Cliff Bar revisited

I remember one of my first posts. It was about a Chocolate Chip Peanut Crunch Cliff bar. As I was eating one this morning, it brought me back to those early blogging days, when I was much more on top of posting regularly, getting so anxious to even post multiple times a day.

Today’s Cliff Bar was just as I remembered that one more than a year ago. It was dry and had no peanut flavor to speak of, but it satisfied some very basic hunger craving. We’ll see if my blog posting frequency reverts back to 2005 times.

Little Star birthday

I like birthday dinners. Food, friends, general merriment--what’s not to like? Last night was Ryan’s 26th birthday (I forgot how he described what it feels like to turn 26 but it surely warranted Hallmark status) and he had his birthday dinner at Little Star Pizza. I like Little Star Pizza and I like Ryan, so dinner with him and his friends was a definite must.

I met him at his place and we walked up the hill to Divisadero with his two teacher roommates. After a not-too-long wait in the cold (even for a group of nine) and a bit of a snarky remark from the hostess, we had a spot inside. We left the cold for the dark, loud, tomato sauce scented warmth.

We shared the Classic, the Mediterranean Chicken, and the Little Star deep-dish pies. And, Carlo ordered me a light beer. When the pizzas came, I had no idea which one was which and what had what in it. A slice got put on my plate and it was time to play Name That Pizza Topping. I tasted and felt the dry texture of overcooked chicken breast (it was the Mediterranean Chicken one, apparently). And, I tasted the saltiness of olives, although these weren’t the usual black rounds from a can that usually top pizzas but were green and tasted nothing of tin can. The next slice I encountered was the Classic with sausage and bell peppers. The flavors of the Classic were more robust than that of the Mediterranean and it’s by far my favorite of the two (I think this was a shared opinion among the others of our group as well).

When our pizza plates got cleared away, the waiter brought over a slice of cheesecake with a candle in it. We sang “Happy Birthday” to Ryan in what seemed like almost muted tones (I couldn’t tell if we were singing at all halfway through the song) and then dug our spoons into the cake and the rich chocolate ice cream that sat beside it. Both were great, as was hanging out with Ryan on his birthday.

Bodega Bistro

Any Vietnamese restaurant that doesn’t have bins of green plastic chopsticks and a tin of paper napkins on the table will get a suspicious look from me. Those were staples of all the Vietnamese restaurants I ate at as a kid in LA and those items, to me, signal authenticity. So when Greg and I walked into Bodega Bistro in the Tenderloin and were met by a very welcoming host, plum-colored walls, folded cloth napkins, and a prominently displayed wine selection, not only did doubts automatically start registering in my head but I was just plain confused. What was this place? Were we really in the Tenderloin? I felt like Alice and this was my Wonderland.

We sat down and were handed well-worn menus. Not only did these menus not display color photos and weren’t covered in heavy lamination, but there was French on them--potages, canard, poulet. I sat there studying the menu for ages, drawing memories from three semesters of college-level French and a summer spent in Paris, and tried to match the English with their French counterpart. I was intrigued by almost all of the items and wanted them all. But, in the end, I went with what I knew--the pho with all those beefy configurations in it. Greg ordered the orange duck, one of the many French dishes, and the fried calamari. I assured him that we could share and that I’d eat the squid.

The calamari came out first. It was piled high on a bed of shredded lettuce and came with a sweet and sour sauce (the one that I saw many times over in Thailand). Each piece of calamari was a bit of the squid’s middle--no tentacles in this dish--and was delicately tender. The batter was light and super garlicky.

Our noodles came next. The man who I assumed to be the owner asked us earlier if we’d be sharing and offered to split the noodles into two separate bowls for easier eating. We took him up on it. The noodle soup was delivered in beautiful blue bowls, the most attractive pho presentation I’d seen yet. The soup was well-seasoned without being overwhelming. And there was a hefty--a bit too hefty--proportion of beef to noodles but no tripe. It was a good pho though not one that knocked my socks off (a strange expression, by the way).

