Last weekend in the scorching heat we ventured over to the wilds of Oakland for a free sustainable local food festival. With the sweat running down my legs and my skin being lightly sautéed, we sat on the ferry which would take us directly to Jack London Square where the festival was being held, appreciating what would be the only cool breeze of the day.
When we got there, it was in full swing and all we had to decide was what to eat for lunch from the many delicious looking and smelling options. I decided to graze and try out a couple of smaller things I had never had before, whereas Mike leapt straight in for a spicy sausage. Both strategies had their individual merits.
We had bought tickets in advance for the beer tent which promised eight generous servings of local artisan beers with a souvenir glass for $20. On the day, this seemed to have been downgraded to four half pints or less, depending on the generosity of the server (they were largely hot and bothered and seemed to have left their generous shoes at home), and a souvenir jam jar cum glass with a logo on which after going through the dishwasher has now disappeared. Not the jar, the logo.
Value for money or not, it was a lovely day as we casually drank our beer from our logo clad jam jars and shade hopped our way around the square. In between eating and drinking we sat and listened to a lecture on growing your own food and I closed my eyes and dreamt of my own smallholding, collecting still warm eggs from my chickens, inhaling the peculiar smell of a perfectly ripe tomato and sitting down to a perfect meal most of which I had grown myself.
Then I woke up and found myself in a far too crowded car on a freeway in Oakland, probably breaking the law, and definitely a story for another day.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Shakespeare's Sausage
Yesterday, after weeks of searching for a bargain price, then getting scuppered by bureaucracy, the tale of which I don't plan to go into you'll be relieved to hear, then watching the ticket prices rise, and getting both increasingly frustrated and giddy with excitement, I booked plane tickets for a visit home.
Home; the land where my family and friends are, where some people speak like me and share a similar culture, and the place that I think about probably more than is healthy.
But when the flights were booked, rather than increase ten fold in excitement causing the neighbours to complain about the strange high pitched squeaking, I felt, well just a bit unsettled. Maybe because it isn't home any more; this is, and with the knowledge that this will be our home for another year at least I guess that's a good thing.
We moved around the UK a few times and whenever we went back to visit the places we used to live, I felt strangely displaced, and I imagine it will be just the same when we are back. I am looking forward to it; seeing as many people as we can possibly see, the cold and rain, and surprise, surprise FOOD. We have already made a list of what we have been craving and it is ridiculously long. It will break my heart if my first sausage isn't Shakespeare in my mouth, but maybe disappointment, a greasy face and a 'broken heart' is just what I need in order to feel more settled here. Who'd have thought that?
Home; the land where my family and friends are, where some people speak like me and share a similar culture, and the place that I think about probably more than is healthy.
But when the flights were booked, rather than increase ten fold in excitement causing the neighbours to complain about the strange high pitched squeaking, I felt, well just a bit unsettled. Maybe because it isn't home any more; this is, and with the knowledge that this will be our home for another year at least I guess that's a good thing.
We moved around the UK a few times and whenever we went back to visit the places we used to live, I felt strangely displaced, and I imagine it will be just the same when we are back. I am looking forward to it; seeing as many people as we can possibly see, the cold and rain, and surprise, surprise FOOD. We have already made a list of what we have been craving and it is ridiculously long. It will break my heart if my first sausage isn't Shakespeare in my mouth, but maybe disappointment, a greasy face and a 'broken heart' is just what I need in order to feel more settled here. Who'd have thought that?
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The City of Cheesesteaks and Confinement
Philadelphia as far as I am concerned is famous for cream cheese, Bruce Springsteen and that film with Tom Hanks. I felt they played these down a little.
As well as the whole giving birth to American independence thing, the city proudly proclaimed itself to be home of the cheesesteak, a steak and cheese sandwich with a frankly ingenious name. Every sandwich store screamed that they were the best in the city, street or area or even less confidently, just the shop. Created in 1930, by a man called Pat, they are still going strong today. In one street in South Philadelphia, just past the wonderful Italian market, the two most famous cheesesteak suppliers are Pat's (the creator) and Geno's (the neon light adorned, and clearly Vegas inspired store.) Take a guess where we went. Go on. I can wait.
Yes, it was Pat's of course. We've already been to Vegas. We were greeted by a gimmicky sign which told you how to order, which I ignored as my accent still leads to confusion enough. As all the cheese is exactly the same, bland and melty, I bit the bullet and got my cheesesteak wit whiz; for British readers that is heavily processed, garishly coloured 'cheese' from a can or jar...named well. It was good, but I wouldn't have another one.
Another thing which Philadelphia is famous for is a system of incarceration emphasising solitary confinement as a means of rehabilitation. Who knew? My visit to the Eastern State Penitentiary was both interesting and a little horrifying. The Gothic castle-like walls and vastness of the place lent a spooky air, and the Steve Buscemi narrated audio tour added to the drama. The most famous prisoner was Al Capone, the Paris Hilton of his day, treated to a comfortable cell and numerous other privileges. Crazy.
All in all I saw a lot of what Philadelphia had to offer, and what I saw I liked. I also managed to do a tour of all the places which you are allowed to sit down for free, having over exerted myself on the first day. You can tell a lot about a city from it's sitting down facilities I always find, and Philly rose to the challenge admirably.
As well as the whole giving birth to American independence thing, the city proudly proclaimed itself to be home of the cheesesteak, a steak and cheese sandwich with a frankly ingenious name. Every sandwich store screamed that they were the best in the city, street or area or even less confidently, just the shop. Created in 1930, by a man called Pat, they are still going strong today. In one street in South Philadelphia, just past the wonderful Italian market, the two most famous cheesesteak suppliers are Pat's (the creator) and Geno's (the neon light adorned, and clearly Vegas inspired store.) Take a guess where we went. Go on. I can wait.
Yes, it was Pat's of course. We've already been to Vegas. We were greeted by a gimmicky sign which told you how to order, which I ignored as my accent still leads to confusion enough. As all the cheese is exactly the same, bland and melty, I bit the bullet and got my cheesesteak wit whiz; for British readers that is heavily processed, garishly coloured 'cheese' from a can or jar...named well. It was good, but I wouldn't have another one.
Another thing which Philadelphia is famous for is a system of incarceration emphasising solitary confinement as a means of rehabilitation. Who knew? My visit to the Eastern State Penitentiary was both interesting and a little horrifying. The Gothic castle-like walls and vastness of the place lent a spooky air, and the Steve Buscemi narrated audio tour added to the drama. The most famous prisoner was Al Capone, the Paris Hilton of his day, treated to a comfortable cell and numerous other privileges. Crazy.
All in all I saw a lot of what Philadelphia had to offer, and what I saw I liked. I also managed to do a tour of all the places which you are allowed to sit down for free, having over exerted myself on the first day. You can tell a lot about a city from it's sitting down facilities I always find, and Philly rose to the challenge admirably.Sunday, April 5, 2009
Sack of Nuts Anyone?
