Xanthantastic!

One of my coworkers is Japanese. At least her mom is, and she grew up there, so that's Japanese enough for me. As you can imagine, I am constantly bugging her about food. So, when she went home for the New Year holiday, she took pictures of her meals for me. Her relatives laughed, but for me, that slideshow when she got back was better than all the porn on all the internets in all the universe. It's not like she went to Michelin-starred establishments either. Lots of home cooking and real-deal meals with friends and family. 

Of course, she also brought back goodies to share with the entire crew.

Mostly sweet, some salty, all packaged in brightly colored, easy-rip plastic. The big fun of the pile, though, was the make-it-yourself candy sushi kit.

As you can see, the instructions were, shall we say, inscrutable, so it was good I had my friend to help.

There was a little packet of powder for each ingredient and a big block of black chewing gum to roll out into sheets of "nori". It was like Wylie Dufresne designed a chemistry set for kids.

According to the instructions, we measured out water into the mixing tray and added the mysterious powders, the most fun of which had to be making the "ikura", a technique with which we are both familiar thanks to Top Chef.

From there, it was easy to assemble. Probably easier than real sushi with sticky rice. Unfortunately, I got involved with some work thing and had to let ML finish, but the results were worth it. If I had done the assembly, they might have looked as bad as they tasted!

Christmas by the Bay

The first couple of times I went to San Francisco I was not that impressed. I was spending time working at Davies Hall, which can only be described as an abomination inside and out. I trust that even the most recent round of acoustic treatment has done little to remedy that. I guarantee that it still looks like a sports arena outside, especially set as it is among the Beaux Arts buildings of the SFWMPAC. Worse, we were working on a Christmas record in June with (fellow Hoosier) Vance George and the San Francisco Symphony Chorus. That tree says it all, doesn't it.

Anyway, I had a really great vegetarian meal at Millenium, which just happened to be in my hotel, and a delicious Anchor Steam on tap. I went out to have a smoke afterward (I was young...) and got to talking to some other people. When they asked where I was from and I replied Los Angeles, the said that they were sorry. At that time, the crazy good Thai food that our producer, the inimitable Lolly Lewis, took us for in the Tenderloin wasn't enough to make up for the sting. I stayed a week and got the crabs then took a bus back home.

Future trips to work in Marin County only served to bolster my image of San Franciscans as uppity, and the hangover from my 25th birthday still throbbed in my head as I made my first pilgrimage to the Haight (why does it play Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun?!?!) and Amoeba. But even Amoeba couldn't undo the hypocrisy I felt typified the city when I saw that Baby Gap there. 

I'm older now, and maybe have lost some of my idealism. I've watched as Wicker Park and the Ukranian Village lost Sophie's Busy Bee and with it, much of its soul. I've seen what Guiliani and Michael Eisner hath wrought in Times Square. I got priced out of Venice during the real estate bubble of the oughts. I guess what I'm saying is that with my iPhone in tow and my cat securely locked away at home with a litter robot, my soulless yuppie ass has now figured out that San Francisco is one of the best restaurant cities in the world and I should just enjoy it for what it's worth, not what it's reputation or history may claim.

We are lucky enough to have friends who are lucky enough to benefit from parental largess in the form of an awesome Victorian in Cow Hollow. The future-Mrs.-Stretch was in town for a convention, leaving Stretch, BoW, and I free during the days. We filled those days mostly with mountain biking which, despite some protestation from BoW, was spectacular and rewarding. What she doesn't realize is that it's just as hard for Stretch and I, we just don't want to look weak in front of her. When we ride alone together, we usually have at least one good cry.

Anyway, the food is supposed to be the point of this entry that I started 10 days ago, so I'll start at the beginning. We went to dinner with some friends of JT at Allegro Romano in Russian Hill. Great service, good food, and an off-the-list Barbera that was as affordable as it was delicious. To really solidify the SF experience, the hippy cab driver was actually listening to the Grateful Dead and smelled like Otto's jacket. Breakfasts revolved around huge bowls of coffee at La Boulange, the local outpost of a SF chain. Snacks were generally underwhelming, but mostly that was because we were usually too tired and hungry from riding to go very far afield.

