This infographic (dated from 2009) is a sobering reminder of what lower-income chidlers are eating 5 days a week, on a nation-wide scale.
And a reminder to send an infinite amount of “thank you”s to my mother who insisted on packing my lunch every single day for 12 years.
This is why I’m a Giants fan. This exact moment. Scratch that: this is why I like stupid, grunt grunt sports in general. San Francisco, this very moment.
It’s legitimately a magical time in San Francisco right now. I have the fortune of working approximately two blocks away from AT&T/”For Christsakes, it’s PacBell” Park, and it’s been absolutely surreal. If a unicorn came around the corner and high fived me right now and said, “Go Giants”, I wouldn’t even take an earbud out. I’d just high hoove him right back and point and smile.
For people who don’t understand why people love sports so much, move to a town where this kind of thing might happen, and you’ll get it.
This team has done something to this city that is unreal. It’s even more unreal because this is San Francisco. Home of the polarizing “I hate your district NO I HATE YOUR DISTRICT LET’S MAKE OUT THOUGH BECAUSE WE BOTH LOVE SAN FRANCISCO” landscape. Hipsters hate marina guys. Marina guys hate hipsters. We judge every goddamn thing on the planet that isn’t organic, and then can’t understand why people judge the crap out of us right back (irony alert). I mean…I work down the block from a fucking artisan grilled cheese store. This town is, by no means, indicative of the rest of the American landscape. We’re just weird, and we embrace the living crap out of it.
And right now, everyone is a Giants fan. Everyone. Your grandma. That homeless guy directing you into a wide open parking spot and then expecting you to congratulate him for his non-feat with a dollar. Right now? I’d give him two. Because this town is effing electric.
You know what? To all the people who hate “bandwagon” fans? Let it go. Who cares. You know who you are? You’re the guy who liked the Kings of Leon and then got mad when everyone else did. You’re the guy who said “this band is SO good”, and then when someone said, “hey I agree” you said NO YOU DON’T ONLY I CAN LIKE THEM. That’s silly. Knock it off. Let them in. Buy them a beer, or a kombucha. Whatever it is. I don’t care. Just let this happen and stop Eeyoring the crap out of our unlimited happiness we’re on the brink of.
I love sports for this reason. Every now and then, everyone just stops being so damn frumpy and acts like our city is just a big college. You ever been to a college town that really loves their team a scary amount? Like, Ray Finkel’s Mom amounts? It’s great. You know why? Because everyone is just actually nice to each other. You have a common bond. And whether or not it’s a bond that is contingent upon a guy throwing a ball or waving a wooden stick, it’s an awesome bond.
I love this time. I find myself smiling at people when I buy coffee. I see my friends who bicker over ridiculous crap calling each other and inviting each other to hang out. I see strangers hugging because a guy from the Dominican Republic is hitting sac fly’s. Marina guys are wearing the same goddamn t-shirt hipster guys are wearing. HOW CAN YOU NOT BOTTLE THIS MOMENT UP? We’re in a vacuum. Enjoy it.
I have grown up with the Giants. My brother and I spend half of our “that’s so adorable that they are ACTUALLY best friends” time talking to each other about them; it genuinely brings us together. It’s in the blood of my family, and I was taught from a very young age to bring a blanket to the ‘stick because it’s never a comfortable temperature in this city. My mother and father brought our family together with this ridiculous game. If you never lived here or you’re just getting on the bandwagon? Let me be your creepy metaphorical father and open the front door and hand you a beer. Welcome. We love you, too.
So fear the Just for Men beard. Embrace the fact that every woman in town is in love with the good guy (THAT NEVER HAPPENS IN REAL LIFE). Embrace the fact that we have a pitcher that resembles one of the greatest characters in film history, one Mitch Kramer (he even smokes pot…how San Francisco is that?). Embrace it.
No matter what happens, San Francisco, embrace it. This is why we like sports. Because they are ridiculous, and they make people really happy when we’d usually just bide the time complaining about what we don’t like about each other.
Embrace it, San Francisco. This is why we like each other. Right now.
Fear the goddamn beard.
Ouch.
(But I do like kombucha.) (Really.)