Today we spent a glorious sunny afternoon at a baseball match - the San Francisco Giants versus the LA Dodgers; a pre-season friendly. The actual sport part, yet again, was pretty dull to be honest. The Giants won; balls were thrown, hit and caught and for some reason, it seemed to take two and a half hours to reach this conclusion.
Still, all of the other parts of the baseball game were fantastic, and I'm not even sure that most people were there for the hitting and catching balls bit anyway.
Inevitably, we all rose for a patriotic song at the beginning. The one about stars and spangles was warbled melodramatically as usual, but this time, people clutched their hearts, some with their recently doffed baseball caps, presumably to keep the pride from leaking out. As with the ice hockey, by the time the lyrics 'the land of the freeeeee............... and the home of the brave' came about, the crowds whooped with self congratulatory gratification, wiping away the tears of joy and smugness.
Worse, after the first two hours, we had to rise again for ANOTHER America-is-great song, but this time lyrics were provided so we could all sing along. This was followed by the Giants theme song which had clearly been composed by a musical genius with a gift for lyrics, and not a class of four year olds on a rainy day.
The ball park itself is amazing. It contains a giant Coca Cola bottle, inside of which is a slide. This is so brilliant that I have to say it again. We went to a baseball game, probably the most all-American sport we can partake in as spectators ( I know, I know, it's just primary school rounders, except they have padding for some reason), and here is one of the most corporate symbols of Americanism, the Coca Cola brand and iconic bottle symbol, and inside, and this is the real genius part, people slide down it. I love it. Simple as that. Sheer brilliance.
The people who worked at the ball park that we encountered were courteous, friendly and incredibly helpful. The spectators were a varied bunch and in the main genial and capable of tucking away large amounts of junk food. We were bombarded with people constantly walking up and down the aisles offering all kinds of overpriced goodies, to name but a few, lemonade, frozen lemonade, hot dogs, kettle corn, cotton candy (candy floss), peanuts, sunflower seeds, ice creams and one unfortunate soul had to carry around a vat of hot chocolate on his back. It was hot and the midday sun burned down on us and as the hot chocolate man did his sorry rounds, we slapped on yet more sunscreen. Although as some people were wearing their coats and several layers of clothing, I'm sure he did some trade.
Despite the incessant food offerings, there were also stand after stand of fast food options to be had. Some people never actual made it to their seats as they were too busy stuffing their faces. The people next to us sat down twenty minutes into the game with some nachos each and then an hour later disappeared only to come back and devour two huge hot dogs. Meanwhile, we were drinking vats of liquid in an effort to cool down.
Although, when in Rome.....
It was very casual unlike the ice hockey had been. The game was very much secondary to socialising or eating for lots of people. There were some people sat behind us who used the afternoon as an opportunity to tell other people long and dull stories of various nefarious acts which all seemed to end in the words, 'yeah, we were so drunk.' There were so loud, opinionated and obnoxious and this, combined with the heat and the relative tedium of the game, made me want to maim them. On the other hand, there were the more interesting die-hard fans who had made T-shirts especially to mock the LA Dodgers, were probably even wearing their Giants strip underpants and were prepared in every way for this game. Some had bought radios to listen to the commentary while they watched the game, a very clever idea and which proved most helpful to us too.
All in all, it was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon, and at $13.50 a ticket, good value too.
Still, all of the other parts of the baseball game were fantastic, and I'm not even sure that most people were there for the hitting and catching balls bit anyway.
Inevitably, we all rose for a patriotic song at the beginning. The one about stars and spangles was warbled melodramatically as usual, but this time, people clutched their hearts, some with their recently doffed baseball caps, presumably to keep the pride from leaking out. As with the ice hockey, by the time the lyrics 'the land of the freeeeee............... and the home of the brave' came about, the crowds whooped with self congratulatory gratification, wiping away the tears of joy and smugness.
Worse, after the first two hours, we had to rise again for ANOTHER America-is-great song, but this time lyrics were provided so we could all sing along. This was followed by the Giants theme song which had clearly been composed by a musical genius with a gift for lyrics, and not a class of four year olds on a rainy day.
The ball park itself is amazing. It contains a giant Coca Cola bottle, inside of which is a slide. This is so brilliant that I have to say it again. We went to a baseball game, probably the most all-American sport we can partake in as spectators ( I know, I know, it's just primary school rounders, except they have padding for some reason), and here is one of the most corporate symbols of Americanism, the Coca Cola brand and iconic bottle symbol, and inside, and this is the real genius part, people slide down it. I love it. Simple as that. Sheer brilliance.
The people who worked at the ball park that we encountered were courteous, friendly and incredibly helpful. The spectators were a varied bunch and in the main genial and capable of tucking away large amounts of junk food. We were bombarded with people constantly walking up and down the aisles offering all kinds of overpriced goodies, to name but a few, lemonade, frozen lemonade, hot dogs, kettle corn, cotton candy (candy floss), peanuts, sunflower seeds, ice creams and one unfortunate soul had to carry around a vat of hot chocolate on his back. It was hot and the midday sun burned down on us and as the hot chocolate man did his sorry rounds, we slapped on yet more sunscreen. Although as some people were wearing their coats and several layers of clothing, I'm sure he did some trade.
Despite the incessant food offerings, there were also stand after stand of fast food options to be had. Some people never actual made it to their seats as they were too busy stuffing their faces. The people next to us sat down twenty minutes into the game with some nachos each and then an hour later disappeared only to come back and devour two huge hot dogs. Meanwhile, we were drinking vats of liquid in an effort to cool down.
Although, when in Rome.....
It was very casual unlike the ice hockey had been. The game was very much secondary to socialising or eating for lots of people. There were some people sat behind us who used the afternoon as an opportunity to tell other people long and dull stories of various nefarious acts which all seemed to end in the words, 'yeah, we were so drunk.' There were so loud, opinionated and obnoxious and this, combined with the heat and the relative tedium of the game, made me want to maim them. On the other hand, there were the more interesting die-hard fans who had made T-shirts especially to mock the LA Dodgers, were probably even wearing their Giants strip underpants and were prepared in every way for this game. Some had bought radios to listen to the commentary while they watched the game, a very clever idea and which proved most helpful to us too.
All in all, it was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon, and at $13.50 a ticket, good value too.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Gluttony in Seattle
In Seattle, when we weren't being woken from our slumber by drunken shouting, or dodging the driving rain, we were stuffing our already over-stuffed faces.
Pike Market was our first stop of the trip, a multi-floored rabbit warren of delight selling food, flowers, crafts, food, books, shoes, food, clothes, antiques, food, toys, jewellery and food. It contained busy thoroughfares of delighted shoppers stopping to watch men throw fish around (it's odd what delights some people), rickety ramps to even more levels of shops which ordinarily would have no business hanging around with each other, and a happy hubbub of contented locals and tourists alike. In about ten minutes (the first of the several hours we were to spend there) this market had overtaken Borough Market in London for the top spot of my favourite food buying haunts. With so much to see and try, it would have been rude not to. I had my first Reuben sandwich and I suspect it won't be my last; we had the best sausage we have had since moving to the States ( and no, that isn't much of a claim I admit, perhaps I should say only sausage) and sampled eight of the locally brewed beers. I'm sticking with San Francisco's Anchor Steam, but it pays to shop around.
