southern drawl

This struck me as a particularly southern sight:



My arteries hardened a bit just from looking at it. And my stomach curdled.

It's crab season!!

Rabbit season! Duck season! No—it's fresh crab season!

The crab harvest started last week and it is crab season around the San Francisco Bay. My favorite neighborhood seafood restaurant Woodhouse Fish Co. hosted a whole-crab special this week. I was so excited and managed to get in for the final night. Ever since I was a kid I have loved crab legs, despite my less-than-ninja-like skills in cracking open the crustaceans themselves. Open season makes me downright giddy.


But I had never done the whole bib and full crab dining experience. You certainly have to work for your meat (word) but it is so much fun and absolutely worth the effort.


The crab was blissfully tender and delicious. Woodhouse has to work on their sides though—the potatoes and greens were thimble-sized and tasteless, and the garlic bread could only be cut apart by a stone mason. Otherwise, a definite quality evening of crabby goodness, with good company of not-crabby goodness.

Yay for crab season!


Even if it makes us all titter at the signage like teenage boys.


Oh for fuck's sake.

bad things make good stories

I had a date last week. It was a first date, but sort of not. A 1.5st date. I asked him. And I had been a little giddy about it, then a little dashed, then cautiously optimistic. He's down in Mountain View, and as the gentleman caller I offered to drive down rather than ask that he drive up. He was in the mood for Italian, and suggested a place near where he is house-sitting. A local chain of some regional renown: Frankie, Johnnie & Luigi Too!

The restaurant was just awful. The service was friendly enough but the execution was so far beyond terrible that it made for a terrific date. There comes a point where one has to celebrate a fiasco. And if you are with the right person, and in the right frame of mind, you can have a good time anywhere. Even the band played as the Titanic sank.

Not only did I have a wonderful time for the charming company, but I got a good solid ten minutes of stand-up out of this. For this post, I am going to set aside the odd, tandem waitering of the tall lactose-intolerant skeleton and his diminutive mute shadow ("How do you know he was lactose intolerant?" you ask. Precisely. Why should I know this?), the 70s cliché iceberg salad, and the barely warm, flavorless calzone, and just talk about the cocktail experience (which after the following still took two more attempts to reach "acceptable.").

There was a menu of "specialty martinis" with no regard as to if the drinks there listed were actually martinis, and regardless all were given a -tini suffix. Just a note: a cosmopolitan may be considered by some to be a form of martini, but even then it is not called a "cosmopolitini."

Unable to bear the syrup and dessert concoctions which comprised the specialty menu (how many drinks can one make with chocolate liqueur?), I thought I would try one of their three specific house specials (also promoted as always happy-hour priced!), and while I knew it was a gamble at best I ordered the Manhattan and asked for it in a lowball on the rocks.

When it finally arrived, it was straight up in a martini glass, and it didn't have just one, but TWO BUGS in it. Seriously. To mix a bug in a drink is one thing; to not notice two bugs in such a small glass, with a nearly clear liquid and no ice is another. And the fact that there was more than one fly in the cocktail is just gross. In my head I could hear my mother adding jokes such as "Don't say anything or everyone will want one." or "Well, he won't drink much." Which is all fine and dandy for my mother, but when the sidekick waiter returned with a glass of ice for my cocktail (realizing their mistake) and I told him quite calmly and pleasantly (I am still on my best behavior on this first-point-five date here) that there were bugs in the drink, he actually said "Good thing they don't drink much." And that was it. No apology. No shame. No mea culpas.  No comps. No recognition of the issue that they just served me a glass of bugs as if their error was that I ordered them on the side.

I tried again.

When Icabod returned I asked if they had any orange vodkas (Clementine, Mandarin, L'Orange?).  "Yes," he said, "We have Citron."

Now I have always said that the first rule cocktails is that a lemon is not a lime, but I left that thought unvoiced and asked, "Do you have Mandarin?"
"Yes we do."
"Then I'll have a Mandarin and soda, no fruit. Please.  Thank you."

