Fair-weather barbeque

I remember warm days in LA. The thick layer of brownish-gray air pollution, which made the sunsets so gorgeous, blocked the mountains from our valley view. Walking home from school, I would notice how the heat radiating off the pavement created mini mirages at the end of the street. At night, my family and I would set up a dining area in our driveway to have dinner in the cooler outdoor air and we would sleep on mats in the living room where, with all the windows and doors open, it was less suffocating than our bedrooms. We would escape to the malls, movie theaters, and even the supermarkets to find solace in air-conditioned spaces. It was a part of everyday life throughout a good portion of the year, and there was no hoorah about the arrival of warmth.

Only when I moved up here did I notice how the warm weather brought out some strange behavior in people. Strangers would lie out in the park together in bikinis, short shorts, and no tops to bask, sweating, in the sun. Frisbees would fly everywhere there was enough open space to throw one around without hitting anyone or anything. And, of course, where there would be open space for Frisbees and sunbathers, there would undoubtedly be a barbeque nearby. So, when the mercury peaked at over 90 degrees this weekend in San Francisco, I was not totally surprised to be invited to a backyard barbeque.

I showed up to Bill’s buddy Nate’s place after waking up from a warm Sunday afternoon nap. I was a little confused when I arrived. Standing outside the numbered door that Bill had directed me to, I saw an apartment with several cats wandering about inside. I wondered, “Could Bill’s buddy Nate be a weird cat guy?” But, peering into the inside of the neighboring door, I saw a middle school aged girl sitting on the couch. I wondered, “Why would a young girl be at the barbeque of a group of twenty-somethings?” I called Bill and he came to open the door with me. (It turned out that Nate wasn’t a weird cat guy and that the young girl was the daughter of one of the guests.)

Downstairs in the backyard, a grill was on its final legs. I had shown up much later than the other guests but helped myself to the carne asada that was freshly off the grill and an ear of corn that was wrapped in foil. Bill handed me an apricot-flavored beer, and I was set. I dug into the piece of meat with my knife and fork, and it was tender, very well cooked, and quite tasty, with the seasonings not overpowering the flavor of the beef. I tore off the foil wrapping of my corn and bit into the yellow kernels. I can’t recall ever having barbequed corn that was more deliciously spiced than that ear. The spice rub on that corn was fantastic, strong and smoky while playing well with the natural sweetness of the corn itself.

We headed upstairs afterwards for mocha almond fudge ice cream from Mitchell’s, video games in the living room for the boys, and card games in the kitchen for the girls and one of Bill’s guy friends. The two adolescent girls wanted to play BS and, after a quick refresher, I said I’d be game too. I won. I beat one of the girls at a game of Speed too. No one wanted play cards with me after that, so I knew it was time to go home. It was a pleasant warm-weather afternoon.

Russian Cinco De Mayo

I had been limiting the amount of time I spend with hipsters and in places that even hint at hipsterdom. All that irony and cheap beer can be too much to handle. But, Ryan called and said that he was going to a house party hosted by the best-looking guy he knows, which coming from Ryan (who himself is a good-looking boy and therefore has good-looking friends) is quite astounding. I had to check it out.

I met Ryan and his friends at Kilowatt, where they then told me a joke that I didn't get. ("How many hipsters does it take to change a lightbulb? Oh, it's some number that you've never heard of.") After a drink, we headed around the corner to the party. Ryan introduced me to the host who, although was an attractive fellow, I didn't think warranted best-looking guy status.

However, his cooking abilities made up for the lack of drop-dead gorgeousness. Just as soon as we helped ourselves to some drinks (yet more vodka tonic for me), Mosha came by with some crispy bread stuffed with something brown and smothered with cream cheese. It was crispy, creamy, and salty--the perfect combination with drinks. Apparently, the theme of this Cinco De Mayo party was Russian delicacies (because, of course, at a hipster party you can't celebrate a holiday in its traditional ways), and what I was eating was a piroshki. I had no idea what a piroshki was or what it was doing at this Cinco De Mayo party, but I knew it tasted good and I wanted more.

After making batches of piroshkis and telling all the guests to eat more of them, our kind host started melting some butter in a pan for what he called pirogis. He had strained the boiled dumplings and was about to fry them up, but, sadly, I never saw nor tasted the end results. I don't know where I was--maybe getting some PBR from the keg or having a puff of someone else's cigarette on the balcony or dancing to Prince.

As we were getting ready to leave, we made a final round to the kitchen and picked up some more piroshkis for the road. They were just as good at the end of the party as at the beginning, although I still coudn't figure out what they were doing at a Cinco De Mayo party.