We also had amazing tapas for dinner one night, and in honour of St Patrick's Day, I ate a local cheese and Guinness rarebit with scrambled eggs for breakfast on Saturday. Yes, for breakfast. Aren't I the gluttonous lush? Actually, I take it all back, I LOVE holidays.
Pike Market was our first stop of the trip, a multi-floored rabbit warren of delight selling food, flowers, crafts, food, books, shoes, food, clothes, antiques, food, toys, jewellery and food. It contained busy thoroughfares of delighted shoppers stopping to watch men throw fish around (it's odd what delights some people), rickety ramps to even more levels of shops which ordinarily would have no business hanging around with each other, and a happy hubbub of contented locals and tourists alike. In about ten minutes (the first of the several hours we were to spend there) this market had overtaken Borough Market in London for the top spot of my favourite food buying haunts. With so much to see and try, it would have been rude not to. I had my first Reuben sandwich and I suspect it won't be my last; we had the best sausage we have had since moving to the States ( and no, that isn't much of a claim I admit, perhaps I should say only sausage) and sampled eight of the locally brewed beers. I'm sticking with San Francisco's Anchor Steam, but it pays to shop around.
We also had amazing tapas for dinner one night, and in honour of St Patrick's Day, I ate a local cheese and Guinness rarebit with scrambled eggs for breakfast on Saturday. Yes, for breakfast. Aren't I the gluttonous lush? Actually, I take it all back, I LOVE holidays.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
All my posts don't have to be tip-top
I have a tendency to 'fate' myself, making sweeping, grandiose comments, like "we've never had a bad eating out experience here" only to make a liar of myself mere moments later.
We met up with some people from our not too distant past tonight for a few drinks and a meal. They were staying near Union Square. I'm not really familiar with places to eat or drink around there, so I turned to Yelp. We have no real idea of where to go out, other than when we are given personal recommendations; and living on a budget, we don't want to 'waste' nights out, so I research places as best I can. I have been using Yelp, a peer-review site of all sorts of things in their area, which is useful to a point. I notice that Yelp has now launched in the UK so it will be interesting to see how useful / successful it becomes there. Reviews are usually hilarious as some people are bothered by the strangest things so it is hard to gauge whether you will be of a similar opinion to those who like it, or those who do not. Since we have been here I have built up a list of possible places to eat and drink, yes, I'm a geek. So far, we have been very lucky.
Tonight, not so. The bar we went to although having received great reviews was just OK, if I am being generous, which if you read on, you will see that I am not. One member of the bar staff was pretentious and rude and managed to make a real meal of an order for orange juice. We were told, 'I'm afraid we only have freshly squeezed blood orange'. Right. How awful for you. A second order of orange came with mistakenly added vodka and a weak apology. It must have been difficult for him. He needed all his concentration to look so happy.
The same churlish waiter tried to take away my drink too early (surely the most heinous of crimes), and took away Mike's mangled straws with a look of utter contempt as though they were messing up the bar. There were no smiles from anyone, despite the fact it claimed to be happy hour; the music was intrusive, the seating options limited, the decor and atmosphere bland and insipid and frankly, I hated it from the minute I stepped in there. It is cold and wet tonight and it was suggested to us when we got there that we might like to sit outside. When we asked whether there were heaters, the answer was no, but it might be a bit warmer if we sat nearer to the building. We bore that in mind and sat inside, funnily enough, where everyone else was sitting.
We left in search of somewhere to eat. I didn't have my special list with me, but having returned home am horrified to see that the place we ended up was on it. It was a higher-end curry house and although the service was very professional, the standard of food wasn't great. I love curry. When we moved to Liverpool from the Midlands, I missed a good curry. Since we have moved here, we have had one good Indian food experience, and that was in a place which cost peanuts. This place cost cashews and we almost laughed when they brought the food out and that was before we tasted it.
Whine, whinge. I don't like writing negative reviews about anything, unless it is crazy bureaucratic systems of course (see rest of blog for examples) and then I love it. There are so many glorious places to eat in this foodie-city that I feel bad that we couldn't share one of them. I don't know whether that means I am becoming proud of where I live, or I am starting to demand more from a country which seems to Expect. I'll leave that up to you to decide because I have a cold and I'm tired now. Night x
We met up with some people from our not too distant past tonight for a few drinks and a meal. They were staying near Union Square. I'm not really familiar with places to eat or drink around there, so I turned to Yelp. We have no real idea of where to go out, other than when we are given personal recommendations; and living on a budget, we don't want to 'waste' nights out, so I research places as best I can. I have been using Yelp, a peer-review site of all sorts of things in their area, which is useful to a point. I notice that Yelp has now launched in the UK so it will be interesting to see how useful / successful it becomes there. Reviews are usually hilarious as some people are bothered by the strangest things so it is hard to gauge whether you will be of a similar opinion to those who like it, or those who do not. Since we have been here I have built up a list of possible places to eat and drink, yes, I'm a geek. So far, we have been very lucky.
Tonight, not so. The bar we went to although having received great reviews was just OK, if I am being generous, which if you read on, you will see that I am not. One member of the bar staff was pretentious and rude and managed to make a real meal of an order for orange juice. We were told, 'I'm afraid we only have freshly squeezed blood orange'. Right. How awful for you. A second order of orange came with mistakenly added vodka and a weak apology. It must have been difficult for him. He needed all his concentration to look so happy.
The same churlish waiter tried to take away my drink too early (surely the most heinous of crimes), and took away Mike's mangled straws with a look of utter contempt as though they were messing up the bar. There were no smiles from anyone, despite the fact it claimed to be happy hour; the music was intrusive, the seating options limited, the decor and atmosphere bland and insipid and frankly, I hated it from the minute I stepped in there. It is cold and wet tonight and it was suggested to us when we got there that we might like to sit outside. When we asked whether there were heaters, the answer was no, but it might be a bit warmer if we sat nearer to the building. We bore that in mind and sat inside, funnily enough, where everyone else was sitting.
We left in search of somewhere to eat. I didn't have my special list with me, but having returned home am horrified to see that the place we ended up was on it. It was a higher-end curry house and although the service was very professional, the standard of food wasn't great. I love curry. When we moved to Liverpool from the Midlands, I missed a good curry. Since we have moved here, we have had one good Indian food experience, and that was in a place which cost peanuts. This place cost cashews and we almost laughed when they brought the food out and that was before we tasted it.
