strange but warm mixture of refried beans that was pastey and a strange purplish-brown color, lots of rice that looked like it came from a Rice-a-Roni box, and some bits of chicken. It was a hunt to find the chicken through all the strange pastey-ness. I don't know how that place can even dare to call that thing a burrito and sell it.

Wild and fresh is how I like 'em

It's strange cooking in someone else's kitchen but a bit of an adventure too. You never know what you'll find. Last night, there were scallops (wild and fresh was how they were described), lots of apparently good and fancy cheese (I didn't have any so I don't really know), spinach, pesto, artichoke hearts, and a very large mushroom, among other things.

After hunting around the refrigerator for a bit, consulting cookbooks, and researching online for the name of the mysteriously large mushroom, my friend and I decided to make a spinach salad topped with sauteed scallops, mushrooms, a dallop of pesto, and a balsamic vinegrette. It sounded quite impressive and it actually was. We first started with sauteed mushroom appetizers. Slices of mushroom cooked in butter with a touch of salt, garnished with capers. The real show then began with minced garlic cooking in olive oil, then came the mushroom, and finally the scallops to brown. Sizzling glory abounded. It was all topped off with a touch of dry sherry.

The scallop mixture then went atop a bed of spinach and drizzled with the vinegrette. I had to keep stirring the vinegrette as I poured since it wasn't staying together. I'm such a bad emulsifier.

The Chinese tamale

There's this thing my mom, and probably every other Chinese mom, makes that I like to refer to as the Chinese tamale. It's quite similar to a regular tamale, hence the name. Rice, beans, and some meat is wrapped inside a banana leaf, and they come in triangular and cylindrical shapes. It's called zhong zhi in Mandarin.

I had two of them today. They've been chilling in my freezer for the past couple of weeks and, as I was getting tired of them dropping out of their torn bag each time I pulled on the freezer door, I decided it was time to eat them. The ones my mom sent up with Justin and Jeanne on their trip from LA this time had yellow bean, rice, pork, Chinese sausage, dried scallops, and peanuts in them. They're my mom's version of the banana leaf packets that one can find at dim sum.

After defrosting in the fridge overnight and then into the steambasket for 15 minutes, they were ready to eat. I think I might have cooked them too long since some of the rice oozed out of the corners. But, no worries--I ate the rice that was stuck to the steambasket too...sticky goodness. I unwrapped the package, trying not to burn myself, and mushed it on my plate with a sprinkle of salt and a grind of pepper (my mom never over seasons but often under seasons). The rice was warm and sticky, the yellow bean just the perfect consistency of pastey-ness, and the scallop and sausage bits had a kick of saltiness.

With those two done, I only have about a dozen more to eat. Yum.