He returned again some time later to inform me that they had no Mandarin.
"But you have Citron? ...That will do."
"No. Actually, we only have one flavored vodka: PB&J"

Peanut Butter and Jelly flavored vodka. I'm going to let that one sink in a minute. Seriously. A full bar and bar room in the front of the restaurant, and the only infused vodka they have is flavored with peanut butter and jelly.

I was dumbstruck (rare for me I know). So many thoughts ran through my head: "PB&J? Is there a kid's drink menu? That can't be an 'infused vodka'—what would they 'infuse' it with? Is there a distillery somewhere with vats and vats of alcohol steeping with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Is the vodka murky? Do they put in white bread too? Are the crusts cut off? What do they garnish it with? Is there a jelly rim? Is there going to be a wedge of a PB&J sandwich perched on the rim of the glass? Maybe a toast point.  Maybe there will be a peanut butter ball with a plastic sword speared through it. Should I expect a sandwich-based drink to have fewer bugs in it?..."

I looked at the waiter in stunned silence, then nonplussed across the table to my date. Our eyes met and GJ turned to look up at the waiter and asked, "What flavor is the jam?"

Best date ever.

harvest time

The daylight hours are getting shorter and shorter and we're still on Daylight Savings Time. I can feel winter getting closer, and I took some time to appreciate the goodness that is the Upper Haight/Cole Valley Farmers Market. I love stopping by after work on Wednesday during the summer and filling up with so many fresh vegetables that I have trouble going through them by the time the next Wednesday rolls around (which reminds me I still have some green beans in the fridge which need cooking). I'm having a little anticipatory farewell anxiety for the "fall" of the farmers' market.




Also, I can't tell if it's allergies or Folsom weekend exhaustion but my sinuses and eyes are all crazy this week, and I was so happy to burl up last night and make a pot of soup. I can make soup like Minnie can fry up chicken. And it can cure what ails you.


I was thinking carrot-dill soup, but all the vendors were out of fresh dill. There harvest squash galore and I thought I would try cooking a rather pumpkin-looking one with the red pepper and carrot soup, and throw it in with some chicken broth and a head a garlic, an onion, some german butter potatoes, fresh ginger and white beans. (the potatoes and the beans act as a creamy thickener, and adds some good protein and fiber). Cooked, pureed, and salt, pepper, and dried dill to taste. Lunch, dinner, lunch, repeat.


Holy harvest I can make a soup! I am loving this. And am going to try all sorts of new harvest squash.

spruced up

We The Three had an amazing lunch at Spruce this week. It was almost ridiculous in its perfection. They send out a weekly newsletter of their Harvest prix fixe menu, with wine pairings, and it was just spectacular. As was the ambiance and the service.




However, the Ponds should not come here to dine.


Prisoner Zero has escaped.

fried chicken and green beens

Really, there is nothing better than fresh fried chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes. I was invited to a pot luck game night Saturday night and decided to go back to my roots and spend the afternoon making a southern supper, minus the potatoes. Gays and carbs.

I hadn't made friend chicken in maybe a decade, but I think I did all right. I was skimpy on the salt and it was noticeable in the taste. However, my secret-ish blend of herbs and spices made it very nice.




The green beans, however, I frakking rocked. I can't wait to make those again.


It really made me miss Mattie. And writing about it I share the southern authors lament that there is not a good word for "the black women who raised us." Mammy neither right nor accurate. But Mattie came on Mondays and Fridays and did the cooking, and other light chores in the years before her knees gave out. She spent my childhood taking care of us, and we spent her adulthood taking care of her. Big bundle of love was Mattie. And Lawd she could cook. I can't make her chicken, or squash, or banana pudding, or meatloaf—omigod her corn—, but I do try. Some times my versions a bit more gourmet, and my turkey soup has become the stuff of legend. But whenever I attempt something loving in the kitchen, I think of Mattie, and give my thanks for her with the love I pour into every portion.

food fight!

Or rather, "fest!"