Whine, whinge. I don't like writing negative reviews about anything, unless it is crazy bureaucratic systems of course (see rest of blog for examples) and then I love it. There are so many glorious places to eat in this foodie-city that I feel bad that we couldn't share one of them. I don't know whether that means I am becoming proud of where I live, or I am starting to demand more from a country which seems to Expect. I'll leave that up to you to decide because I have a cold and I'm tired now. Night x
Monday, February 2, 2009
Visit America: look at how much fun you could have
This is Dan, with a corn dog. I firmly believe that all dubious food should be laughed at heartily before consuming. A hot dog wrapped in sweet batter, served with ketchup, and sold on a stick for easy eating should be laughed at most of all, then photographed, especially when a flag, SUV and post box background offer that all important location clue. I'm thinking of selling this image to the US Tourist industry - surely it just captures it all?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Sweets Like Chocolate
I won't be changing my name in Ike in a hurry.
A few weeks ago, I went to Safeway and found bars of Cadbury's chocolate on sale. Imagine my delight. Actually, I'm not sure you can. That isn't to say that I think you have a limited imagination, but this was excessive and involved much finger wiggling, cheesy grins and surprised and excited shrieks. In public.
I got them home and even managed to unpack everything before ripping the sweet nectar open in a half crazed frenzy. My saliva was primed and even though it looked wrong, the packet was purple, so it must be Cadbury's, right? If I had taken the time and stopped to smell it, I would have known it was wrong but belly rumbling, mind full of greed, I bit into the most disgusting brown substance I have ever tasted...ever. Then, I read the packet.
I feel utterly betrayed. It is of course, Hershey's chocolate wrapped in Cadbury's packaging!! How could they do that? Hershey's have bought the licence, but clearly the purple colour package, the logo and the royal approval (or whatever it is) is where it ends. I'm too upset to write any more, you will have to insert your own bile here.
Marshmallows, Yams and Yellow Toe
I'm all for another excuse for eating, drinking and playing games and an authorised day off (although strictly speaking, every day is a day off for me at the moment, so I'll call it an extra day I get to spend with Mike). We have both felt a bit lukewarm towards Thanksgiving up to now viewing it as nothing more than a nice break but nothing special, not like Christmas or anything.
Then, something changed. I can't pinpoint what it was exactly, but Google (my muse it seems) had a lot to do with it. Dan changed his plans and asked whether he could come here instead of spending the day with his landlady's friends, and together with the change in supermarket food, constant emails asking whether I would be ready for Thanksgiving i.e had I got my autumnal coloured tablecloth? (only it didn't mention Autumn of course and there wasn't the all important extra 'u' included) a sense of occasion fell upon me. I did some research to find out what exactly what this was all about and what I was meant to cook. Thanksgiving is all about spending time with your family and giving thanks for all that has happened in the year before, mimicking the first meal of the Pilgrim Fathers. Or something like that anyway, Wikipedia explains it better. I'm not so good at facts.
Before, I was just going to roast a chicken and crack open a bottle of wine as a cosy meal for two. Now there are three of us and we could do that any old day in Britain. So, when in Rome and all that, I have decided, with some persuasion from Mima to go all out and cook up my version of Thanksgiving. I found with my chicken and veg plans I was missing the fundamental thanksgiving ingredient, sugar.
This is the menu I finally came up with. I'm not sure whether it will win many prizes for authenticity and you will have to wait for the next thrilling installment to see how it all tasted. If I haven't blogged in a week's time, please assume that we are in hospital.
Chicken ( I make no apology, I don't really like turkey and it seems that they only sell them in our local supermarket in trolley sized portions)
Homemade cranberry sauce ( one of the things I love about the US is the fact that you can only buy fruit and veg in the correct season and the range that you get over here is of a higher quality and much broader. I cook according to what is cheap and therefore in season. I'm not sure that I have ever seen fresh cranberries on sale in the UK, and certainly not for about £1)
Cornbread stuffing with cranberries and walnuts ( I had a whole bag of cranberries to use. At least we shouldn't get any urinary tract infections)
Cabbage and Walnuts (sort of that recipe. Yeah OK, walnuts were cheap too!)
Roast tatties (I can't remember the last time I had one, I'm salivating just thinking about it)
Yams with Marshmallows (I'm dubious frankly, but Nigella said it would be OK and I trust her..)
Pumpkin Pie (if we can fit it all in)
Lots of wine and ridiculous made up games plus karaoke (probably)
One day I will write a straight list without somehow having to justify the individual items.
I realise that I am only cooking for only 3 people but it means I will only have to cook once this weekend and we can live on leftovers. Unless of course it all proves to be so disgusting that we compost the lot...
By the way, the little toe on my right foot has turned yellow and I am not sure how. I don't think it is part of any Thanksgiving tradition, and only time will tell if it will become one. It could be fun!
Then, something changed. I can't pinpoint what it was exactly, but Google (my muse it seems) had a lot to do with it. Dan changed his plans and asked whether he could come here instead of spending the day with his landlady's friends, and together with the change in supermarket food, constant emails asking whether I would be ready for Thanksgiving i.e had I got my autumnal coloured tablecloth? (only it didn't mention Autumn of course and there wasn't the all important extra 'u' included) a sense of occasion fell upon me. I did some research to find out what exactly what this was all about and what I was meant to cook. Thanksgiving is all about spending time with your family and giving thanks for all that has happened in the year before, mimicking the first meal of the Pilgrim Fathers. Or something like that anyway, Wikipedia explains it better. I'm not so good at facts.
Before, I was just going to roast a chicken and crack open a bottle of wine as a cosy meal for two. Now there are three of us and we could do that any old day in Britain. So, when in Rome and all that, I have decided, with some persuasion from Mima to go all out and cook up my version of Thanksgiving. I found with my chicken and veg plans I was missing the fundamental thanksgiving ingredient, sugar.
This is the menu I finally came up with. I'm not sure whether it will win many prizes for authenticity and you will have to wait for the next thrilling installment to see how it all tasted. If I haven't blogged in a week's time, please assume that we are in hospital.
Chicken ( I make no apology, I don't really like turkey and it seems that they only sell them in our local supermarket in trolley sized portions)
Homemade cranberry sauce ( one of the things I love about the US is the fact that you can only buy fruit and veg in the correct season and the range that you get over here is of a higher quality and much broader. I cook according to what is cheap and therefore in season. I'm not sure that I have ever seen fresh cranberries on sale in the UK, and certainly not for about £1)
Cornbread stuffing with cranberries and walnuts ( I had a whole bag of cranberries to use. At least we shouldn't get any urinary tract infections)
Cabbage and Walnuts (sort of that recipe. Yeah OK, walnuts were cheap too!)
Roast tatties (I can't remember the last time I had one, I'm salivating just thinking about it)
Yams with Marshmallows (I'm dubious frankly, but Nigella said it would be OK and I trust her..)
Pumpkin Pie (if we can fit it all in)
Lots of wine and ridiculous made up games plus karaoke (probably)
One day I will write a straight list without somehow having to justify the individual items.
I realise that I am only cooking for only 3 people but it means I will only have to cook once this weekend and we can live on leftovers. Unless of course it all proves to be so disgusting that we compost the lot...