The duck was slow to arrive at our table and when we asked about it, the waiter was very apologetic, told us that it was on its way, and assured us that the group of diners next to us, which had a duck dish landing on their table, did not order the same duck as ours. When our duck came, it was attractively presented. The rounds of duck breast were fanned out in a circle resting on a faint orange-hued glaze-like sauce. A plate of fried noodles also came with the duck, a surprise to me since there was no mention of it on the menu. The duck was moist and buttery soft, with a subtle hint of the sweet orange sauce. The noodles tasted of garlic, and the two went surprisingly well together.

When we thought we were done, our waiter placed a crème caramel on our table, compliments of the house, a nice touch and a pleasant surprise.

As we left, I wanted to tell our waiter that I loved him. The service was attentive without being fawning, and the whole atmosphere of the place was relaxed and welcoming. I didn’t tell our waiter that I loved him but maybe the next time I go there I will. Now that I know that I’m not in Wonderland but a Vietnamese restaurant that explicitly recognizes that country’s strong French influence, I’ll be less cautious about what I order.

Sisterly weekend

Whenever Jeanne comes to visit, we do an inordinate amount of eating (and, this time, drinking). There’s so much eating going on that one wonders where all the food has room to get squeezed into our bodies. This weekend’s short visit was no different.

Jeanne and Stevie showed up at the house a little after two in the morning Saturday. We stayed up until after four doing who knows what and eating microwaved chicken and pork buns that our mom made. They were a little chewier than usual, probably due to the microwaving, but at three in the morning and being oddly hungry, anything will taste good.

We woke up late the next morning to make preserved duck egg and pork congee. I made a request to my mom that she make this for me and have Jeanne drive it up, but she didn’t. Instead, she sent up the necessary ingredients—pork, preserved duck egg, dried scallops—so that I could make my own. Jeanne started the pot off with three cups of rice and nine cups of water, a proportion that we would later learn was short on water. Dressed in our pajamas and still with crusty eyes and crooked hair, we stirred that pot of rice and water, sliced and seasoned pork, and watched as a miracle was about to happen. The rice kept soaking up water and we kept pouring more in. We dumped in the dried scallops that had been soaking in hot water. We dumped in the pork slices seasoned with fish sauce and sugar. And, at the very end, we dumped in the pieces of preserved duck egg. We seasoned it with some salt and a little more fish sauce. And, each individual bowl was topped off with a couple grinds of pepper, some chopped cilantro, and sesame oil. It tasted almost like Mom’s.

After breakfast, we headed over to Frjtz’s for a second breakfast, or first lunch, however you wish to see it. Jeanne and I split a crepe with crème fraiche, smoked salmon, and chives. As seems to be the case with almost all the savory crepes I order from Frjtz’s, this one was a little salty too. The fries, however, were yummy, as always. And, I think I’ve found my favorite two dipping sauces: pesto mayo and peppercorn ranch (yum, fat!).

We made our way to the Mission to do a little thrift store shopping (Jeanne found a cute pair of shoes, Stevie bought a pair of tiny shorts, and I scored with a top for $1.74) and a round of nachos at one of the taquerias on Valencia at 16th. Jeanne, Stevie, Eli, and I split a large plate of nachos with what seemed like fake cheese, refried beans, guacamole, sour cream, chicken and steak, and topped with a healthy squirt of hot sauce. It was messy and deliciously satisfying.

It was almost time for dinner but we had enough time before our reservation for drinks, so we went to Badlands in the Castro, where they were having two for one specials and where some strange music videos were playing on the several TVs hanging from the walls. Jeanne and I split a couple of vodka tonics.