Rizzolo and I took the 33 around noon down to the Mission to enjoy the six blocks sampling of the best food SF has to offer.


I'm glad we got there early as the crowd quickly thickened. But it was never, astoundingly, unmanageable.

We were both happy to take a moment and appreciate the crowd: diverse and behaved. All ages, all ethnicities, most economic groups, and no one behaving badly. It was about the food and enjoying the neighborhood of SF in the sunshine. Pride, Pink Saturday, Insert-Street-Name Fair—all seem to attract " an element" that ultimately causes trouble, be it violence or crime. This was a really nice crowd. Food-focus may do that to a people.

The crowd seemed to peak around 4:00.


The longest lines were ridiculously long. As in, you are a ridiculous person to wait in in such a line for what-may-be-gourmet-but-is-still-street food. And the lines were in direct proportion to the hype. I think most of the masses were queueing for the cachet and not the gourmet. Trendy instead of tasty. Case in point: the ramen burger. Oh for fuck's sake. We found some amazing eats and never waited more than five people deep. With the exception of Jarred, which suspended their service for 5-10 minutes while they addressed a backlog of orders. Which was a good idea and we happily made a lap and came back. Jarred sells on shelves and it seems caters, but does not have a restaurant, which is a pity as their fried pickled green beans are amazeballs, and their fried chicken (sandwich) nearly moved this southern boy to tears.




Also of note: cricket tostadas. I haven't eaten a bug since a dare at day camp. At least not on purpose.


We had a fun time with these people cheering their friend on to try it. "Crunchy" was the verdict. No one else was willing to follow suit.


Although if I weren't saving room for other specialities, it is something I would be willing to try.

All in all, an exhausting day with some amazing samples, and I'll be reviewing my notes and making reservations.

Because, yeah, that's what I need: more food coming in and more money going out.

But little tastes of happy!

I heart SF!

eat me.

This weekend: The San Francisco Street Food Festival.

Yum.

airquote neighborhood restaurant invades actual neighborhood

Beth Spotswood, Super San Franciscan, hits the Fisherman's Wharf Applebee's, so you don't have to.

I wonder if Beth and Brock know that I stalk their words. Love them.

soul. food.

An absolutely amazing place on Charlotte Avenue, in Nashville, Tennessee.

Read this. Go there.

Carrington Nelson Fox writing for The Nashville Scene:

At Thistle Stop Café on Charlotte Avenue, Magdalene House extends its empire of empathy

Excerpt:

Nashville — in particular, its rising restaurant scene — is the story of the moment. From The New York Times to Food & Wine, reporters are chronicling the ascendancy of Music City with such breathless narration of kale salad and hot chicken you'd think life here was a cabaret of artisan bacon and craft cocktails against a backdrop of reclaimed barnwood and bespoke denim. It makes for a good read.

But there is a deeper, quieter, longer-running story about life in Nashville that's not so obvious to the visiting trend-spotter. For the layover journalist attempting to capture the character of the city — culinary or otherwise — might we suggest adding the Thistle Stop Café to your itinerary? Because you'd be hard-pressed to find a location that tells a more endearing or hopeful story about the people who live here.

Located on the block of Charlotte Pike where Magdalene House's Thistle Farms social enterprise manufactures paper goods and body care products, Thistle Stop Café is the latest chapter in Magdalene's ministry for women who have survived prostitution, trafficking and addiction.

[snip]

With so much goodwill on the menu, Thistle Stop could easily rest on its social-enterprise laurels and offer a bare-bones repertoire of snacks — like so many corporate coffee chains. But that's not the case here.

The list of sandwiches, wraps, salads and desserts advances the local food story with an array of vegan and raw items that will be new to many palates. Pam Daley of nearby Spark of Life Healing Foods provides mock tuna salad, quinoa tabouli and raw pad thai made with cashews over curly crisp tangles of threaded zucchini and daikon. Dozen bakery provides muffins and scones, and Vegan Vee delivers an intriguing and indulgent selection of cookies, brownies and cupcakes sans dairy and eggs. (The raw triple-chocolate cheesecake alone is worth a visit. Made with almonds, cashews, dates, cocoa, vanilla, agave and coconut oil, the dense puck has the intensity of a truffle and a richness we are still trying to figure out.)

