Muff love

I am in love with the muffuletta. I'm salivating just thinking of it. Seriously. Trying to find more information about the muffuletta made me feel like I was looking up porn. That salami, that cheese, that olive spread, that sesame seed topped bread. Man.

I knew about this famed sandwich from my New Orleans research but didn't get around to it until my last few hours in the city. I am so glad Jacob suggested that I stop by Central Grocery Company before my flight to pick up an airplane muffuletta snack. The idea didn't even occur to me. Maybe that's why he has a Ph.D. and I don't.

With only a few hours left in New Orleans, I walked a few blocks from Sara's house in the Marginy down to Decatur Street to Central Grocery. I tried not to look like a tourist. I tried to look like I knew what I was doing. I took in the small grocery store that smelled of olives and that had signs directing newcomers where to stand in line. I ordered half a muffuletta. There was a pile of sandwiches already made and packed up. The man behind the counter handed me a half-moon shaped package. It was so easy. I walked out of Central Grocery with my muff in my purse, headed back to Sara's, packed the muff in my backpack, and called a cab to the airport.

With my layover in Houston delayed for an hour due to thunderstorms, it was perfect muffuletta time. I found a spot among the black airport chairs away from others, unpacked my muffuletta, laid the plastic bag across my lap, and unwrapped the sandwich from its layers of paper. This was the first time I laid my eyes on this glorious being and it was impressive. Grease covered the paper, which held the two pie wedges of bread stuffed with green olives, cheese, and slices of cured meat. Its aroma was intoxicatingly strong.

I picked up one of the wedges and took a bite. The bread was soft but with a hearty chew. The sesame seeds that topped it also added a nice toasty taste. The alternating layers of meat, cheese, and meat were beautifully balanced, not too much cheese and not to much meat. The best part, however, was the olive salad. Green olives and vegetables all mixed together in a salty, briny, hella tasty mix. I wondered why all sandwiches didn't include this wondrous concoction. I savored every bite of that first half.

As I started making my way into the second half of my sandwich, slowing down quite a bit, a group of stylish young professionals sat down next to me. The very cute man who took the seat right next to me, looked at my sandwich and laughed.

"Are you laughing at my sandwich?" I asked.
"No. We were looking for sandwiches and all we got were these," he said, referring to wraps in plastic boxes.
"I didn't get this here."
"Someone thought ahead."
"Yes, yes, I did."
"Is it a special sandwich?"
"Yeah. It's a muffuletta. I got it in New Orleans." I showed him my bag.

He ate his wrap. When his friend across the aisle, who was away during our interaction, sat back down to eat at his wrap, he gave a look of concern to his friend.

Cute friend said, "It ain't no muffuletta."
"It was delicious," I replied. And, it was.

Daiquiri Cafe

I'm in New Orleans right now, sitting in Sara's roommate's room as Sara is taking a nap next door. We just got back from driving through the city. She took me to see the Lower Ninth Ward. There were abandoned homes, FEMA trailers, empty lots, and out-of-place Brad Pitt houses sitting only about ten yards from the banks of the Mississippi. After that, we drove to her old school that is now abandoned, then up St. Charles, where majestic old mansions stand amidst the sounds of the streetcars, and then to the school where she works now.

We made a stop at the Daiquiri Cafe, where I bought a 20oz strawberry daiquiri poured out from a slushee machine into a Styrofoam cup for $5.25, on the way back. This Daiquiri Cafe smelled of cigarette smoke, had slot machines lining the walls, and only sold daiquiris. It was so surreal. I asked Sara where we were. She smiled and suggested I stick with strawberry. I got my cup of slush, stuck my red straw in it, and sucked away. I felt like I was at 7-11. The daiquiri tasted like a 7-11 Slurpee. It was sweet and syrupy and cold with a little bit of a kick from the alcohol.

We then walked over to the levy, me with daiquiri in hand, and strolled to the river, where I took photos of the dirty, brown Mississippi as flies buzzed around us. Afterwards, we got back in the car, me sipping out of my straw, and drove over to the Whole Foods, where we strolled the aisles, me still sipping away. It was so weird to be drinking in a car and at the grocery store. Sara told me that there are also daiquiri drive-thrus. We didn't see any though.