By the way, the little toe on my right foot has turned yellow and I am not sure how. I don't think it is part of any Thanksgiving tradition, and only time will tell if it will become one. It could be fun!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Holly's Holiday Highlights
I thought I would do some brief reviews of the places I took Holly on her recent holiday, which I haven't already mentioned previously. These are my opinions though - it was just 'clever' alliteration to use that extra H.
Note my ambitious use of the word brief. Please place your bets now whether I can do it, without scrolling down the page to see that so blatantly haven't.
Alcatraz - just amazing and well worth the money. I am surprised but happy to report that it was thoroughly interesting, well organised, minimally commercialised and with beautiful scenery; practically flawless. We took an evening tour which meant that you got extra guided tours which delved further into stories of the more notorious criminals, and saw the city lit up from over the water, and if you time it right, which we didn't (but did on another day) you can see the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge. I wanted to stay later but my feet had the final say.
Mama's on Washington Square - a American breakfast diner which we got up at 6am on a Sunday morning to go to. It didn't disappoint and thanks to the very early start, we were lucky enough to get the last seat in the first wave so didn't queue for too long. The food was amazing and the portions typically huge. I had a French toast sampler place with all sorts of fruit, Mike had Eggs Florentine, Holly had eggs and bacon, US style - and as it was a special treat, we got a side plate of pancakes to share. We struggled to move after it all. The prices were reasonable, the service was spot on, very friendly but not intrusive and despite the growing queue outside, they didn't hurry you along and refilled teas and coffees the minute your cup was running low.
I am not good in the morning and grumbled to Mike (who is frankly even worse in the morning) that this would have to be a spiritual experience, to get up at 6am just for food. There was no other worldly visitations, no epiphany or enlightenment, no bleeding statues and no messages in the tea leaves (it was a tea bag anyway), but I would get up and I will go again. I just have to do some digesting first.
SFMOMA (San Francisco Museum of Modern Art) - perhaps it is because previously I have been spoilt for choice for excellent free art galleries, but I really couldn't believe that they seriously expect people to pay for this. It opens at a very lazy 11am, so we had to queue for a few minutes before the ticket booth opened. After some nasty queue action and general pre-ticket ill feeling (caused entirely by an overzealous jobsworth employee who everyone wanted to stab in the eye, or maybe that was just me) we got into the gallery. If I wasn't being brief I would tell you all about the pretension of the place, the intellectual inaccessibility (no information signs anywhere or descriptions of artefacts), and the two tier system emerging from the fact that the entrance fee entitled you building entrance and then you were expected to pay extra to gain any insight into the works on show. As I am being brief though, I will simply state that the place sucked. I would not recommend it to anyone, unless you were desperate for an art fix. They had some amazing and very famous pieces, which they had just plonked down and labelled if they felt like it.
The best part of the experience was meeting an extremely charming woman who asked Holly to take her picture, telling her exactly where to stand for the best light and precisely what she wished to be included in the photo, and then inviting me into the shot as 'she was all on her own' only to have me (at least triple her size) blot out anything she could have wanted in it. Still, I put on my best smile and I hope I make the final cut into her post holiday slide show.
Anchor Steam Brewery Tour - a free tour of the local beer factory which is so popular they advise booking a month in advance, however it doesn't seem to be in any guide book or recommended on any visitor website. This is an almost locals only treat. I booked about 3 weeks in advance and could only get a place on the 11am tour. It seemed a little early for beer, even free beer, but I had recently found out that my work permit has been granted so it seemed an apt celebration of the end of 'era'. It is only open on week days so the opportunity may not present itself again for a while.
Unlike the chocolate tour which seemed to pitch its level to a 7 year old with below average intelligence, it was non patronising, informative and interesting. We had an insufferable know-it-all on the tour who made everyone (me) want to stab him in the eye (only twice in the one week is good) but the guide handled him well and his female friend swooned around him so much that he was distracted by his own manliness and soon stopped asking irrelevant questions. The people there (only 25 at a time) all seemed to be either local or from other US states and visiting friends in the city, and when I asked a question, all the heads in the room turned to look and point at the outsider with a funny voice. Or maybe they found my voice so attractive that they wanted to see if the face matched. Maybe not.
We got to sample 5 of their beers a half pint at a time, a summer beer (OK), the trademark steam beer (quite nice), something else (hic), a porter (amazing and so so much nicer and smoother than Guinness which is the closest thing to it that I have tasted) and a sweet after dinner beer like a dessert wine, which I was surprised to find that I really liked. The tour guide turned bar man and best friend now to many, asked if anyone wanted some more of the one you liked the best. I plugged for the porter, so for people who had drank a full measure of all of the beers on offer, they had drunk 3 pints for free and it wasn't even 1pm. I had one pint of porter, one half of summer beer, and quarter pints of everything else - 2 and a quarter pints of beer. Just amazing. There was seemingly nothing in it for them - they had no beer to sell but it must be worth it for them. I plan to buy myself some Porter and some sweet Old Foghorn before the month is out and I would urge anyone to take the tour. In short, the power of word of mouth advertising executed extraordinarily well.
Lombard Street - renowned for being the crookedest street in the city. For a start, this is a lie. The real crookedest street is in Potrero Hill, which is a suburb south of the city. I had been before and was distinctly unimpressed, and this time Holly was too. It is a street which they have put curves in the road to make it less steep, and then planted flowers. People like to drive down it. People like to take pictures of it. I pity the people who live on it, but not too much as their houses are gorgeous.
Sausalito - described by the tourist website as "a charming waterfront community that lies across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. Because of its Mediterranean flair and breathtaking views, it is often compared to the French Riviera" perhaps by people who have never been to France, but have seen Bergerac and got confused. The ferry across was absolutely lovely and provided wonderful views of the bridges and city, and on the way back we even got to see the sunset over the bridge, and a real close up of Alcatraz. It was a much cheaper alternative to the many tourist cruises on offer and you got to stop off for an ice cream.
A nice place for something different and I can see why it appeals to people, but I found it was very twee, full of art galleries but not much else, and after an hour you have exhausted everything there, and most of that time is spent picking your ice cream flavour. We were determined to give it the benefit of the doubt though and set off to see everything that the map (from the most beautiful, oldest, wrinkliest, cutest, smiliest woman in a tourist booth I had ever seen in my life^) said that it had to offer. We trekked across the town away from the main drag to the place the map called 'Beach'. When we got there, we understood why no one had taken the trouble to name it. In fact, the use of the word beach was laughable. I used to have a bigger sand pit when I was a child. We sat on the bench provided for the masses of visitors they must get and watched an old woman play with a dog, until we had had our fill, and headed back for the excitement of the main town where a man had put a wig on his dog and sang terrible songs for money.
^ apart from that time I did a coach tour of cute and happy old woman in tourist booths.
Note my ambitious use of the word brief. Please place your bets now whether I can do it, without scrolling down the page to see that so blatantly haven't.