Or as they say it: "A story in every cup."

on the way home from work

stopping to get provisions for a night staying in rather than going out.

Sigh.

BBQ

I'm back to Davidson, North Carolina this weekend for my 20th reunion. While in NC I hope to find some local barbecue to knock my socks off.

This Best of BBQ in SF over at the SFist has me salivating.

Personally, I like Memphis Minnie's, but I loves me some Sneaky's!

Whoa Mama that's tasty!

I read in the Castro Biscuit that the pop-up dim sum that's been appearing in the coffee/crepe place up from the Castro has reopened as Mama Ji's full-time, and I really wanted to give it a try. I love dim sum, but downtown places get a little crazy, and otherwise you have to travel to the Avenues. The Avenues do have some ridiculously good dim sum restaurants, but I'd love it if there were a place nearer my neighborhood, my evening destinations, or easily accessible via Muni. That a new favorably-reviewed. neighborhood style restaurant was opening in the Castro was good news. That it is a dim sum place was truly exciting. We tried it out last Friday night and were NOT disappointed. (Other recent attempts at establishing a restaurant in the Castro have been tragic: Dancing Pig, Spork, etc.—blah food that's over priced.)

First, the criticisms: The dim menu does not have obvious quantities or prices on it, so it's hard to determine how much you're getting or how much you're spending, so we wound up with about twice as much as we could eat, and that came to about $80 for the two of us. That was fine though as we got to try many different things. They are just starting out so not everything on the menu is available either, but your server will let you know what's what.I also hope that they get a better wine distributor, or better choices, as the Sauvignon Blanc was pretty bad. My dining companion noted that it's a popular label at the inexpensive end for other low- to mid-price restaurants too, but I've had much better $3-$9 dollar whites from Trader Joe's. (Update: looking at scans of the dim sum menu online, the prices are noted as a footnote at the bottom—something we looked for and didn't see when we were at the table.)

Now, the praise: Holy shrimp balls this place is delicious! And the people couldn't be nicer. I really felt like I was part of an exciting beginning for our hosts; and their kindness, enthusiasm, and good-neighborly nature really made me want them to succeed. And if I could aid in their success by ordering enough dim sum to knock me unconscious, so be it. It was the least I could do.


Mama Ji herself was attentive on hand to assist in choices and advise on the menu. And the "white guy" grown up who appeared to run the place was welcoming and attentive too, but in a friendly way and not the distant way that most proprietors or staff can be. Adding to the neighborhood vibe of Mama Ji's is that they have not completed their renovation/move in yet, nor have they properly staffed up yet so the wait staff is comprised of the neighbor kids, which is kind of awesome. They had just the right attitude too. And their inexperience was entirely forgivable, if not slightly adorable.

Aside from the generally friendly, welcoming feel to the place—like you've been invited over to the new neighbors' for dinner—I loved Mama Ji's for the all around awesome food. The seafood dumplings and the shrimp dumplings were delicious, the stuffed mushrooms were hot and juicy (although I like my mushrooms more on the dark side), and they substituted the shrimp and spinach dumpling in favor of a shrimp and snow pea dumpling—and the snow peas were so fresh they tasted as if they were picked just hours earlier. Those exploded with flavor in my mouth and sent me into all sorts of ecstatic states. We only tried one of the fried options, and those were fun as they were fried in a giant tangle of noodles around the dumpling, and were flavorful in an entirely different way.


Both the chicken and pork dumplings were savory, flavorful, and with a pleasant consistency (I find that pork/chicken dumplings can easily be of the "ew" consistency.). Throughout the meal the proprietors would stop by and check in and advise us on choices and ingredients and really made our evening. And I assumed that if we had wanted to be left alone and uninterrupted, they would have been happy leaving us to ourselves as well. Some times I'd like that too, but the newness and their excitement of the new made this evening much more of an adventure. In appreciation, Mama Ji rounded out our meal with some fig or plum paste buns which were a nice fluffy cap to the gastronomic delight.