For dinner, we ate at the Sausage Factory on Castro and 18th. We stupidly filled up on bread as we were waiting for the rest of our party, and decided to change our two entrée order to the caprese salad and spaghetti with spicy meat sauce to share. I’ve had better caprese salads. This one had salty, squishy olives, iceberg lettuce, and tomatoes that weren’t at the peak of freshness. The large plate of spaghetti was smothered with a red sauce that held up to its spicy description. I could feel my stomach gurgling with the pangs of spices churning in gastric juices as I put bite after bite of garlicky sauce covered noodles into my mouth. I was beginning to wonder how much spicy food my stomach could actually handle.

After dinner, we made our way to the Transfer for drinks. Jeanne and I were beginning to really feel the exhaustion of staying up until four in the morning the night before hit us, and after a round of vodka tonics and three sessions in the photo booth, we made our exit. We went over to Safeway to buy picnic supplies, and went home to eat ice cream and make rice krispie treats (one batch with marshmallows and one batch with marshmallow cream for our vegetarian guest).

We woke up early Sunday to prep for our picnic at Stern Grove, where Ozomatli would be closing out the season. We heated up some leftover congee for breakfast, packed up our wine and snacks, and left the warm house for the overcast San Francisco summer outdoors.

We met up with Gabe and some of my other coworkers and their friends, and squeezed our way onto a spot on the ground. It was eleven o’clock (the first band wouldn’t go on until two in the afternoon) but the place was packed (people apparently had started arriving at seven in the morning). All the lawn seating was taken and people were crowded onto the tree covered slope as well. We settled in, pulled out our roast beef sandwich with horseradish mayonnaise, our New York Cheddar Kettle Chips, and rice krispie treats, and had a morning picnic. Our neighbors shared their juicy and succulently sweet watermelon and their crumb cake. We shared our New York Times and marshmallow treats. By the end of the afternoon, we finished our bottles of the rose, the Riesling, and the chardonnay, danced until our bare feet were dirty and bruised, and ate until our bellies were full. It was time to pack up.

We drove back toward the house to meet Stevie and Eli for dinner. After going to Tu Lan to find out that they’re closed on Sundays, we met them at another Vietnamese restaurant in the Tenderloin on the corner of Larkin and either Eddy or Ellis. We shared the fried spring rolls, which were crisp and tasty. I ordered the extra large bowl of pho, only to eat three bites of it and took the rest home. I felt like I had failed, but I think my body telling me I had to stop eating. It was getting to be too much. The waitress kindly packed up my noodles as I said thank you in Cantonese, and we headed home.

Jeanne and Stevie packed up the rest of their stuff and made their way to the freeway to drive back to LA. I did some dishes and passed out. Yet another good visit.

Dot hearts

The crowd of people, the long wait, the clanking of dishes, and the loud chatter of a roomful of Cantonese people can be a bit much to handle early in the morning, especially after having spent the previous night up late dancing and taking shots of tequila in a random bedroom. But, I braved it all for dim sum at Koi Palace in Daly City.

According to my Cantonese workers, this was the place to go for dim sum in the Bay and we had made plans to meet there for Sunday brunch. There were six of us—Billy, Jo, Alex, Katherine, her boyfriend Nick, and me—and a sea of other eager diners waiting, wrestling, for a table.

Trying to get a table at a busy dim sum restaurant on a Sunday morning is like a game of bingo. You show up, you get a number from the host, you clench that slip of paper tightly in your first, repeating the number over and over in a bare whisper, you anxiously wait for your number to be called, and when it finally is you feel like a winner. It’s high drama at its finest. Then, once table procurement is accomplished, you try to squeeze and maneuver your way around the room jam-packed with tables full of diners with chopstick weapons in their hands and servers carrying pots of boiling tea and trays of steam baskets with dumplings and buns barreling straight at you with no sign of letting you pass first or even of stepping to the side. Quick feet and a sharp mind pay off here.

I was happy to finally make it to our table, which was a little small for the six of us but manageable. We settled in, ordered a pot of jasmine tea, and waited for the food frenzy to begin.