Alcatraz - just amazing and well worth the money. I am surprised but happy to report that it was thoroughly interesting, well organised, minimally commercialised and with beautiful scenery; practically flawless. We took an evening tour which meant that you got extra guided tours which delved further into stories of the more notorious criminals, and saw the city lit up from over the water, and if you time it right, which we didn't (but did on another day) you can see the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge. I wanted to stay later but my feet had the final say.
Mama's on Washington Square - a American breakfast diner which we got up at 6am on a Sunday morning to go to. It didn't disappoint and thanks to the very early start, we were lucky enough to get the last seat in the first wave so didn't queue for too long. The food was amazing and the portions typically huge. I had a French toast sampler place with all sorts of fruit, Mike had Eggs Florentine, Holly had eggs and bacon, US style - and as it was a special treat, we got a side plate of pancakes to share. We struggled to move after it all. The prices were reasonable, the service was spot on, very friendly but not intrusive and despite the growing queue outside, they didn't hurry you along and refilled teas and coffees the minute your cup was running low.
I am not good in the morning and grumbled to Mike (who is frankly even worse in the morning) that this would have to be a spiritual experience, to get up at 6am just for food. There was no other worldly visitations, no epiphany or enlightenment, no bleeding statues and no messages in the tea leaves (it was a tea bag anyway), but I would get up and I will go again. I just have to do some digesting first.
SFMOMA (San Francisco Museum of Modern Art) - perhaps it is because previously I have been spoilt for choice for excellent free art galleries, but I really couldn't believe that they seriously expect people to pay for this. It opens at a very lazy 11am, so we had to queue for a few minutes before the ticket booth opened. After some nasty queue action and general pre-ticket ill feeling (caused entirely by an overzealous jobsworth employee who everyone wanted to stab in the eye, or maybe that was just me) we got into the gallery. If I wasn't being brief I would tell you all about the pretension of the place, the intellectual inaccessibility (no information signs anywhere or descriptions of artefacts), and the two tier system emerging from the fact that the entrance fee entitled you building entrance and then you were expected to pay extra to gain any insight into the works on show. As I am being brief though, I will simply state that the place sucked. I would not recommend it to anyone, unless you were desperate for an art fix. They had some amazing and very famous pieces, which they had just plonked down and labelled if they felt like it.
The best part of the experience was meeting an extremely charming woman who asked Holly to take her picture, telling her exactly where to stand for the best light and precisely what she wished to be included in the photo, and then inviting me into the shot as 'she was all on her own' only to have me (at least triple her size) blot out anything she could have wanted in it. Still, I put on my best smile and I hope I make the final cut into her post holiday slide show.
Anchor Steam Brewery Tour - a free tour of the local beer factory which is so popular they advise booking a month in advance, however it doesn't seem to be in any guide book or recommended on any visitor website. This is an almost locals only treat. I booked about 3 weeks in advance and could only get a place on the 11am tour. It seemed a little early for beer, even free beer, but I had recently found out that my work permit has been granted so it seemed an apt celebration of the end of 'era'. It is only open on week days so the opportunity may not present itself again for a while.
Unlike the chocolate tour which seemed to pitch its level to a 7 year old with below average intelligence, it was non patronising, informative and interesting. We had an insufferable know-it-all on the tour who made everyone (me) want to stab him in the eye (only twice in the one week is good) but the guide handled him well and his female friend swooned around him so much that he was distracted by his own manliness and soon stopped asking irrelevant questions. The people there (only 25 at a time) all seemed to be either local or from other US states and visiting friends in the city, and when I asked a question, all the heads in the room turned to look and point at the outsider with a funny voice. Or maybe they found my voice so attractive that they wanted to see if the face matched. Maybe not.
We got to sample 5 of their beers a half pint at a time, a summer beer (OK), the trademark steam beer (quite nice), something else (hic), a porter (amazing and so so much nicer and smoother than Guinness which is the closest thing to it that I have tasted) and a sweet after dinner beer like a dessert wine, which I was surprised to find that I really liked. The tour guide turned bar man and best friend now to many, asked if anyone wanted some more of the one you liked the best. I plugged for the porter, so for people who had drank a full measure of all of the beers on offer, they had drunk 3 pints for free and it wasn't even 1pm. I had one pint of porter, one half of summer beer, and quarter pints of everything else - 2 and a quarter pints of beer. Just amazing. There was seemingly nothing in it for them - they had no beer to sell but it must be worth it for them. I plan to buy myself some Porter and some sweet Old Foghorn before the month is out and I would urge anyone to take the tour. In short, the power of word of mouth advertising executed extraordinarily well.
Lombard Street - renowned for being the crookedest street in the city. For a start, this is a lie. The real crookedest street is in Potrero Hill, which is a suburb south of the city. I had been before and was distinctly unimpressed, and this time Holly was too. It is a street which they have put curves in the road to make it less steep, and then planted flowers. People like to drive down it. People like to take pictures of it. I pity the people who live on it, but not too much as their houses are gorgeous.
Sausalito - described by the tourist website as "a charming waterfront community that lies across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. Because of its Mediterranean flair and breathtaking views, it is often compared to the French Riviera" perhaps by people who have never been to France, but have seen Bergerac and got confused. The ferry across was absolutely lovely and provided wonderful views of the bridges and city, and on the way back we even got to see the sunset over the bridge, and a real close up of Alcatraz. It was a much cheaper alternative to the many tourist cruises on offer and you got to stop off for an ice cream.
A nice place for something different and I can see why it appeals to people, but I found it was very twee, full of art galleries but not much else, and after an hour you have exhausted everything there, and most of that time is spent picking your ice cream flavour. We were determined to give it the benefit of the doubt though and set off to see everything that the map (from the most beautiful, oldest, wrinkliest, cutest, smiliest woman in a tourist booth I had ever seen in my life^) said that it had to offer. We trekked across the town away from the main drag to the place the map called 'Beach'. When we got there, we understood why no one had taken the trouble to name it. In fact, the use of the word beach was laughable. I used to have a bigger sand pit when I was a child. We sat on the bench provided for the masses of visitors they must get and watched an old woman play with a dog, until we had had our fill, and headed back for the excitement of the main town where a man had put a wig on his dog and sang terrible songs for money.
^ apart from that time I did a coach tour of cute and happy old woman in tourist booths.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Opposites Attract
I already know what my resolution for 2009 will be - practice in the art of succinctness.
Sunday's geeky event was a book reading by author Neil Gaiman. The tickets included a copy of his new book and if they hadn't been so expensive, I would have gone too. As it was, I waited in the queue with Mike, (an event in itself as we attracted a girl bemused by the whole idea, and an old man who proudly declared that he hadn't read a book for a decade), until the last possible minute, then left him, arranging to meet at the bottom of the cherry blossom steps from 4.30pm onwards. As it turned out, it was more like 5pm. It seems life before mobile phones was more romantic and involved much more waiting around, but we get to re-live those days now. Lucky us.