I was reluctant to post such a glowing review of Mama Ji's because I don't want it to get so popular it's difficult to get a table, or so successful that they jack up the prices. But for now, I am looking forward to being back in SF next weekend and another Friday happy hour followed by too much dim sum yum!

at least the cheese was mature

coworker describing a meal:

"There were carrots...not big carrots, well, not baby carrots either. They were more like... teenagers."
"Adolescents."
"Yes, they served salmon in a cream sauce with adolescent carrots."

Unhealthy SF meals at Squat & Gobble?

So back in January, news broke that many, many restaurants were screwing their employees while bilking their customers by adding a Healthy SF surcharge to bills, but not paying the employees' health coverage as required under Healthy SF.

As part of the Healthy SF plan, which requires restaurants and other small businesses to provide some form of health insurance coverage to their employees, there was a provision to allow restaurants to pass the cost along to their customers as a surcharge. This is pretty disingenuous as restaurants could include these costs as part of their business model and the cost of doing business rather than adding a line item to every bill. Basically, it is a political statement on the part of the business owner to do so. Some have expressed their opinion to me that the surcharge may read "Healthy SF" on the bill, but it is really saying "Fuck you" to the customer/SF citizenry for voting for it, and shows an open disdain for their employees.

While I do not whole heartedly agree with that assessment, I take their point. (The charges I've seen have usually been $1-$3 per check. I have a hard time believing that couldn't be spread out in pennies across the price of various items, or absorbed in business costs.) However, I have also noticed some liberal superiority in the happiness to pay the surcharge as it supports the service industry which needs all the respect it can get for their hard work. If I have been so satisfied to pay the Healthy SF charge for the good it creates, should I be so bothered about it appearing as a charge and not an increased price?

Unfortunately for everyone, the potentially unscrupulous and arrogant nature of the surcharge was made outright nefarious when the City's Office of Labor Standards Enforcement audit found that restaurants had collected over $5 million dollars in Healthy SF fees, without providing the insurance or coverage for which they were purporting to be passing thought the cost. After public outcry, the City had released their list of offenders.

photo from SFGate

To be fair, some cases may have in fact been clerical and compliance recording errors. And for this reason, the City offered a grace period for these offenders to make good.

At the top of the list of the most egregious offenders was one of my favorite brunch spots: Squat & Gobble in the Castro at Market and Noe/16th.

When I needed a convenient and amusing place to take a visiting friend staying at a B&B on Henry Street, I told him to meet me at Squat & Gobble around his corner. I had been actively boycotting this place since I learned that the owner tacked on extra charges to his customers (i.e. me and my friends) to the tune of $160,498, and payed employee health expenses totaling... wait for it... $0.

For some reason, I thought all of this had been worked out. Either I thought the grace period had expired or I had a half-remembered conversation in the neighborhood that the owner had done the right thing and taken care of everything.

Apparently, such is not the case.

When I arrived Saturday morning, the owner recognized me and greeting me warmly, and was kind enough to let me "reserve" an outside table as I waited for Andrew to walk the two blocks to the restaurant. This turned out to be an even bigger favor as while I was waiting the crowd grew large and outside tables became a premium.  Meanwhile, Apple Maps sent Andrew to the Squat & Gobble at Haight and Fillmore, who directed him to the one in the Upper Haight (at which point he called to clarify), and the confusion and long walk back left me camped at a premium table with a coffee for longer than expected.

While I was waiting for Andrew, a handsome gay couple in their 40s walked up to the patio, and greeted the owner. The conversation went along these lines:

Paraphrasing: "Hi. It's nice to see you. We came by just to see you and to let you know that we miss you, and we miss coming here, but we won't come back until you clean up that Healthy SF business. That's why we haven't been coming here, and we thought it was important that you knew that."