There were items being walked around by the waitresses that I had never seen before. According to Alex, one of the reasons why Koi Palace is so popular is because they have tons of items on their menu, most of which you don’t see at other dim sum restaurants. I was wary of some of those plates being brought over to our table, but we got some things that I never had before in all my countless of times of going out for dim sum, including the duck tongue and egg custard tart topped with bird nest.

I’m a daring eater but there was something about the duck tongue that got to me. I don’t know if it was because the duck tongue looked so much like duck tongue or that they were so small and pale brown or that they were just something I wasn’t used to, but I had to really think about eating one before I took my chopsticks to the little plate of tongue, picked one up, and put it on my own. The tongue had a chewy consistency on the outside that tasted just slightly salty and in the middle was the inedible thick cartilage that got discarded. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t so good as to warrant me having to mentally psych myself up to eat more.

The egg custard bird nest tart was an interesting variation of something I’m used to eating, the plain egg custard tart. I’m not exactly sure what bird nest is made of, but I do know that the bird uses its spit to hold the nest together. So, bird nest is also sometimes referred to as bird spit, which was how my coworkers and I were describing it. It seemed like an odd combination but I tried it. The egg custard part was enjoyable; the custard was smooth and sweet while the crust was flakey and light. I couldn’t taste the bird nest that topped it and the jello-like texture just sort of melted into the custard, not adding much to the dish. But, apparently, bird nest has restorative qualities and its production is so costly that I couldn’t bear to waste any of it.

What impressed me most about Koi Palace was the quality of the dim sum standbys. The shrimp dumplings (ha gao) were filled with large and tender shrimps, and the wrapper tasted as if they were freshly rolled in-house. The pork dumping (xiu mai) were made of very finely ground pork (it was almost paste like) with chunks of shrimps for added texture, and the flavors were delicately sweet and salty. The chicken feet (fong jiao) were large, meaty (for chicken feet), and well seasoned. The steamed barbeque pork bun (cha xiu bao) had an airily light dough encasing a succulent pork filling. The steamed shrimp roll (ha chien) was a silky smooth rice noodle wrapped around the largest shrimp I had ever seen and the soy sauce was light enough to not overpower the delicately sweet flavors of the noodle and the shrimp. The eggplant stuffed with shrimp paste (my favorite dim sum dish) was just a little spicy from the eggplant and shrimp paste wedged between the two eggplant slices was delicious. And the deep fried pork dumpling (ham su gok) was crisp on the outside, not at all greasy, chewy within, and full of flavorful pork and mushroom.

We also ordered the beef tripe in a curry sauce, the Shanghai soup dumplings, the shrimp dumplings with chives, the old man tofu (this is how the Chinese gets translated, although it’s a fried tofu dish with a velvety smooth interior), and spring rolls. Each dish was good, and the flavors, compared to other dim sum restaurants, were fresh and clean. We finished all the little plates and left the restaurant just a little bit heavier.

Oh, I also have to mention that Nick, a non-Asian, and I think Katherine as well were both dim sum virgins and ate everything, including the tongue, the feet, and the intestines. That’s impressive.

Taste

Scott and I woke up this morning unimpressed with the world and with no plans. We escaped the city and headed across the water to warmer parts--the East Bay. After a very brief trip to Ikea, which included an equally brief dash to the car and zoom out of the parking lot, we ventured over to North Berkeley, where we hoped beer and pizza at the Cheese Board would help soothe the world’s, or at least our, woes. But, to our dismay, it was closed, at lunch time on a Saturday afternoon.

But I was hungry (the wafting aroma of Sweedish meatballs at Ikea somehow did me in) and wanted food. We parked the car and walked over to Gregoire on Cedar. I had seen the one on Piedmont in Oakland and wanted to try it, but this one was crowded with no place to sit, and Scott, quite understandably, didn’t want to eat standing out of a box. We moved on.