While Mike was away being read to by a talented man, and presumably given some milk and a biscuit and having to cross his legs and sit up straight, I did some further exploring of Japan town. I was impressed with this peaceful part of the city the first time, but this time there was a Fall Festival on and the area was transformed into a buzzing bazaar which still managed to maintain its serenity. This seemed to be the equivalent of a summer fete in a village or school. There were scouts selling popcorn (yes, I thought it was odd too) and stalls where you got to throw things to win prizes, raffle tickets, and someone on a microphone boring people to tears. There were also people walking around in kimonos and their favourite Pokemon character. The highlight of the bits and pieces I saw while walking through the shops, was the community dance, where everyone from the tiniest old lady in traditional dress and fan to spotty teenager in jeans joined in with the most eloquent dance. There was also a tramp dancing, sandwiched in between two women in beautiful colourful outfits, and his movements, although not as precise and elegant as others perhaps, managed to produce a lump in my throat. Morris Dancing paled into insignificance.
I also went into the local Japanese supermarket and played 'guess the product' with myself, ummed and arred about whether to get some eels, or the umeboshi plums which I have never seen sold anywhere else but have been keen to try, but decided as we had already sampled some sushi and very cheesy deeply-savoury cheesecake, and tea tree and white chocolate flavoured manju (which we had to take home and freeze to make the texture edible to our western palates), I decided against it. There is always next time.
Sunday's geeky event was a book reading by author Neil Gaiman. The tickets included a copy of his new book and if they hadn't been so expensive, I would have gone too. As it was, I waited in the queue with Mike, (an event in itself as we attracted a girl bemused by the whole idea, and an old man who proudly declared that he hadn't read a book for a decade), until the last possible minute, then left him, arranging to meet at the bottom of the cherry blossom steps from 4.30pm onwards. As it turned out, it was more like 5pm. It seems life before mobile phones was more romantic and involved much more waiting around, but we get to re-live those days now. Lucky us.
While Mike was away being read to by a talented man, and presumably given some milk and a biscuit and having to cross his legs and sit up straight, I did some further exploring of Japan town. I was impressed with this peaceful part of the city the first time, but this time there was a Fall Festival on and the area was transformed into a buzzing bazaar which still managed to maintain its serenity. This seemed to be the equivalent of a summer fete in a village or school. There were scouts selling popcorn (yes, I thought it was odd too) and stalls where you got to throw things to win prizes, raffle tickets, and someone on a microphone boring people to tears. There were also people walking around in kimonos and their favourite Pokemon character. The highlight of the bits and pieces I saw while walking through the shops, was the community dance, where everyone from the tiniest old lady in traditional dress and fan to spotty teenager in jeans joined in with the most eloquent dance. There was also a tramp dancing, sandwiched in between two women in beautiful colourful outfits, and his movements, although not as precise and elegant as others perhaps, managed to produce a lump in my throat. Morris Dancing paled into insignificance.
I also went into the local Japanese supermarket and played 'guess the product' with myself, ummed and arred about whether to get some eels, or the umeboshi plums which I have never seen sold anywhere else but have been keen to try, but decided as we had already sampled some sushi and very cheesy deeply-savoury cheesecake, and tea tree and white chocolate flavoured manju (which we had to take home and freeze to make the texture edible to our western palates), I decided against it. There is always next time.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The Devilish Aubergine and the Cake of Doom
I admit I have been a bit mean about some of the policies of the place I now reside and the people who enforce them. It's time to redress the balance today on this first day of October (by the way there is now exactly two months for you to start planning my 30th birthday gift) as today is the day of the Block Party, and wait for it, I'm impressed.
The Block Party is a celebration of the first anniversary of the opening of the retail space here. I'm sure I have mentioned before how limited that is, but obviously a cause for celebration for some. I am pleased as a Bank of America ATM has opened here. I bank with Bank of America and all the banks here charge you if you dare to take money out of another bank's cash machine. In fact, your bank charges you, and the other bank does too, usually $2 each. That's $4 just for taking out some cash. As you can imagine, I refuse to pay that. I would rather walk that extra mile to get to my nearest ATM, so imagine my joy, now I can get cash out whenever I want (so easy to please you see, so there is no need to overly worry about my birthday gift...)
However, I haven't quite worked out how to get into the building which houses the ATM, and the person who I squeezed in after even though she tried desperately to break my arm in the door, wasn't very pleased to have to share her precious ATM moment with a 'devilish aubergine' (Copyrighted to MC 01/10/08.)* Nothing was going to deter me though and it wouldn't be the first time that I had to use my sharp elbows as weapons.
So, the Block Party. The usual quiet waste land just outside the 3 shops (Subway, Peasant Pies, and a cafe-cum-wine bar) had been transformed with music, balloons, stalls, and people! Yippee. There were queues coming out of the door of the food shops, owing to the special offers, of which, of course, I partook. $2 for a peasant pie? Even with the exchange rate as it is, that is still only £1.13. I bought 4, not to eat, but to keep for later on in the week. People were buying them to eat then and there, the fools. I wanted to buy more but the shame cut me down. I am thinking though if I change tops, I can go back and buy however many are left.... we'll see.
I can get a pie any day though, the stalls were the real draw. Honey, Fruit, Veg, Bread, Cakes, all winking at me in the 29 degree heat. Today was pay day but it is meant to last the entire month so I settled on a Zucchini Almond Raisin loaf, spending what I had saved on the pies and then some. It weighs more than a brick so I would say it is worth the money. We have a visitor a week today so I thought it might be nice to have some tea and cake when she arrives. I asked the seller, who looked like a more fervent member of the WI whether it was freezable. She stated, loudly, 'honey, yes it is, if you can freeze it that is.' I raised an eyebrow arranging my face in the international quizzical look, wondering whether that was a reference to my extra few stones, mentally sharpening my tongue, then realising this is her sales pitch. I know that I am going to buy the cake, or bread as it is called, but she doesn't yet have the dollars in her grubby little paws (I actually hope they weren't grubby, and hands and workspace were adequately sanitised). The pitch continues, 'because it tastes so good, I doubt it will get to the freezer.'
She carried on with some tale of how she wanted to freeze a cake once but ended up eating it all. She means this to be the best advert, but of course it isn't. I hope there isn't crack in this cake, as I fully intend it to get to the freezer, and after what happened last time, well.. I paid the money, and she instantly moved to someone else. I had felt so special too. Then I struggled to carry my brick back to the flat. I actually had to stop halfway in the twenty steps to the door to adjust my grip.
I think I have actually put myself off this cake now having made it sound so unappetising; made with the unwashed hands of a charlatan, extra dense to break all your teeth, and full of crack. One slice or two Holly?
* I cannot take the credit for this wonderful turn of phrase - it is Mike's. I am dressed from head to toe in purple like a priest at Easter, clashing violently with my pink flip flops. Nice.
