Burgers and booze

I love barbeques. Good food, friends, and drinks. And, what makes them even more awesome is when they take place on my balcony, with a lovely view of the Berkeley hills, and I only have to journey across the apartment barefoot in my barbeque pants (yes, I have barbeque pants--the pants I always wear when I barbeque, hence the name).

Sunday's barbeque had burgers galore. Hamburgers made with ground chuck and love for the meat-eaters. Grilled Portobello mushrooms topped with mozzarella and tomato pesto as well as Gardenburgers for the non-meat-eaters.

I went a bit overboard on the salads. First, there was the endamame, feta, and sun-dried tomato salad, that is always a winner. Then, there was the potato salad, two pot-fulls of it. And, I also made a "gazpacho" salad, with cucumbers, bell peppers, and tomatoes, tossed with a lemon vinaigrette. I've been eating salad for days (and am actually eating the bean salad as I type).

And, if all that food wasn't enough, my good friends were good enough to bring more. Not only did Susie and Zyde bring corn to be grilled, they also brought along a cheddar cheese platter. Eleanor brought along a beautiful cheese wheel thing that consisted of alternating wedges of queso fresca and some sort of jam / fruit preserve that I think was much to beautiful to have eaten but I ate the pieces off the cutting board and it was yummy. Adrian brought some fish that was pink like salmon but wasn't salmon and a bottle of sake. And, Jon brought along a carrot cake, pulled out of his shoulder sack thing, which was delicious for a carrot cake--nothing like the kind out of a box.

And, of course, there were drink and popsicles. And, still, so much of it left. I could only do so much to drink all the mojitos, beer and lemoncello, and eat all the fudge-cicles without getting terribly sick. I'm a good eater and drinker, but not that good. So, here's my invitation: if you want to stop by, hang out, play Scrabble while eating cheese, popsicles, and drinking beer, drop me a line.

Faux onions?

I met Jon today for lunch at a cafe near his workplace in North Beach. I walked to his place from the BART station, which isn't that far of a walk but I've developed the habit lately of getting all sniffly whenever I'm walking for more than like five feet, so I showed up all snotty in the nose and a bit sweaty. Eh, it was only Jon.

We went to this little cafe place across the street from the park. I had a salad with mixed greens topped with a fillet of halibut. Jon ordered a pizzetta with sausage, mozerella, and mushrooms after he was told that he couldn't have his eggs scrambled because the cafe didn't own a stovetop. Interesting, I thought.

My salad was fun. The halibut wasn't as I had envisioned it. I was expecting it to be grilled or seared or something (which I should have figured wasn't going to happen since the cafe didn't have a stovetop, as we were told) but it seemed as if it was dehydrated or something. I couldn't quite tell. It was a bit salty though. Preserved in some sort of manner. There were also these little onion-looking things that didn't taste a thing like an onion. They were sweet and crunchy. And, sadly, there were only two of them. I could have eaten a whole bowl of those mini-faux-onions. The salad was topped off with cherry tomatoes and capers.

Jon's pizzetta was big and looked good.

Missing the Mission

Working in San Rafael leaves me with very few eating options for lunch. The only places within close walking distance are Subway, Wendy's, and some tacqueria place. Not exactly gourmet options. I'm starting to feel a deep yearning for my old job, which was located in a densely populated food mecca. I was food-spoiled then.

Today's lunch adventure took place at the tacqueria. I ordered a super chicken burrito, which was brought to me by a man who kept calling me amiga and who kept asking me how I was doing. After eating almost two years worth of burritos in the Mission, knowing well a good burrito, and never expecting a burrito to surprise me, I was surprised by this burrito. It was an impressively good burrito: tightly wrapped, not too much rice, a good amount of chicken, cheese evenly spread throughout, no lame-o lettuce that some places have, and a healthy dallop of sour cream. And, the best part: the tortilla was grilled (I hate the hiss of tortilla steam machines).

I should have guessed that this tacqueria would be a decent one. Almost everyone in the place, workers and diners, were Hispanic-looking. Heck, they even started talking to me, probably the tallest Chinese (maybe even the only Chinese) person to step foot in the joint in Spanish. That's hardcore. I just need to called chinita and it'll be like I never left the Mission.

LA face with an Oakland booty

Being in LA is always a gorge fest. Eating with friends, family, anyone who will sit at a table with me. And it's always an awesome adventure. Here's the rundown of the journey so far:

Friday, May 20
-Breakfast burrito with chorizo, eggs, and potatoes from some shady looking tacqueria in Burbank where the waiter guys kept calling me "Nice lady."
-Lunch with Jeanne and Karen near UCLA at some yummy salad and sandwich place. I had a grilled salmon sandwich with a tropical barbeque sauce that sounded kinda weird but was actually delicious, reminiscent of my brief stay in the not-so Virgin Islands. It came on foccacia with grilled red onions. I had a side of grilled yellow squash, zucchini, and eggplant. The eggplant was rubbery. I could have done better.
-Strawberries on the beach.