The main meal of the trip came in the middle, so I'll skip ahead to the other highlights for a sec. We grabbed some dim sum on our way out of town at Canton Dim Sum and Seafood south of Market. The previous night, we met Count Reeshard at Shalimar, a delightful Indian spot in the Tenderloin. Rarely do restaurants live up to their hype, but the recommendation from the Count made me think that this one would. And it did. Chased with delicious Taj Mahal from the liquor store on the corner, the curries were as delicious as the staff was surly. This is not a place you go for ambience. This is real food, real fast, real cheap, and real delicious. Our cabby said that it was a cabby hangout, and that we should ask to sit where they do, in the back. I expected a South Asian version of King of New York, so we passed.

The middle night, we were on our own, so we decided to follow the advice of some friends and head to Richmond to try out Burma Superstar. Clearly, this place also lives up to its reputation because there was a 2 hour wait for tables. We put our name and cell number in then did a spin around the block. Lots of interesting SE Asian fare, but nothing with the draw of the Superstar, so we went back to post up and see how the progress was going. That's when we noticed the sign advertising their new venture just up the street. Well, I was born to have adventure, so we followed up the block.

What we found was B Star Bar. Looking at the menu, we knew we were in for a treat, so we went in, sat down, ordered some Soju mojitos, 

renkon chips (so delightfully spicy with ichimi togarashi), 

and the house pickles (slightly sweet, and just briny enough -- not vinegary, but real homemade pickles!) to keep us busy while we decided what we were really going to eat.

By this point, our server was beginning to get a little uncomfortable with my enthusiasm and picture-taking. Whatever, I was on vacation and staring into the mouth of deliciousness.

We decided to have soup and a main course. BoW started with the wonton, a wonderful clear broth with lots of fresh veggies and beautiful, tender pork and shrimp wontons. Nothing special, you may think, but satisfying on a cold night and bursting with fresh flavor. 

I had the samusa soup, which tasted just like it sounds: curried flavors in a thick broth based on potatoes and chick peas. For texture, they added fresh veg and chunks of falafel. Man, it was good. I got misty. I went back and forth between savoring bites and eagerly anticipating our main courses.

Was it silly for us to get BoW soup and then jook? Maybe, but man, that was some seriously good rice porridge. And it had meat balls. Those meatballs had meatballs on their meatballs. They were completely different from the stellar polpette that Chef David treated us to the previous week, but every bit as satisfying.

The truly amazing dish, though, was my pork belly. It was perfectly cooked, falling apart into strips of glistening moistness while retaining the caramel crisp glaze of the fatty layer on top. There was a chocolaty flavor that I couldn't quite put my finger on until later: tea. It was kind of like they marinated it in sweet Thai tea. This flavor was supported by a harmonious spice mixture of mostly star anise and clove, yielding a complete olfactory experience in addition to the gustatory.

I was so high from the food, I let BoW talk me into stopping across the street at The Plough and the Stars for a nightcap. It was a Green bar, and it felt pretty homey. Of course, we got some Jamesons and settled in to drinking while members of Tipsy House and friends informally played traditional music at the end of one of the long communal tables. Well, the food high began to wear, and the whiskey brought back the hater in me, and soon the incessant compound-triple made me want to go. We flagged a cab, and who should be driving but our hippy friend from the first night. I guess maybe this town isn't so bad after all.

Catch Up

No, this is not going to be a posting about the ubiquitous American condiment, the Malay or Chinese fish sauce, or even the Dolce Group restaurant. This is about the fact that I have been lazy about posting, and owe you some pictures.

On Boxing Day, we decided we wanted sushi as a sort of antidote to the meaty goodness we had been wallowing in. The house still smelled like a roast, after all. Still, we wanted homey, so we went to Kaizuka and sat at the bar. As usual, we started with a bottle of Onikoroshi, which is when they always start to love us.

BoW always wants monkfish liver at Kaizuka, so we started there. Kind of bold for an appetizer, I know, but we cleansed a bit with a tangy, citrusy salmon skin salad after that. Then it was on to the fish. There was delicious halibut with a yuzu dressing and pink peppercorns.

Then we had yellowtail in a ponzu with just the right amount of jalapeño.

Then we had this, which I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Obviously, the Onikoroshi was doing its job. We had three bottles in the end....

I also somehow managed not to get a picture of one of my favorites here: the Spicy Tuna on Crispy Rice. It kicks ass all over Izakaya by Katsu-ya, especially that half-burned, half-raw abomination that I saw my friend Lisa eating for lunch the other day. We also had some spicy salmon that the chef wanted us to try. It was a good idea.