Cake Cafe and Bakery

I had breakfast at noon today. Sara didn't come back until late in the morning, which was good because I had time to sleep in late, go for a jog, shower, and get cleaned up. But, it was horrible because by the time she and Elizabeth came to pick me up, I was so hungry. They were too.

We walked a few blocks to Cake Cafe and Bakery, which looked unassuming from the outside. There were some plastic, white patio tables and chairs along the sidewalk. Sara quickly ran over to one, claiming it as ours. Inside, there was a counter, where orders were being taken, behind which were trays of bread. There were also pastries on display: cupcakes, bear claws, these things that looked like mini quiches. I told the man behind the counter that I wanted the crab omelet with a biscuit and a cupcake. Which one, he asked? What's the yellow one? I asked. Lemon. I want that one then. He gave a knowing look, as if I had chosen the best cupcake of all cupcakes.

Proud of my cupcake choice and with cupcake in hand, I headed back to our table, where I cut that little sucker up and at a piece. It was delicious. Lemony and sweet without being too sweet. And, the lemon frosty was yummy too. For a cupcake, it was refreshing. And, the cake was light and airy but not too weak like box cake. I wished there were more lemon cakes.

Then, our plates come out. I had a pile of yellow omelet with a humongous biscuit on the side. It was the largest biscuit I had ever seen, or eaten. I dug into the omelet first. I could see still see the intact slices of brie and the large clumps of crab meat. It was good. The crab was the best part. It tasted like fresh crab meat and there was plenty of it. But, I think the biscuit won out. That giant biscuit and that berry preserve were incredible. The biscuit was flaky and warm inside, but crisp on the outside. And, the preserve was just sweet enough. I slathered my biscuit with jam and then used the biscuit to wipe out every last pit of it from its small plastic container. I could have eat just biscuits and jam alone. I cleaned my plate, as did Sara and Elizabeth. We finished the meal with a heavenly Red Velvet cupcake.

A pretty poor po-boy

I came to New Orleans with a general list of things I wanted to do: hang out with Sara, explore the city, eat and drink. As for the eating part, I also made a list of things I wanted to eat while I'm here: beignets, jambalaya, gumbo, fried oysters, and po-boy sandwiches, just to name a few.

I spent the first part of Friday walking along the river, wandering the Contemporary Art Center and the Ogden Museum of Southern Art, then strolling the streets lined with galleries and warehouses. By about 1:30 in the afternoon, I was starved. I pulled out my guidebook, figured out where I was, and decided that my best lunch option would be Mother's. According to Lonely Planet, Mother's is a New Orleans establishment serving up some of the best po-boys in town and it was only a few blocks from where I was; I could easily walk there before my hunger took over and would bring me to my knees in pure starvation.

I walked into Mother's and up to the counter and ordered a debris sandwich. I had no clue what is was but Lonely Planet recommended not leaving New Orleans without getting one from Mother's. Pretty nice praise, so of course I had to do it. It turned out that a debris sandwich is one with beef and soaked with meat juice. I could do that. I took a seat and a nice black man took my ticket. I asked if he would also bring me my food or if I had to get it myself, and he said he would take care of me. He came back with a paper pocket with silverware and a napkin. And, then he came around again with my sandwich. It looked okay. Nothing too fancy. It was a French roll with shredded beef, some mayo, mustard, and pickles. And, it was sitting in a pool of juice. I would get dirty. I would use many napkins.

This was not the time to be dainty. I dug in. I got my fingers all up in that wet bread. It was a little gross, but if people love this sandwich I would love it too. I took my first bite. It was okay. The beef was a little tough and the meat juice wasn't all that flavorful. The whole sandwich sort of lacked pizzazz. It was too bland. I wanted to add hot sauce but didn't want to make a bigger mess. I wanted more mustard and more pickles, something with flavor. I was saddened. Maybe I ordered the wrong thing. Maybe I should have ordered a crayfish po-boy. Maybe a turkey one. Maybe potato salad would make it better. Everyone else in the restaurant seemed to be enjoying their food. I finished my sandwich, though, disappointed at both my sandwich and Lonely Planet. I expected so much more from both of them.