-Seafood gratin at the Curry House. Really, a dish of baked cheese. I ate it all.
-Pocky for Men and Reverse Pocky. Pineapple gummy candy. Lychee hi-chews. Green tea ice cream mochi. And smuggled vodka tonic out of a pink Nalgene bottle. All while karaoke-ing our hearts out.

Saturday, May 21
-Chicken noodles.
-Number 2 animal style with extra pickles from In-n-Out.

-Sadly, half a bag of Kettle Chips, yogurt and green onion flavored. Two large Red Vines. Smuggled vodka out of little wax cups while watching some boring movie with Orlando Bloom. The drinks only made it slightly bearable.
-Dad's birthday dinner with a whole bunch of family and a Korean actor: stir fry lobster; mushroom, abalone, and mustard greens; sugar peas with bay scallops, lily bulbs, celery, and shrimp; chicken; spring rolls; fish stomach crab soup; pickled vegetables; squid and pickled greens stir fry; steamed fish; mango mouse birthday cake; and, again, smuggled vodka, this time with cranberry juice.
-Drinks with Jonathan in shady bars.

Sunday, May 22
-Dim sum with the folks: ha gow, siu mai, fong jiao, gum sa bao, wu tao gok, dan tat, ha chen, fu jok gien, no mei gai, Chinese rice krispy treat, gok bo cha and bo lei cha.

-Sandwich with pork loaf, pickled veggies, cilantro and lettuce.
-Sundae with butter pecan ice cream, coffee ice cream, crushed Heath bars, hot fudge, butterscotch topping, whipped cream, and a cherry from Soda Jerks in Pasadena with Sophia. Fries with cheese and ranch sauce too.
-Lobster fried rice and more fish stomach soup.
-Lychee hi-chews. Scharffen Berger mocha bar.

Taco, taco, taco

Few things remind me of LA: palm trees, the mountains that border my valley home, and, of course, taco trucks. So, when I was driving by the one on 22nd and International this evening on a strange errand for my mother, I couldn't not pull over. Taco trucks are a godsend. Food on wheels, and super cheap.

I ordered three tacos al pastor with everything on them. (I never know whether or not to try to order in my ridiculous yet passable Spanish, which, I've been told on several occassions, has a great accent.) I was going crazy on my drive home--glorious taco smell just permeating through the paper plate, foil top, and black plastic bag.

And, they were glorious. A squeeze of lime and some Tapatio made them perfect. I scarfed those suckers down. Ate the radishes and the pepper too. Sure, the pepper was way hotter than I could enjoyably handle and I went a bit overboard with the Tapatio, so my mouth and tongue started to tingle a bit, but, still, so good, so good. Probably the best $3 dinner ever. Hands down.

Banana gunk

I just ate a banana. One of four that were hanging out in the trunk of my car and that I had totally forgotten about until Jon asked why I had bananas and a noose in the trunk of my car. The banana wasn't ripe enough. A bit too firm. It left a yucky banana feeling against the back of my teeth. Yuck.

Killer tuna

I've been having some issues with food lately. The most recent and disgusting of which is that I threw up the other night. Not pretty, I assure you. Nausea overtook me for some reason. (You get the good and the ugly with this blog of mine.) I have a strong stomach, so I was worried, slightly fearful, and, more than anything, confused.

But, I think I've rebounded and tested my stomach this afternoon with a true challenge: the tuna melt. Don't scoff. The tuna melt is a trickster. Fish, mayo, onions, cheese--all the perfect elements to turn any stomach awry. And, if done poorly, you may be left praying to the porcelain mantle. The horror, the horror.

It's been two hours since my sandwich and my stomach seems to be doing okay so far. The sandwich was a good one, not great though. The tuna salad was a mix of leftover vegetables that were on their last legs in my fridge: four green onions that were all curvy and turning brown at the tips and some slightly limp celery. I only had about two spoonfuls of soy mayo so I had to do a soy-mayo-regular-fatty-may combo. Two cans of tuna, lots of pepper, and a dash of salt completed the salad. As for the sandwich, I sliced some sharp cheddar and a lone tomato that needed to be eaten soon as well.

The heat was on too high and so the bread was a little more toasty than I would have preferred, but not bad. It's a difficult balance of heat when making a tuna melt since I like my tuna warmed too but too much heat will cause burnt bread. And, because there was a little bit too much tuna for one sandwich but not enough for anything else, I had way too much tuna salad in between my bread. It was slightly overwhelming. Tuna salad oozed from the sides. The bits that fell off onto the pan while cooking, however, were very tasty and crispy. (Note to self: next time when in possession of extra tuna salad, cook the leftovers as little tuna cakes rather than trying to squeeze all of it between two slices of bread.)

Even after all the extra tuna, the extra mayo, and a little bit too much onion, my stomach is still doing fine. Let's hope it lasts.