We rounded the corner onto Shattuck. We passed Cha-am (home of many undergraduate Thai meals), and Chez Panisse (where Eleanor was volunteering for the day), and Cesar (where I once had the most decadently fabulous cheese and pear dessert), and settled on Taste, in what I later found out was called Epicurious Garden.

On our way to our seat on the little sidewalk patio, we passed a funky looking wine machine. It was a large circular contraption that held at least a dozen wine bottles attached to metal spouts with red digital numbers above each bottle. For a wine display, it was an impressive and intimidating one. But, we later learned from Greg, the house wine master, that Taste is a wine tasting bar, where with the purchase of a card that acts like a debit one, we could try as many different wines as we wished. The machine measures out each pour, debits our card, and keeps the wine fresh with, if I remember correctly, nitrogen. Greg also told us that Taste had opened only four months ago.

We didn’t opt for the wine tasting but Scott ordered a glass, which he didn’t like so much and which Greg replaced with a California Syrah that Scott liked better. To eat, we chose the flank steak sandwich with frisee salad and the day’s pizza, which was topped with bacon, roasted garlic, and grilled chicken.

The flank steak sandwich was delicious. The slices of steak were tender and full of beefy flavor. The meat seemed to have been cured beforehand since it was pink without the bloody taste of being rare. A generous but not disgusting portion of horseradish mayonnaise was spread on the thick, crusty toasted slices of baguette. And, the peppery and lemony frisee salad was a refreshing touch.

The pizza was good as well. The flavors of the garlic and bacon were overpowering compared to the chicken, but that didn’t matter since they worked well together in creating something tasty for my mouth. The crust was chewy, in a good way, although it seemed a little too heavy along the outer edges.

We ended our meal with the flourless chocolate cake (it seems like every restaurant has a flourless chocolate cake on their menu nowadays) with the mascarpone cheese topping and fresh blackberries. The cake was rather light, not too sweet and not too rich, as some flourless cakes can be. And the mascarpone cheese, with its slightly heavier consistency than whipped cream and velvety smooth texture, held up well against the cake.

We sat there, leisurely eating our meal in the sun and watching the people walk by. Sure, it wasn’t how we had originally had planned to spend our Saturday (we hadn’t really planned anything at all) but it wasn’t a bad way to while the hours away.

Lunch break

The summer, when there’s no school, is the major down period at work. I spend my days away from the usual high school home base and at our Japantown office, doing paperwork, organizing my calendar, checking my email obsessively, clicking on photos of my friends on MySpace, spinning around in my chair, and, really, just counting down the hours and minutes when I get to go home. This also means that I can take my lunch break away from my office, not have to worry about students showing up unexpectedly and having to stop eating or having to eat in front of them, and that I can lunch breaks longer than my usual twenty minutes at my desk.

This week, my coworkers and I journeyed over to Chinatown for congee on Monday. Wednesday I had leftover lasagna in the upstairs conference room with Billy and Alex, when two of our summer program students came in with Diego to see us goofing off (Billy was playing with a plastic helicopter-type toy and there was scads of candy across the conference table) and we then proceeding to chat them up.

Thursday Eleanor met me for lunch and we walked over to Fresca on Fillmore, where we had a scrumptious and leisurely meal. We ordered the rotisserie chicken with French fries and the steak salad. The large portion of literally half a chicken, a mound of fried potatoes, and a green salad looked like an overwhelming yet tasty challenge. The chicken, even the tricky breast meat, was succulently moist with rich flavors not just sitting on the skin but permeated throughout the meat. The strips of fried potatoes needed no sauce accompaniment to mask the simply elegant flavors of fresh potatoes and chopped garlic. The steak salad was good too, with strong flavors of a lemony cream dressing with buttery ripe slices of avocado, although the steak was a little tough. The tiny olive rolls that came in the obligatory bread basket were also warm and delicious with a generous smudge of the soft, fresh butter. After stuffing our bellies full of goodness, we walked back through Japantown stopping at Ichiban and the Japanese Historical Society where my students volunteered and gave us a tour of the place.