Celebration

Last night was a great night. Not only was Barack Obama elected the next president of the US, but it was also Lenna's birthday. To celebrate, she invited me and other friends to her house for food and drinks.

Her house was warm and cozy. Lenna and her mom placed flowers and lit candles around the house. The dining table was covered with food: bowls of chips (Kettle Chip's Spicy Thai, one of my favorites), platters of strawberries and grapes, plates of cheese, salami, and crackers, a giant dish of white rice, and plates with raw fish, chopped veggies, and other sushi fillings. It looked like Lenna and her mom were in the middle of making rolls and didn't quite finish. I wasn't sure what was going on.

Lenna moved us to the living room, where I ate too many chips and crackers, and where we opened the first of many bottles of sparkling wine. When more friends arrived and we filled everyone's glasses with my more champagne, we took our seats at the dining room table. Trying to figure out how to arrange ourselves in the dining room, I realized how rarely I'm in a nice, homey house in San Francisco. Usually, my friends live in houses with mix-matched hand-me-down furniture. Lenna's house had a cupboard full of champagne flutes, family photos on the wall, and a piano. It was a nice change.

Lenna took the seat at the head of the table and told us what we were in store for. We were going to make our own sushi rolls. She even demonstrated, providing us with useful information, such as using the small ends of the chopsticks and spreading the rice onto the nori like cheese on a burrito. She was also encouraging, telling us that there was no wrong way to make a roll. Then, we went about making our own rolls.

I filled my first roll with a little bit of rice, unagi, cucumber, and avocado. To me, nothing could go wrong with unagi and avocado. The next one was a little trickier. I filled it with some rice, tuna, daikon sprouts, some chopped up other fish (I forgot what Lenna's mom called it), and fish roe. That one was good too. For my third roll, I used eggplant, egg, asparagus, and carrot. I followed that with a simple roll of umeboshi (pickled plum that Lenna's mom was trying to sell to us as healthy and low in sodium) and rice. It was so much fun figuring out what combination of fillings I wanted, what would taste good together, and then putting it all together in a neat, little package that I could eat with my hand. After four rolls and too many chips from earlier, I was full.

Throughout the meal, Lenna's mom kept poring us nigori sake that was delicious and sweet. Lessa also kept our champagne flutes full. I needed to make sure I would be okay to drive Lessa, Aaron, and myself home.

That's when we got the call. Barack would be our next president. We all looked at each other with disbelief and excitement. We quickly moved from the dining room to the living room, where we switched on the TV. People were crying. People were hugging. People were waving American flags. We watched. Lenna's mom filled our glasses with more champagne and we toasted.

We moved all the food into the living room with us and watched the number of electoral votes for Obama reach grow to 330. Transfixed by McCain's concession speech and Obama's victory speech, I kept putting food into my mouth: grapes, strawberries, unagi, cucumbers, avocado, tuna, chocolate covered pretzels. It was a huge night and I was so glad to be with Lenna, her mom (who is my new favorite person), her mom's friends, my friends, and Lenna's friends.

We ended the night with a beautiful and delicious Princess cake from Ambrosia, a shot of some blueberry acacia that Lessa and Aaron brought (it was horrible and we all made faces trying to get it down), and glasses of sparkling rose. I left Lenna's house happy. Not only was it a fun night spent laughing and drinking and eating, but it was the first night when I sat in front of a television on election night and the candidate I voted for won.

Mother's warning

I feel sick. I ate too much Halloween candy. I've been eating too much Halloween candy all weekend. It started Friday at work. No one brought candy in to share. Usually, someone will bring in some sort of snack. Calvin bakes. Before him, Allison used to bring in sweet treats. I thought that for Halloween someone would have brought something. But, nope. Nothing. No cookies. No candy. No sugar.