I’m reading a book by Isabel Allende* about food and sex for one of my concepting classes. It’s not assigned reading, although my account planner wanted me to read it so I could “get inspired” (our client for this week is Durex) and get into the mindset of older women (we’re targeting cougars).
While I was expecting (and got) the usual cheesiness (no pun intended) that comes with any discussion around eroticism and food, I certainly wasn’t prepared for arroz con leche to be taken to a whole new level:
I can’t imagine a more sensual or delicious desert. This recipe will serve eight normal people, but in my eyes it’s a crime to make less. I’m capable of devouring it at one sitting without blinking an eye, and I don’t see why it should be any different in your case, my dear reader.
Okay, sure. Likewise, my recipe makes a bucketload of it and it’s pretty delicious.
But if you can’t finish, you can keep it in the refrigerator, then, should you be in a good mood, you can cover your lover from head to foot with this mouthwatering arroz con leche and slowly lick it off. On such an occasion the calories are justified.
Uh. I don’t care if it sounds sexier in Spanish. And while I usually make gratuitous pants references about any delicious food (guilty), it’s a sign of appreciation, not what I physically want to do with it (apart from eat it.)
RICE PUDDING IS NOT BODY COVERINGS. Rice pudding is gloopy and chunky and occasionally has cinnamon sticks in it if you’re too lazy to pick them out.
Most importamente, RICE PUDDING IS HEARTWARMING AND COMFORTING AND HAPPY PLATONIC FAMILY THOUGHTS.
FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, I CALL IT HORCHATA-FLAVOURED BABY FOOD. BABY FOOD!!!
* As a book, it’s not that bad. She talks a lot about using food to evoke memories, appreciating food by chewing slowly and paying attention to it, and planning your meals so that they’re balanced for the palate. It’s just when she tries to weave sex into everything, it sounds a lot better on paper than if it was manifested in real life. Like feeding oysters to your partner with your mouth. What’s erotic about being a mama bird to someone?
** Also, the use of food during sex is actually a really bad idea. E. coli is one of the most abundant bacteria on the human body, so feeding it any form of sugar is basically asking for an infection. Yes, the type of infection that also sounds strangely food-related.
My bestie sent me a small bag of Murray River salt a few months ago in an all-Australian care package.
So this salt, the first thing everyone notices about it is the colour. That’s the colour of Australia, folks. More specifically, the colour of the Murray River.
Taste-wise, it’s mild but perfect as a finishing or table salt. Cooking with it is fine, but since it’s a little hard to find here I use it sparingly and only as a finishing salt. Although I will cook with it if I really like you and you’re worth your salt (OH HEY).
Here’s the salinity problem described in more detail by the Australian government. Seriously, do our country a favour. Use deliciously awesome salt.
‘Cause I didn’t, until now. Hey pesto!!!
Photo credit: Good Living, Sydney Morning Herald
These are the five dishes that everyone should master, according to the “culinary doyenne” that is Margaret Fulton.
I grew up with Margaret Fulton in our kitchen bookshelf. Which is baffling, because my mother hardly knew English when she bought her cookbooks. I think she got them on sale. Still, I spent many an afternoon as a small child looking through her baking books, drooling over chocolate cakes and eclairs and all the diabetes that I could only dream of making. In other words, we owned these books mostly for the pictures.
Mrs. Fulton is a bit of a legend in Australian cooking. Not the type that’s suspending fois gras in nitrate, but rather a legend in home cooking. Any Australian housewife worth her salt would have a Margaret Fulton cookbook. Sensible, no-nonsense cooking that’s simple to make, great on the palate, and nutritious.
I think we made her bran bread once. It wasn’t very tasty at the time, but when you’re 7, you can’t really appreciate bran.
What I really wanted to make was the Japonais — a small, crumbly little cake with caramel icing, hazelnut crumbs around it, a perfectly piped kiss of praline cream, and a hazelnut on top. I don’t have the book in front of me but I have the photo of the Japonais as part of the permanent collection in my brainnomgallery.
So, who wants a five course meal?
(compared to the chicken nuggets)
Although I like how they glossed over what the “other flavourings” are.
And all that bacon fat, going into pet food. What a waste.
I do.
(Breakfast tacos aren’t hard to make because all you’re doing is putting things into tortillas. But sometimes I’m not so good with improvising, especially before breakfast, so I’m writing this down so I can remember it.)