We ended with some nigiri sushi. The snapper was probably the best fish of the night: incredibly buttery and very, very fresh.

The sweet eel sauce is something we all crave from time to time, except, oddly, for my Japanese friend...

And uni for dessert.

Then they brought us actual dessert, compliments of the chef. This was a trend that would continue through the weekend. It's hard for restaurant right now. If you're in a position to do it, go eat out. They'll be grateful.

White Christmas

Ok, so I have no excuses. The only reason I haven't posted is pure laziness. That, and kind of a lack of creative energy. I've been tired. It's been tough to catch up from the last batch of sleep deprivation, and my innate desire to hibernate hasn't been helping things. But, like a floundering government with an multi-billion-dollar industry bailout plan, I've been putting what energy I do have into eating and riding in hopes of seeing a return to my normal level of production.

Much time has been spent in the garage on the trainer as of late. It's hard to get in an hour that way, but it's great to get in 30 minutes on a cold, wet, dark morning when the alternative is no exercise at all. Yesterday was my first ride on the road on my Look in what seemed like ages, and it was much needed after the previous eating...

Who says we don't have white Christmases in LA!

After a short day at work on Wednesday (just 9-5, kind of like a half day), BoW and I started cleaning the house for company, then went out for a nice but homey dinner at Fioretto. It was good to see a couple of large tables, families who had decided, just like us, to make it part of their holiday celebration.

Hearty white bean and cabbage soup instantly warmed me from the cold and rain, and the rustic beet salad that has been on the menu this season seemed appropriately colored for the holiday.

Chef's Lasagne alla Bolognese is a regular winter offering which takes advantage of both his rich and succulent meat sauce as well as his creamy bechamel. This is not typical American Lasagna. It has much more in common with it's Euro relatives like Lazanki and Pastitsio.

For lunch the other day, I had a meatball sub from Jones. It uses three of the best things from their skillet-served Spaghetti and Meatballs (the meatballs, sauce, and cheese) while leaving the weak link (the pasta) behind. Suffice to say that if chef left his homemade pappardelle behind, the polpette would weep like Pagliaccio for Nedda. My own weeping was more for joy.

Even splurging on the Chianti, this meal was stupidly reasonable. I would definitely have paid more.

Thursday's big dinner featured a family tradition: roast beast. We had a big group, so I went all out (wanting to have leftovers, of course) and roasted a 12 lb. standing rib roast. It's a simple thyme rub, and I make a Madeira and mushroom au jus just like Mom. My only disappointment was timing. I started the roast too early and didn't take into consideration that my friends who were never very timely to begin with are even less punctual now that they have infant children. Thankfully, there was cheese and this awesome slate cheese tray that my mother sent me.

The chaos of the preceding week led to a near disaster on the vegetable end, but a well-stocked fridge allowed for a bailout, including a very small, plated salad of mostly cucumber and carrot, dressed in my mother's standard vinaigrette, which I actually let pickle slightly to soften the tough veggies. It was a hit. Who knew? Just like Radhika's dish got better with duck thighs when her breasts went bad in the open cooler overnight, serving that salad really brightened the meal in a way that my original steamed green and wax beans would not have.

By the end of service I was really tired, and without the help of Susan and the Smurf, I would have never gotten the place cleaned up. Needless to say, I slept very soundly that night.

Upcoming: local sushi love and Frisco.

Solstice

Today is the solstice, and according to my personal cosmology, the real height of the winter holiday season. As a post-Catholic, transcendental, science-based animist with a strongly humanist viewpoint (try to find the Wikipedia entry for that one), my personal spirituality is mostly oriented toward integrating personal, cultural, and natural phenomena in some kind of meaningful way through food, drink, outdoor activity, and simple acts of creation.

That said, I'm at work.

BoW is at home preparing for the more traditional celebration of Christmas, American style, much of which includes her freaking out white-woman style about getting it all done in time. Clearly, I'll be no help this year.

On the plus side, our first assistant, BB, has already packed his family off on a plane to FL to see extended family, so he's been bringing in both his dog, Hudson, and his waffle iron to make the weekend a bit more civilized.

So, whether your solstice is about the Nativity, the re-emergence of the sun goddess Amaterasu from the cave where she's been hiding, hiding yourself from the peak potency of Chernobog, or a remembrance of your people's heroic stand against Hellenistic invaders, get warm, get the people you love close, get down with some good food and drinks, and tell some good stories. My next will be about Christmas dinner.