And, Friday, Billy and I split a club sandwich with garlic fries from May’s Café in the Japantown mall. It’s my safe fallback meal. We ran into our students again there, where they offered me some of their red bean pastry shaped like a fish, and they said they would join us for lunch at the office. Billy’s ranch dressing and yellow mustard concoction went surprisingly well with the fries. Our reasoning for sharing a sandwich was that it would act as our lunchtime snack, since we would be heading out to a barbeque later in the afternoon.

And, we did just a little after our lunch snack. We went over to Dolores Park, where the other youth organizations were hosting a barbeque for their students. There was a pie eating contest, a relay race, and tons of burgers and barbequed chicken. I helped myself to a burger topped with plenty of crunchy pickles, and remembered what the texture of processed cheese in my mouth felt like. I also had a couple of chicken pieces, two Capri Sun questionable fruit drinks, and a brownie. It was a little chilly in the park but any reason to leave the office was a good one.

Home cooking

I never actually realized how often Scott and I have people over the house to eat what we cook. It’s actually with quite an astounding frequency that two young people with full-time jobs, a social life that isn’t bland, and incomes that in no way will allow them to buy houses in the near future have folks over for home-cooked meals.

In the last couple of weeks since I’ve been back from Thailand we’ve had friends (old and new) to eat barbequed steaks, a three-course Thai meal, and a cheesy Italian feast.

Just a few days after Karen and I returned from Thailand, Scott was planning a dinner party for some of his friends. His menu would consist of barbequed steaks with a side of sausages, and I would make macaroni and cheese, which has somehow become a dish that I can do surprisingly well (although those of the faint of heart as well as those with histories of heart failure should be wary). Those steaks marinated in a barbeque sauce overnight were delicious—tender, juicy, and still a little pink inside. The mac-n-cheese was yummy as well—creamy, al dente, with a nice crusty top—even after scooping out the half cup of what seemed like leftover cheese goo out of the baking dish. And, Scott’s friends brought over decadent pot au crèmes—chocolate and butterscotch—topped with a canned whipped topping. I felt my heart stop.

Last week, I finally got around to cooking up some Thai food. It was a test-run, to see what I could make and have it not taste disgusting. It was also a part of my new money-saving plan, to cook in rather than eat out, and have friends over for some good old-fashioned board game fun (this time it would be Scrabble). I made a hot and sour soup (tom yum) with mushrooms and shrimp. Colin said it rivaled the spiciness of the hot and sour soup at Spices II (and the new one, Spices III, in Oakland’s Chinatown) and that he’d eat my soup if he were to ever be down with a fever again. I also made a red curry with salmon, bamboo shoots, and those little green eggplants that actually have the shape and size of eggs. It didn’t seem too spicy on the first day’s eating, but I tried it again a few days later and the spiciness had very evidently intensified. And, finally, I made a stir-fry with chicken, ginger, and scallions that was well-seasoned with a sauce of soy sauce, oyster sauce, and fish sauce. I didn’t have time to make the steamed banana cake and we never got around to playing Scrabble (we watched Project Runway instead).

And, tonight, for all the folks that were staying the night with us, Scott was going to make dinner, though he very clearly specified that he wanted nothing made in a wok. We opted for baking dishes and the oven instead with lasagna. I cooked up a simple, healthy, and tasty tomato sauce as Scott sautéed bell peppers and fried up some sausages. Bradi sliced up the cheese and Lindsey cut up the sausages when they were done. We then piled the layers on: peppers and spinach for the vegetarian one and peppers and sausage for the non-vegetarian one. Thick layers of mozzarella, along with sprinklings of cheddar and parmesan went in between. Into the oven they went until we thought they were done. For a bunch of people who really didn’t know what they were doing but who had some basic ideas of how food should be cooked and what food should taste like, we made some pretty damn good lasagnas. It was a good example of teamwork too.