Breakfast tacos, “get your ass out of bed and line up for fresh tortillas” version
Serves 1. Sorry.
Prepare the kale: Wash and dry the kale. Tear into small pieces and toss through some olive oil. Place in a single layer on a tray and bake (we have one of those little toaster ovens) at 200ºC / 400ºF for 8 minutes. We’re not trying to make kale chips here, so don’t over-bake them.
In the meantime, heat up a large frying pan over medium heat and toast your tortillas until they are oh-so-slightly crispy on the outside. Leave these in the warm pan until you’re ready to serve.
Heat another pan over medium heat with a tablespoon of olive oil and throw in the longaniza. Cook for about two minutes and break it apart into a mince. Add the Spanish onion and cook for another five minutes or so, then throw in the jalapeños and cook for a further two minutes. Set aside.
Then, using the same pan, scramble the eggs — be sure to break them apart and that they’re not runny. We’re not going for Sunday brunch eggs.
Tacos, assemble!: Divide the longaniza + onions onto each tortilla, then dollop with the eggs. Grab a small amount of crispy kale and nestle on top, before folding in half and shoving them into your mouth for some serious breakfast awesome.
I’ve just realised that I haven’t had a single freaking steak, let alone a perfectly cooked medium rare porterhouse, since I’ve moved Stateside.
Someone fix this please. Like right now.
And I’m back to eating meat, inaugurated with a cheeseburger from Zeitgeist. Perfectly cooked, perfectly awesome, perfect with their homefries and a generous drizzle of chipotle Tabasco sauce.
Getting back on the meat wagon feels great. (That’s what she said.)
Let’s just take the guess work out of what I want for my birthday.
sunday brunch on stylish steroids — nolita, new york city. photo by yours truly.
Cafe Gitane was one of my favourites in New York. The coffee is spectacular. The food doesn’t scream at you but certainly makes you double take.
I just wish I could turn the hurry and flurry down a couple of notches. Almost everyone was going everywhere, talking to someone, reading a paper, browsing on their phones, or all of the above, all at once. Hey, people. There is great food in front of you. Slo-o-o-o-w down.
Admittedly, I’m not that much better. I certainly don’t do the phone thing (it’s one of my biggest peeves, especially when other people are present) but when eating alone, I tend to read or have music in the background. So I’m learning how to enjoy a distraction-free breakfast.
Believe it or not, it makes food more delicious when you’re looking at what you’re eating and noticing the flavours. I’m sure it does wonders for your digestion too, but that’s something my mother would say and then I’d have to agree with her.
Or perhaps the new scrambled egg method really is that much better.
I am genuinely and thoroughly surprised that Australia doesn’t rank in the top 10 for consuming the most meat per capita. Maybe the vegan hipsters in Newtown are making a dent after all.
Primero, Jonathan Safran Foer did not convince me to become vegetarian. My body did.
New York is a great city for food, but when on a budget and in a rush, there is a tendency to go for the tastiest, fastest, and often least healthy food option out there — most of them involving a ton of meat and not a lot of greens.
After the indulgent week in New York of
…the flight back to SFO was punctuated with strange pains in my abdomen.
So I’ve decided to give vegetarianism a chance. For a week, that is. (C’mon, giving up porchetta forever? That’s crazy talk.)
Now that I’m a little older, better informed (on the nutrition front), and living in a herbivore-friendly city, this should translate into a more enjoyable and fainting-spell-free experiment. It also doesn’t hurt that frijoles are only 79 cents a pound at Casa Lucas.
no joke, this may be the largest cookie you’ll ever get your paws on. we’re not talking just large, pancake-sized ones — these are basically small mountain ranges. i had to split it down the middle and save the other half for later.
amazing selection of sake, sochu, and other alcoholic japanese vices.
the small plates hit it home, though. hai, wasabi shumai. delicious nose-blasting eye-watering pork goodness.
one of the most perfect martinis i’ve ever tasted — grey goose pear, st. germain, lime. and hey, it’s called “the perfect pair”.
is there anything rice can’t do? maybe i’m just biased ‘cause i’m chinese.
if you have never had the pleasure of spooning gloopy delicious latin peoples rice pudding into your mouth, then brace yourself.
[insert comment full of sexual innuendo about pants and rice pudding.]
arroz con leche (rice with milk, i.e. rice pudding)
serves a bunch. recipe adapted from secret brown source.
bring 4 cups of the water to boil, then add the rice, cinnamon stick, salt, and lime zest. simmer at low heat, stirring occasionally.
when the rice is al dente, add the evaporated milk, whole milk, sugar and honey. bring to just under a boil and then simmer until desired gloopiness / runniness is achieved.
serve warm or cold with a sprinkling of cinnamon.
i freaking love almond croissants. especially the ones at thorough bread with crusty almond meal on the top, delicious almond meal custard inside (but not too much), and crispy flakey bits that fall on your shirt and you have to pick them up with icing sugar dusted fingers. which leaves you looking like someone who failed tremendously at doing a line of coke.
a few things to note:
almond croissant pudding with creme anglaise
modified from a recipe by valli little — serves 6-8
creme anglaise:
grease the base and sides of a 1 litre / 9” x 5” terrine or loaf pan, and line with baking paper. pack the croissants into the terrine or pan, then set aside.
whisk the eggs and sugar together in a large bowl until just combined. place the milk, cream and vanilla pod and seeds in a saucepan over low heat and bring to just below boiling point, then gradually pour the warm milk mixture into the egg mixture, whisking constantly.
add the orange zest and brandy, and whisk well to combine. pour the mixture over the croissants and stand at room temperature for 1 hour to allow the custard to soak in - this will make for a lighter pudding.
while you’re waiting, make the creme anglais:
lightly beat yolks in a bowl. place milk, cream, sugar and vanilla in a saucepan over medium heat and bring to just below boiling point. pour hot milk mixture over egg, whisking constantly, then return to the pan over very low heat. stir constantly with a wooden spoon for 5-6 minutes until thick enough to coat the back of the spoon. pour into a jug, cover surface closely with plastic wrap to prevent a skin forming, then chill until needed.
preheat the oven to 180ºC / 350ºF. bake the pudding for 45 minutes until just set and golden on top — cover with foil if browning too quickly. remove the pudding from the oven, allow to cool slightly, then turn out and slice.
drizzle with creme anglais, and face dive.
so despite all of the delicious smelling mexican hot dog stands, the almost gratuitous number of burrito joints, somehow we decided to ignore all of that and make a beeline straight to serranos for cheap pizza.
when it’s $3 for a giant slice of cheese pizza you really can’t go wrong. even more so when you top the hell out of it with oregano, chili flakes, garlic, and more cheese.
and while you’re waiting, feel free to (attempt to) ride the stripped out bike frame permanently locked to the parking meter in front of it.
i’ve been devouring (pun intended) this book over the last few months. but not at my usual break-neck speed, because of how uncomfortable it makes me feel about eating meat.
shortly after reading a chapter on the slaughter process, i had the pleasure of waking up after this dream:
i was working on a farm and responsible for slaughtering the day’s meat. the said meat was a calf, waiting for me in a wooden shed and staring at me with its large watery eyes.
of course, i couldn’t bring myself to plunge the knife into it’s throat, so i thought i could procrastinate by skinning it alive. it seemingly didn’t hurt the calf until it started bawling loudly.
eventually i broke down and cried, holding it’s head against my chest, until my mother stormed in and reminded me that i had a job to do. but i was too emotionally wrecked so i had to leave and let her take care of it. and while i didn’t see it happening, i heard every heart wrenching sound.
in real life, my mother is vegetarian and i’m not. she chose to be vegetarian not because she’s against the killing of animals but for health reasons. her digestive system is losing the ability to process animal proteins. she’s not vegan, but eventually she’ll have to be.
at the same time, choosing to be an omnivore doesn’t mean that i would gladly slit the throat of a chicken.
and even after that rather traumatising dream, and with mr. foer basically trying to convince me to become vegetarian, being a smarter omnivore and supporting farmers who raise their animals ethically and sustainably could perhaps do just as much good.
the problem isn’t that i’m eating meat, but rather the sources of meat that i chose to support.
hello, sugar buns.
(also only available at coffee bar. permission to enter smug mode? thank you.)
