Mushroom risotto

I forgot how much I enjoy cooking for my friends. The last year has been an interesting one. I spent countless hours studying, taking practice graduate school exams, writing essays, trying to plan for my future. And, because of it all, I started to forget the things I enjoyed: cooking, writing, having friends over to the house. But, I'm turning around, getting back into the habit of cooking for the people I like.

I had Shari over for dinner tonight. I hadn't seen her in weeks and thought she was dead or lying ill in a hospital somewhere, when she called to tell me that she actually was alive and had been in Tahoe with no phone for several days. Happy to know that she was safe, I invited her to a vegetarian meal cooked by me.

After going through my cookbooks trying to figure out what to make (something hearty, healthy, and vegetarian that would be substantial enough for me to give up meat for a night), I settled on a mushroom risotto. I spent my morning off (I was scheduled for jury duty in the afternoon) shopping at Rainbow and enjoying all the parking spots and empty aisles. I wished I could shop all the time on weekday mornings.

Back at home, I soaked my dried porcini mushrooms in warm water. I sliced my crimini and oyster mushrooms. I chopped up my garlic, onions, and thyme. I heated up my mushroom broth along with the mushroom soaking water. With all the prep work done, I was ready to cook. I heated up some olive oil and butter in a pot and sautéed the onions, and then added the garlic and mushrooms. After about ten minutes of cooking, I added the Arborio rice and cooked that for a few minutes. Then, went in the white wine and the mushroom broth, ladle by ladle. I stirred constantly and was patient, only adding more liquid when the rice started to look dry. The rice took twice as long as I thought to get tender. Shari already arrived and Scott got home from work too. They helped me stir. Finally, when the rice was tender, I added the chopped thyme, some more butter, grated parmigiano reggiano, salt, and pepper.

I scooped up the risotto, which looked unappealing as brown goop, into bowls and we sat down to a warm meal. The risotto was creamy and tasted rich, despite the small amount of fat involved. And, we had a green salad with goat cheese and balsamic vinaigrette. Shari complimented the meal and was sent home with a tupperware of leftovers, while I secretly longed for meat.

Bar Jules

I was scheduled to find out about my graduate school prospects on January 18, and Colin, Eleanor, and I made plans for dinner that night. It would either be a celebration one or an "Eh, who needs 'em?" one. It turned out be an "Eh, who needs 'em?" night, which started with glasses of vodka-cranberry juice and Ghostbusters on VH1. By the time the movie was over and I was slightly drunk, we made our way down the hill to eat at Bar Jules, the new restaurant that took over the Don't Call it Frisco laundry mat.

It was a small space with an even smaller menu. As we waited outside with Scott with our bottle of wine bought from the liquor store on Hayes and Buchanan (Bar Jules doesn't have it's liquor license yet), we decided we wanted one of everything on the menu. The friendly hostess with a foreign accent kept us abreast of our table's readiness for us. When we were seated inside and asked if we needed more time, Colin stepped up, "We want everything, please." Easy enough. But, they ran out of squid, so we could only get almost everything.

They started us off with some fried peanuts, which was a nice touch but which I felt would have been more apt in a bar. The two salads--one carrot and one arugula--came out next. The carrot salad was was flavored with cummin and had a creamy dressing on it. The flavor was interesting but the viscous, white sauce had a texture that wasn't too appealing to me. The arugula salad was light and refreshing with some sweet beets and cheese, but it seemed like any other arugula salad (arugula seems to be the salad green of the season). The barely soup was hearty and rich without being overpowering, and they gave us two bowls though we only ordered one (yay for generosity!).

As for entrees, we had the strip steak with blue cheese and the fish (I can't remember what fish it was but it was a white flesh one) with citrus. The steak was well cooked, tender and all melt-in-your-mouth delicious, but the cheese was too strong. I rubbed the cheese off my piece of meat and could still only taste cheese, and Eleanor opted for a piece that touched no cheese (a smart move on her part). I remember that the fish was good but nothing more.

For dessert, we had the quatro leches cake and a slice of the chocolate one. The adorable waitress informed us of that the quatro leches cake soaks in cream, milk, condensed milk, and evaoprated milk for two days. The density of the cake was proof of that. Despite the cake's heft, it was light and buttery. The chocolate one was good and not too sweet.

I like the idea of Bar Jules. I like the small space, the small, constantly changing menu. I like the friendly servers. I like that the banquette is at a decent height for the table and doesn't make one feel shorter/taller than those seated in a chair. I like that it's two blocks away from my house. It has the possibility for greatness, but the food isn't quite great yet. Good, yes. But, not great.

A New Year

I had my second meal of the new year alone, at a McDonald's. I was driving up the I-5 back home to San Francisco after more than a week spent in LA with my family, when I was struck by pangs of hunger and the need for a bathroom break. After miles and miles with no rest stop in sight and contemplating just pulling off to the side, I spotted activity in the distance. I took the exit and saw my two food options: McDonald's and Foster's Freeze. I started to hate myself for not taking my mom up on packing me a lunch before I left.

Not wanting to make a meal of soft-serve ice cream and a hot dog, I opted for the McDonald's. The parking lot was packed. The restaurant was packed. I was a little frightened but stepped up to the counter and ordered a chicken nugget meal with fries and a Coke, my go-to meal on those rare occassions when I find myself in the middle of nowhere and my only option for quenching my hunger is a McDonald's. My number was called a second after I placed the order. I took my bag of food and my cup of soda to the only open seat, a single-spot in the corner.

I pulled out my New Yorker, squirted ketchup from their packets, and began dunking fried food into the various assortment of sauces and putting them into my mouth, when I noticed how wonderful McDonald's can be. Sitting there alone and slightly spiteful about the fact that I was eating processed food from McDonald's, I saw how, all around me, were families, generations of people eating together. There was a Chinese family with a mom, dad, two kids, a grandfather, and a grandmother eating hamburgers and fries. Next to them was an Indian family--mom, dad, kids, and a grandfather--eating, possibly, not hamburgers. And, yes, there were those obnoxious families with kids running around sticking french fries in their parents' faces, but they, somehow, didn't seem so annoying.