At the point the owner bunched his shoulders and avoided their eye contact and displayed every aspect body language I would associate with shame. He hemmed and hawed but didn't really say anything. The couple was kind and calm, and also unwavering. "You know this is important. And that is a lot of money. It's not okay."

At this point I was thinking, "Well, shit. I have been avoiding everyone on that list on principle and now I feel like a hypocrite. But I also can't leave at this point, and I certainly can't leave without telling him why or else what would be the point of leaving, and after his kindness this morning that would turn the friendly relationship bitter. Also, I don't want spit in my coffee."

So I sat, slightly ashamed of myself, and eavesdropped intently to hear if the owner did in fact have an explanation, justification, or confession. I did not or could not hear one.  Ultimately, they hugged it out and parted ways.

I did try to catch the eye of either one of the men, to share my concern and ask them where things stood now as far as they knew and what came of their conversation. I failed at that, and could not easily cross the front line of tables and bars to casually approach them.

So I don't know what's up with the apparent fraud at Squat & Gobble, or if ownership is treating the staff with respect or providing basic health coverage as required by law.

Anyone out there have any news? I'm thinking of passing this question on to the SF Appeal, the finest source for local news-news. Or better yet, I'll ask the Castro Biscuit, the best source for local-local news in the Castro.

Update:  Yes, the whole accounting thing is terribly complicated and companies are required to have a set aside funds account for health care for their workers, but the legislation/regulations are a bit unclear on how they are to be spent or how overages are to be accounted.  Which is why the grace period was offered for people to get their reporting and relevant accounting act together.  However, at $160k reported collected and a zero reported spent, and the body-shrug/head-hung-in-shame act I witnessed on Saturday, I don't think the S&G case is a clerical one.

tempting

I managed to resist Bob's Donuts last night.

But I'm still thinking about it.

It was Mardi Gras after all, and I suppose I could have indulged in just one donut....

bad sign

Not okay. The awesomest of hand crafted Neapolitan pizzas around here is at Club Deluxe in the Upper Haight. A labor of pure love by Giovanni. Some of my friends are such devotees he has named pizzas after them. Sure, Deluxe will still have fresh and craft cocktails, and the spa collins will continue to call my name on a hot day, but EasterSF has the sad news that there's a sign on the door announcing that Giovanni is slpit from the Deluxe.

Very sad. And that the split wasn't amicable is bad. And that they are filling the void with crappy mediocre fare from parter bar The Orbit Room is worse. At this point, just walk down the street to Fat Slice and forget about any appreciation for quality.

Via Alert Readers SP and PD.

sandwich of the gods

OMFG. I took a TR to Memphis Minnie's for his birthday last night. Holyshitballs they have a new Texas take on the Philly Cheesesteak: The Texas Cheesesteak sandwich is on fresh toasted ()and buttered all aroundO) french roll with grilled onions and peppers and slow roasted barbecue brisket, which would be awesome enough, but it is topped with melting homemade pimento cheese.


Hammina.

We both got one.

It comes with a choice of side, and while their slaw is super tasty, and their mac & cheese is legendary, we got it as suggested with the BBQ seasoned fries. (I got mine with regular pepers instead of jalapeños, although I am told there were just few/enough of them to make it right but not too much). I never knew food could make me so happy. That was ridiculously good. Almost a spiritual experience. And not long for this world.


And TR was wise enough to go back and finish us off with a slice of fresh pecan pie.


So much Southern lovin' right there in the Lower Haight!

mission chinese

It may be smothered in hipsters, but Mission Chinese is oh so good.



Shouts out to super fun time with visiting Nashville family Josephine & Giles!

I say tomato

The harvest season is in full swing and I still feel all sorts of appreciation and neighborhood happiness at the weekly farmers market two blocks from my doorstep.  The tomatoes are amazing and I wistfully think of the summer tomato festival in East Nashville every summer.  I've been making meals out of a tomato, balsamic, great big fresh leaves of basil and a little mozzarella.  Omigawd.

The tomatoes also make for some pretty pictures: