Posts tagged: Food

Manhattan (The Island This Time)

By , October 14, 2003

I’ll try to post a blog that provides greater details concerning our time in New York, but suffice to say that Sue and I are enjoying ourselves here. We’ve been walking all over the island of Manhattan, catching up with friends, and generally having fun. This morning we walked up the block from our hotel in search of a diner for lunch; lo and behold, what did we see? This:

Tom's Diner

Tom’s Restaurant was famously used for the exterior shots of the diner Seinfeld and his gang frequented, but it was previously famous as the diner Suzanne Vega sang about in the early ’90s hit “Tom’s Diner.” It became famous, twice! The food there is unremarkable, which is about par for the course for any diner, really.

Last night we walked about Times Square. This one-time hotbed for sin and debauchery has become pretty doggone wholesome. One can even watch a sporting event on the massive video screen. I daresay those are the Rams engaged in a heated match against, ummm, the Pirates? I don’t really know; one team was for sure called the Rams.

Times Square TV

I love the look of the Times Square Police Department’s sign.

Time's Square Police Station

That’s all I have for you at this time. I’ll return in a few days to share more pictures and stories of our trip to New York. In the meantime, help me fill in the blank above and choose an opponent for the Los Angeles, excuse me, St. Louis Rams. Today’s Question: What is your favorite football team?

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Typical Day, For Reals This Time

By , October 2, 2003

I never care much to read blog entries that chronicle someone’s day in a blow-by-blow fashion. I do enjoy amusing anecdotes from a day, to be sure, but the “I did this, then I did this, then I did this” entries don’t hold my interest. Nonetheless, today’s entry is going to be in that vein, but in a more general way, as more then a few people have asked me of late: “Peasprout, what is your typical day like?”

Well, since you asked, it goes a little something like this…

I wake up at about 10:30 am or so. I make my morning commute to work, which is really just walking from the bedroom into the office. Sometimes there may be some traffic– perhaps I left some clothing on the floor– but I usually make it to work in a timely manner.

For the next three or four hours I make and answer phone calls, either touching base about pending events or convincing potential clients to hire me, and respond to e-mails. Every now and then I fax something, and sometimes even prepare letters to send by post.

At around 2:00 I shower, dress, and head out into the world. I head down Telegraph or Shattuck and eat lunch someplace while reading the day’s newspaper. The highlight of lunch is working the New York Times crossword puzzle. Sometimes I eat gelato after lunch.

After lunch, I walk about a mile or so to Ver Brugge, a local butcher, where I buy meat to cook for dinner. I then walk what must be another mile and a half to the Berkeley Bowl, my favorite market, where the produce section boggles the mind. Finally, I walk yet another mile home. By now it’s around 5:00, and time to start cooking.

My girlfriend and I dine together most nights. After dinner, who knows what we’ll do. We see a lot of movies, play a lot of Scrabble, and generally do fun things. Sometimes we just kind of do nothing together, but it seems like something just ‘cuz it’s us; even when we’re together doing nothing it beats a trip to Disneyland. Basically, I have the world’s most wonderful girlfriend. She’s also my best friend, and hands down the most remarkable person I’ve ever known. I bet if you met her you’d think the same thing.

Of course, I relish my “me” time, in which I read, write, play basketball, or hang out with friends. A lot of that time comes later in the evening, for Fizzy sleeps earlier than I do. I’m definitely a night person. I do a lot of reading, writing, DVD watching, and work-related tasks after midnight, and don’t go to bed until perhaps 3:00 am.

And that’s pretty much my day. Not much, really. And you can see why I don’t bore you with a daily recounting of said events: I’d have no readers.

Today’s Question: What is your typical day?

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Genova Delicatessen

By , July 8, 2003

I love a good sandwich. Who doesn’t, right? There’s something beautiful about a well-constructed delicatessen sandwich, and the folks at Genova Delicatessen have elevated the construction of the sandwich to an art form. I’ve been eating at this Oakland institution for years, and have never been disappointed.

Now that I’m writing this, I realize there isn’t all that much one can write about this place. I mean, it’s a delicatessen. Sure it’s a great one, but beyond telling you that their sandwiches taste significantly better than those of other delis, well– I’m at a loss for words.

Let’s see– the sandwiches come with all the normal extras, i.e. tomatoes, lettuce, and so forth, as well as some mild wax peppers and oil and vinegar. There are numerous side dishes available, all of which are delicious. Both the potato and macaroni salad are superb, as is the calamari salad, and pretty much everything else. They also sell deep-fried, breaded artichoke hearts. If you can get them when they are still warm, they are beyond scrumptious.

One other thing– Genova is a well-stocked Italian market. You can find numerous imported cakes and canned goods, along with a full assortment of pastas and so forth. They make their own raviolis, which are sold in local supermarkets, and have a vast assortment of salami and other meats for you to choose from.

If you go at lunch time, take a number and be prepared to wait awhile, as this is a very popular destination at that hour; it is well worth the wait.

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Pessi Visits and Gorman Pops His Cherry

By , July 1, 2003

It’s very early Tuesday morning right now, which means technically we are well into a new week, but I feel like it’s Sunday night and I’m winding down from a weekend. Let’s call it a weekend-plus. Why did my weekend extend itself into Tuesday? Because Pessi came to visit. I’ll spare you the details and focus on a few highlights.

Saturday night our friend Gorman played his first DJ set in a proper night club. Before this point it had been all house parties and such, but you couldn’t tell by watching him that he was a virgin to a club set. He spun at Fuse on Broadway, and he did really well. Lots of us came out to show our support, not to mention dance to his tracks. Fizzy, Pessi, and I were joined by Sunny, MaiTaiBoy, MaiTaiGirl, Hair-Alex, Mallgirl, Kaveh, Bellybutton, and several others. Then most of us went to eat Korean food afterwards. That was after a pre-club dinner at Blake’s in Berkeley, with Q and her high school pal Teresa. Two dinners in one night? I’m for it!

Sunday I made pancakes for the three of us, and we watched lots of movies on television. We saw the last half of Die Hard, and some awful Mandy Moore movie called A Walk to Remember. Then the three of us went to Sunnyvale to Palace BBQ Buffet. I’d been raving about it to them for years about the all-you-can-eat Korean restaurant, and even if we’d had Korean food the night before we opted to have more. Though skeptical at first, both Fizzy and Pessi soon shared my sentiment of “mmmmm.” In fact, Pessi ate so much she barfed up a jellyfish on the way to the cinema, for rals. At said cinema we saw 28 Days Later. I can only describe it as an art-house zombie film, and tell you that it is worth watching.

Somehow after all that food, we decided to go to Denny’s at 1:00 am. We played Monopoly there until after 4; Pessi won. I held out for a long time, surprisingly since I had only the 3 red properties and the 2 utilities. After she bankrupted Fizzy, Pessi had EVERYTHING else and I knew I was doomed. We got back to Berkeley at close to 5:00 am, and still had the energy to toss a football around Bancroft Way for a while. Pessi made the best “catch” when she ducked and covered her head with her arms as the ball sailed past her.

Monday turned out to be more eating. In fact, looking back I realize that about all we did the entire time was eat. It was lunch at Barney’s on Piedmont, followed by a walk to Fenton’s for our afters. Local television variety show Evening Magazine was there to film a segment to be shown this coming Thursday (July 3rd) on channel 5 (KPIX). Who did they pick out of the entire restaurant to enjoy a free banana split and be interviewed for their show? Us! We’d already finished our sundaes, but tucked into the new one with reckless relish. Too much ice cream!

There was more eating later, and then Taco Bell just a few minutes ago, and THEN Happy Donuts. I think I’m ready to barf up a few jellyfish at this point myself. That makes me wonder…do you sense Today’s Question coming? Here it is: If you barfed right now, what would come out? That’s gross. Answer it!

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A Cookie, Not a Foodie

By , May 26, 2003

The term foodie probably could be as good as any other to describe someone to whom food is important in some capacity or other, but, at least in my mind, it holds a negative connotation. When I think “foodie,” I think of a person who obediently follows the latest trends set forth by the food industry, whether that be worshipping the current superstar chef, dining at the trendiest restaurant, or cooking with the currently vogue ingredients, all the while smugly lording over the rest of us poor slobs who don’t follow suit. A foodie doesn’t go to church, he goes to a restaurant; he proselytizes by blogging in self-aggrandizing fashion about his passion for the trend du jour, all the while blind to the irony of it all.

Me? I prefer eating delicious food to mediocre. That may seem like a silly distinction to make, but I think most people don’t really care. How else do the Applebee’s and McDonald’s of the world stay in business? I’d hazard to say that the majority of people, Americans at least, are not only content with mediocrity, they prefer it. It isn’t simply convenience that prompts them to eat dinner at fast food restaurants night after night, for it would be easier (not to mention healthier) to shop once, procure the ingredients for several meals, and cook them at home. The time it takes to drive to a restaurant, park, order, wait, eat, then drive home is roughly equivalent, if not less, than the time it would take to quickly assemble a better-tasting burger or hot dog at home. Moreover, those same people would cringe at eating anything more unusual than a sandwich; there will be no foie gras, sushi, or kimchi for them. Yes, I am firmly convinced most people truly prefer bland, predictable, mediocrity when it comes to what they eat.

So then, to continue my assertion: I prefer eating delicious food to mediocre, I prefer cooking my own meals to eating out, and I am not only willing to go the extra mile to find fresher, better ingredients, I relish the thrill of the hunt. It pleases me to no end to find a viable new source for fresh and tasty foodstuffs. When I do eat out, I eschew the trendy dining spots, preferring instead to venture into out-of-the-way neighborhoods to try hole-in-the-wall ethnic eateries, random taco trucks, and homely diners, hoping each time to discover heretofore hidden hideaways that have been unnoticed by the media, if not downright ignored for their lack of a wine list or acceptable ambience. To do so, of course, one must be willing to endure the inevitable horrific meals that come with such a cenatory policy, and, I ever the stiff upper lipped stoic, defiantly am.

I don’t feel at all special for doing any of this. I know I’m one of many food-obsessed folks, though from now on, I will refer to myself as a “cookie” rather than a “foodie,” (even though cookie already means something else) as a way to distinguish myself from the sheep-like masses glued to the Food Network, adulating at the altar of Emeril. I’ve offered up a couple song write-ups; I’ll write more. In addition, I’m going to start peppering my blog with some cookie posts. I hope you will find them enjoyable and informative.

As I have no training beyond the cooking skills imparted to me by my mother, and those I’ve taught myself, and hold no claim to being capable of reviewing or rating a restaurant other than to say what I liked or disliked and why, anything I ever write here about cooking, eating, or other topics prandial, are to be taken at face value. Food, like art, is a matter of opinion, and my opinions are of little consequence to anyone other than me. At best, I hope over time I’ll share some interesing information, and hopefully learn from my readers through comments and emails. Bon appetit!

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Birthday Blog

By , May 25, 2003

If blogs were subject to the same laws as people, at least people here in the USA, today mine would be able to take its first legal drink, for this is my 21st post to the Peasprout blog.

By utter coincidence, I celebrated a birthday of my own today. It was hardly a spectacular celebration, but for posterity I’ll chronicle the evening here. Sue and I met some of my family for dinner at House of Prime Rib. After dinner we walked to my favorite San Francisco ice cream shop, Peppermint Park. The cashier there stayed open an extra half hour so that my brother and his wife could join us (they couldn’t make it to dinner).

Apparently, ice cream wasn’t enough dessert for us, for we walked down the street to Bob’s Doughnuts for yet another round of afters. More than likely that was altogether too much eating, but what’s done is done.

I’ve not much else to report about today, but it seemed only right to pop in on my birthday and write at least a little something.

today’s Question: What will make your next birthday perfect?

My answer? Actually, just being with the right people was all it took for me. That and prodigious amounts of good food.

And just like that, we’re done.

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Waiting for Pessi

By , April 27, 2003

Technically it is now Sunday, but for me it is Saturday night. I’m again resorting to blogging about my recent exploits, for I can think of nothing else about which I care to write. Muse, where are you? Sing to me!

After lunch at Pho Hoa in Berkeley, I rode the BART into San Francisco and roamed Union Square for a couple hours. I’m not a big shopper, but I do like looking at the pretty window displays, and people watching, so I was content. Pessi was going to meet me, but she was busy dropping Boy with Lisa Simpson Hair’s stuff off, and hanging out with him, so I was on my own.

I ended up walking all the way down Market Street, and into Hayes Valley, where I ate at Powell’s Place. Mmmm…really good soul food. Pessi was to meet me there, but she was still lagging. I ate some chicken, worked today’s crossword puzzle, and left. With more time to kill, I found a drank a bottle (yes a real-live bottle) of Grape Crush. By this time, boredom had truly set in. When Pessi finally arrived, I was eating blueberry muffin and watching a televised basketball match with the guys who run a market on Hayes Street. If you know me, you know how bored I have to be before I watch basketball. Pessi and I had drinks at Absinthe before making our way back to Berkeley to find Fizzy.

This is not at all exciting reading, is it? Don’t you wish I were extolling the virtues of raw milk cheese or chastising those of you who irrationally fear MSG? Of course, my big assumption here is that anyone reads this at all. I do have about five subscribers (why?), and I get perhaps one comment per post, but I’m still unconvinced that people read my blog. So let’s do a little test. Instead of something clever, let’s make Today’s Question: who among my subscribers is actually reading this? Hit me up with a comment if you made it this far.

That’s it for today. I’m off to Los Angeles for the next few days. Maybe I’ll find the time to post while I’m there.

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To MSG or Not to MSG

By , April 25, 2003

I had so much fun writing about cheese yesterday, that today I am going to remain on the topic of controversial food and offer my thoughts about MSG. Quickly thought, while still on the topic of cheese, let me suggest to my Bay Area readers that you visit Cheese Board in Berkeley. It’s the finest cheese shop I know. I can even recommend some favorite cheeses if you like. Now then, MSG.

How many people do you know that talk about MSG like it’s some kind of poison? Perhaps you are even one of those people.

For starters, what is MSG? It’s the abbreviated name of monosodium glutamate, a naturally occurring substance that gives many foods an improved taste. If you have ever seen a list of the five basic categories of taste, MSG is the foundation of the strange-sounding one of the bunch: umami. For reference, the other four are the more pedestrian-sounding sweet, salty, sour, and bitter.

Regarding the safety of MSG, permit me to quote the results of studies conducted in 1993 and 2000: “Research found that while large doses of MSG given without food may elicit more symptoms than a placebo in individuals who believe that they react adversely to MSG, the frequency of the responses was low and the responses reported were inconsistent, not reproducible, and were not observed when MSG was given with food. While many people believe that MSG is the cause of these symptoms, a statistical association has not been demonstrated under controlled conditions, even in studies with people who were convinced that they were sensitive to it.”

What happens to the approximately 1% of the population that is in any way affected by MSG? They get a mild headache after eating some, which goes away with time.

If it is a naturally occurring substance, and safe to eat, why am I making a fuss over MSG? Because fear of it runs high. I read that 1/3 of Americans in a recent study think MSG affects them. This in turn leads to restaurants proudly proclaiming “No MSG” in their food. How sad is that? I avoid those restaurants, just as I’d avoid those that advertised “no salt,” “no sugar,” or “no pepper” as a selling point.

I think it’s those signs that add fuel to the fire. Most people have no idea what MSG is, but they see signs all over that shout “No MSG!” and assume that it must be something awful if vendors are so proud to be avoiding it. Restaurants advertise a lack of MSG the same way they’d say “No Rat Droppings” or “Our Food is NOT radioactive,” and it creates a false sense that MSG is something bad.

In fact, MSG makes food delicious. And it’s 100% natural. Seaweed, which few would proclaim unhealthy, has the highest natural content of MSG of any substance. Guess what has the second highest? Parmesan cheese. And third? Tomato paste and sun-dried tomatoes. I wonder how many MSG-phobes avoid pizza? They say ignorance is bliss…

That leads me into what I will try to make a regular feature of my blogs: Today’s Question: When it comes to food, or really, anything in life, do you prefer blissful ignorance or an unhappy truth?

So there it is. Seems we’re again protesting, and today’s protest is against the mindless masses basing their selection of a restaurant on the lack of a healthy, safe ingredient that makes food taste better. What say we educate those poor saps, and in the process lead ourselves to a world full of better food.

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The Great Cheese Protest

By , April 24, 2003

All these war protests have got me thinking about other causes worth protesting. I came up with a cheese protest; bear with me.

I am not a fanatic about cheese, but I enjoy eating the stuff. There are appetizer cheeses and dessert cheeses, cheeses that can be an integral part of a main course, and cheeses upon which to snack. When someone tells me they dislike cheese, I have to wonder…have they really tried all cheeses? Saying you don’t like cheese is almost like saying you don’t like fruit. There are so many different types, how can anyone actually dislike them all?

This is probably a good time to bring up that trendiest of maladies, lactose-intolerance. It seems like everyone who is anyone is lactose intolerant these days. Many who think they are, are not, but when it comes to that wonderful stuff, cheese, it doesn’t matter, as most cheese has no lactose. For starters, something like 98% of it is strained off with the whey during the cheese-making process, and the rest is destroyed during fermentation. So phooey on all you lactose-intolerant folks (less then 5% of the population) and those who think you are but aren’t (about 25% of the population?). You can all eat cheese.

This doesn’t hold true for processed cheese, like Velveeta and its ilk, though I wouldn’t really bring Velveeta into a discussion of proper cheeses. As a general rule, aged cheeses are virtually free of lactose; the harder a cheese is, the less likely it is to contain any lactose.

But my love of cheese is not cause for a protest. That would be a celebration. Nor will my protest attempt to convince folks who think they’re lactose intolerant that they really aren’t, or even to educate them to the fact that cheese is lactose-free. No, my protest is going to be against the unjust cheese laws in America.

Yes, there are cheese laws. It’s illegal for me, or you (assuming you’re in America), or any other American to possess certain cheeses. We’re really big on pasteurization here, but sadly, the pasteurization process destroys the flavor of many fine cheeses. And while it is legal to produce and sell raw milk cheese, that is to say, unpasteurized cheese, said cheese must be aged at least 60 days.

Some of the best cheeses I’ve ever eaten were smuggled in from France. They were unaged raw milk cheeses. They were soooo good, and I want some now just from remembering them. But they’re illegal.

Why?

People in France eat plenty of unaged, raw milk cheese. They aren’t dying. I read somewhere that the French consume a pound of unaged raw milk cheese per week per citizen, and yet they’re all fine. Hell, some might say the French are even healthier than Americans. What gives?

I want to be able to walk into the local cheese shop and get Camembert. Real, raw, unaged, true, honest, Camembert. Let’s protest!

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Another Day, Another Blog

By , April 7, 2003

Let’s see if I can craft something that goes beyond a standard “what I did with my day” post, and is worth reading.

Last night my buddy Lolo Mak called me up. He was king of the world a few years ago, but now he’s down and out, so I tried to hook him back up. I hope it takes; he’s a great guy.

I’m just now back from playing basketball at People’s Park. That park is hardly a Mecca for basketball talent, as one must navigate street people and shopping carts whilst bringing the ball up court, but all the courts at the gym where I typically play were reserved for intramural games. I tried to get clever and sneak into the Harmon Gym, oh excuse me, Haas Pavilion, but I was summarily dismissed from center court by an overeager security guard. When one feels the need to throw a ball through a hoop, one takes what one can get.

After bounding about the basketball court, I dined with Fizzy and her college chum Richard tonight. Mmmmmm Everett & Jones BBQ. Can’t beat that with a bat.

It turns out today wasn’t a blog-worthy day after all, but I felt like posting, and so there it is. I promise you that I am still scheming ways to elevate this blogging medium from the mundane to an art form.

Here is something to knock it back a few squares:

Smirk
You’re the smirk,a frown-smile hybrid that’s a
little bit cocky and usually associated with
evil or arrogant,but attractive people.You
probably just don’t give a damn,but it’s
everyone else’s fault if you don’t because
you’re too awesome to have any real faults.

What Kind of Smile are You?

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