I was feeling disappointed. It got worse after lunch at Doobu, where one piece of a mini Twix whetted my sweet tooth appetite. By 3:30, I was suffering. I took the opportunity to move my car to drive over to Safeway to pick up sweets for the office. Lucy came with me and we picked up mini Snickers, mini Kit-Kats, mini Reece's peanut butter cups, and a full-sized Twix for us to share (mini Twix were not on sale). I ate my Twix stick in the car, had one almond mini Snickers on the walk back to the office, where I then ate a mini Kit-Kat, a peanut butter cup, two more Snickers, and a box of Red Hots that Kat had.

I made a mistake by taking the leftover candy home. Alone with this bag of candy, I ate two more mini Snickers Friday night. Saturday, I ate three more Kit-Kat bars. Today, before meeting Eleanor and Colin for lunch, I ate another Kit-Kat followed by a mini Snickers. And, just right now at 8:45 pm, I ate two more Kit-Kats, a peanut butter cup, and a mini Snickers. My stomach is not feeling happy.

What was I thinking? I don't usually eat candy and never this amount. When I do, it's usually a small piece of dark chocolate. It's like I'm on a candy binge. Now, I'm feeling guilty and disappointed in and disgusted at myself.

I'm packing up the candy and taking it to work tomorrow. Hopefully, I can pawn these sweets off on my students.

Piccino pals

Eleanor called me to ask if I wanted to join her and Colin for lunch at noon at Piccino. I hadn't seen them in a few weeks since they were away in Japan and I wanted to see them before I left for New Orleans later this week, but I had already made plans to eat at Piccino for oysters at 1pm. After a few phone calls and Jo telling me that she didn't want me to sit at Piccino for hours, even though I told her how much I liked it there and that it wouldn't be a problem, she and I decided to reschedule our oyster outing for some other time.

So, I headed solo to Piccino to meet Eleanor and Colin. I hadn't been there in a while, even though I have such a good time each time I'm there. The food is good and the company is even better. When I arrived, Eleanor and Colin were already seated and chatting with Cambria. I was so happy to see all of them and hugs were exchanged all around, even to Eleanor.

After catching up for a bit, we got to work figuring out what we wanted to order. We decided on three pizzas--the Margherita, the Funghi Special (roasted mushrooms, crimini mushroom pesto, garlic, and crescenza cheese), and the Red Special (kale, garlic confit, ricotta, and pecorino)--and the rabini salad with pumpkin, onions, and bacon vinaigrette, all to share.

Colin was getting anxious for coffee too, so we ordered coffee with Cambria and headed out the door and down one past the nail salon to the new coffee bar annex of Piccino. As we were approaching, a hand carrying a coffee cup reached out from the window to deliver the cup to a waiting woman on the other side. Coffee walk-through?

When we got inside, we told the woman that we placed our order at the restaurant and she read our order from the ticket. The space was a little too dark and not as warm as its larger counterpart up the street. But, it was cute enough. Eleanor got her tea, Colin got his cappuccino, and the woman walked out the door with two drip coffees in her hand. Was one of them mine? Colin went to check, but nope. The woman came back and asked if we ordered a coffee too? Yes, we did. She had just read it off our ticket only a few minutes ago. Oh, well. We could wait and soon enough I had delicious coffee in my hand.

We arrived back at our seats at Piccino the restaurant and had our salad waiting for us. It was really tasty. The onions were sweet and the bacon was salty. I couldn't taste the rabini or the pumpkin though. They tasted like bacon dressing.

Then, came our pizzas. They covered our tiny tables. The mushroom one was fantastic! It was earthy and rich with mushroom flavor. The Margherita one was good and simple. The Red Special was okay, even with the side of olive oil that Cambria suggested we have. I could only taste tomatoes and not much else. Cambria described it as "sauce forward." The crust for all three pizzas was nice though, thin (but not too thin to be floppy) and crisp. The crust was also good with a little dunk in the olive oil side.

It was a good meal and it was even better hanging out with Eleanor, Colin, and Cambria. But, I remember being amazed by the food. Maybe this time was different because Carlo wasn't back there working his magic and Eleanor wasn't tossing the pizza dough. Maybe I'm biased toward my friends. In any case, it was great to see my friends and share a meal.