Work time congee

I had the most massive craving for congee all Sunday. It’s one of those things that any Chinese mom makes when their children are felling ill, and it’s something my mom made regularly when we had stomach aches, tooth aches, or just felt a little under the weather. It doesn’t take much to make—just some rice and water—and it doesn’t take much to eat either, since it almost effortlessly can slide down one’s throat.

I woke up Sunday feeling a little queasy (I don’t know what Ryan poured into that drink he made me the night before at his party) and ended up throwing up the eggs and toast I made for an early afternoon breakfast after Scott handed me two Advils to, hopefully, help relieve my headache (Scott later described the scene as pathetic). I lied in bed most of Sunday wanting to eat but knowing that I couldn’t. I dreamed of congee and almost got so desperate as to fashion my own out of the contents of my cupboard.

So, when I got to work today and there was talk of Chinese food, which then led to talk of congee, my eyes widened with greedy anticipation, possessed by some secret congee god who had willed for me to procure some and eat it. I wanted it and wanted it now, and Billy was totally down to drive to Chinatown and battle the congestion and parking impossibility to get it.

We went to Hing Lung, which we both independently knew of as a place with congee, with Lucy, Simron, and Lisa. Simron and Lisa were congee virgins and I was curious, and slightly nervous, as to what they would think of the bowl of thick yet watery rice soup. I had my usual preserved egg and pork congee, which Simron quite bravely had as well, and we ordered the Chinese doughnut, the fried dough sticks, and the fried dough sticks wrapped in steamed rice flour. Lucy ordered our dishes in Cantonese with an accent that doesn’t get laughed at as mine does. I dug into my bowl of egg and pork congee and everything felt good and right. The congee was thick and mildly flavorful. The pork was sweet. And, there was a hefty portion of preserved egg. I asked Simron what she thought of hers, and she, surprisingly, enjoyed it, although she mentioned that the egg was a bit overbearing. The fried dough sticks were crisp and fresh. And, the Chinese doughnuts, which I had never had before, were like the fried dough sticks but sweet and a little more dense. The fried dough sticks wrapped in steamed rice noodle were tasty, as usual.

After a little bit of a sweat, I scooped up every last bit of the congee. It felt so good and so right. I wish I had one of those congee places near my house. Too bad I live in a rather froo-froo neighborhood. But, Lucy mentioned that there’s another congee place, supposedly better than Hing Lung, on 34th at Noriega out in the Sunset. Next time I’m feeling queasy, I’ll see if I can make it that far.

Tenderloin Thai shopping

I went shopping earlier this evening at Battambang, a little market with tons of Southeast Asian cooking essentials (kaffir lime leaves, lemongrass, fresh bamboo shoots, those little green eggplants that actually look like eggs), on Eddy between Leavenworth and Jones for tomorrow night's Thai food and board games, and met some nice folks. Here's the conversation I had at the checkout line:

Small Lady Staring Up At Me: You're tall. How are you? You must be 5'9".
Me: I'm 5'11" and that's really tall for an Asian girl.
SLSUAM: You could be Miss Universe.
M [protruding my belly and rubbing it]: No, I'm not thin enough.
SLSUAM: I'm 4 feet. Are you Cambodian?
M: No, I'm Chinese.
Other Small Lady In Line [speaking in Cantonese]: You are tall.
M [in Cantonese as well]: Yup, I'm tall.
OSLIL: Are both your parents tall?
M: Yeah, they're pretty tall. My dad's about my height.
OSLIL: You're tall and pretty.
M: Um...
OSLIL: Are you married?
M: Um, no. I don't even have a boyfriend.
OSLIL: Well, I'm sure that's your choice.
M: Yeah. Okay, bye.