The Block Party is a celebration of the first anniversary of the opening of the retail space here. I'm sure I have mentioned before how limited that is, but obviously a cause for celebration for some. I am pleased as a Bank of America ATM has opened here. I bank with Bank of America and all the banks here charge you if you dare to take money out of another bank's cash machine. In fact, your bank charges you, and the other bank does too, usually $2 each. That's $4 just for taking out some cash. As you can imagine, I refuse to pay that. I would rather walk that extra mile to get to my nearest ATM, so imagine my joy, now I can get cash out whenever I want (so easy to please you see, so there is no need to overly worry about my birthday gift...)
However, I haven't quite worked out how to get into the building which houses the ATM, and the person who I squeezed in after even though she tried desperately to break my arm in the door, wasn't very pleased to have to share her precious ATM moment with a 'devilish aubergine' (Copyrighted to MC 01/10/08.)* Nothing was going to deter me though and it wouldn't be the first time that I had to use my sharp elbows as weapons.
So, the Block Party. The usual quiet waste land just outside the 3 shops (Subway, Peasant Pies, and a cafe-cum-wine bar) had been transformed with music, balloons, stalls, and people! Yippee. There were queues coming out of the door of the food shops, owing to the special offers, of which, of course, I partook. $2 for a peasant pie? Even with the exchange rate as it is, that is still only £1.13. I bought 4, not to eat, but to keep for later on in the week. People were buying them to eat then and there, the fools. I wanted to buy more but the shame cut me down. I am thinking though if I change tops, I can go back and buy however many are left.... we'll see.
I can get a pie any day though, the stalls were the real draw. Honey, Fruit, Veg, Bread, Cakes, all winking at me in the 29 degree heat. Today was pay day but it is meant to last the entire month so I settled on a Zucchini Almond Raisin loaf, spending what I had saved on the pies and then some. It weighs more than a brick so I would say it is worth the money. We have a visitor a week today so I thought it might be nice to have some tea and cake when she arrives. I asked the seller, who looked like a more fervent member of the WI whether it was freezable. She stated, loudly, 'honey, yes it is, if you can freeze it that is.' I raised an eyebrow arranging my face in the international quizzical look, wondering whether that was a reference to my extra few stones, mentally sharpening my tongue, then realising this is her sales pitch. I know that I am going to buy the cake, or bread as it is called, but she doesn't yet have the dollars in her grubby little paws (I actually hope they weren't grubby, and hands and workspace were adequately sanitised). The pitch continues, 'because it tastes so good, I doubt it will get to the freezer.'
She carried on with some tale of how she wanted to freeze a cake once but ended up eating it all. She means this to be the best advert, but of course it isn't. I hope there isn't crack in this cake, as I fully intend it to get to the freezer, and after what happened last time, well.. I paid the money, and she instantly moved to someone else. I had felt so special too. Then I struggled to carry my brick back to the flat. I actually had to stop halfway in the twenty steps to the door to adjust my grip.
I think I have actually put myself off this cake now having made it sound so unappetising; made with the unwashed hands of a charlatan, extra dense to break all your teeth, and full of crack. One slice or two Holly?
* I cannot take the credit for this wonderful turn of phrase - it is Mike's. I am dressed from head to toe in purple like a priest at Easter, clashing violently with my pink flip flops. Nice.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Augusta Gloop and her Oompa Loompa
On Saturday, we intended to go to the opening of the newly renovated California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park.
We knew it would be busy and we would have to get there early to queue, so instead of having a nice cup of cocoa and an early night on Friday, we stayed up late with a bottle of wine, singing terrible songs, karaoke style via Boogie on the Wii. You see, we challenged ourselves to sing all the songs, in turn. OK, it happened, let's speak of it no further. But, so you know, I am not ashamed.
Needless to say, we woke up late and after a seemingly endless faff of a morning, some of which involving having to get the right change for the Muni, and waiting for said Muni for an inordinate amount of time, then having to get the bus part of the way, by the time we got there (a shocking 3pm; we had to stop for lunch too, and make a slight detour via a bookshop in Haight and then get a bit lost) they weren't letting anyone else in. I found out today that they actually stopped letting people in at 1pm for a 9pm closing time. It gives you some idea of how many people showed up.
So, a day wasted* chasing a freebie later, we still had the free chocolate factory tour to look forward to. This time I wasn't disappointed. Again, we had decided to make a slight detour (1.5 mile walk) to a particular shop to look for an ice cream scoop. It always sounds so very very stupid in retrospect these wonderful ideas we have, but I assure you, it was well worth it, and it was just unfortunate that the shop had nothing even remotely ice cream scoopy inside.
We didn't have the change for the bus so we had to then walk another mile or so to the factory. Without a map of Berkeley, I had drawn something resembling directions on a piece of scrap paper. Miraculously they worked moreorless and we reached a point where we could begin to just follow our noses to get there. The sickly sweet chocolate aromas were not as bad as they are in Bournville (just outside Birmingham, UK) but they are very off putting to someone who has come all the way just to taste some chocolate. We were a tad early so got to start sampling in the cafe, in the form of a hot chocolate and a cold chocolate (mine was nicer, which I made a note of in our special food competition book**.)
The tour began by stepping outside to admire the brickwork of the factory. I will admit at this stage I was worried. The guide was an all-American guy who obviously played golf with the same friends every weekend and was well fed by his adoring wife. His terrible jokes began to grate before he even spoke and the other people on the tour terrified and mystified me. They guffawed at every joke, clapped people in union, but in seemingly random patterns, asked truly mind-blowingly stupid questions, and cooed over the chocolate samples. The chocolate was great, if you like a bitter sour after taste, an oily residue on your tongue and having to resist the urge to gag after eating it. It was though the best chocolate we have tasted so far.
I was impressed with the tour over all. It may have been because you got to sit down for 45 minutes and eat chocolate for free (however grim) and my feet were tired from walking. It was a better experience than Bournville (sorry Cadbury's) and I got to see American tourists in America which was a fascinating experience. The propaganda, sorry PR, of these places always intrigues me too and I say they have a good thing going on.
We decided not to walk back the way we came because it was a long journey and that if we walked in a random direction of my choosing, we would eventually reach a station to take us back to San Francisco. Mike was grumbling that if we could hideously lost that it would be all my fault, we didn't have a map, we would have to spend money on a cab, yadda yadda yadda... Since I have heard it all before, and trust wholeheartedly in my luck, I was undeterred. I asked a man on a bike where the nearest station was when we reached a main cross-roads, he sucked his teeth like a plumber and pointed but said it was a long walk. One cyclists long walk, is another's reasonable distance, so we walked. It was only a mile and my gamble had paid off - phew! We had passed through North Berkeley to the tip of South Berkeley without ever seeing the town centre. I liked the place. It can be a bit rough around the edges, but looks like 'proper' America - the America from the a childhood of TV; the Wonder Years, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Simpsons, Little House on the Prairie, well, not quite the last one.
We got back into the city, and realised that we had no money for the Muni home. A quick trip to the cash machine revealed that we actually had no money full stop (overdrafts in US are not a option at least on our account) so we had to walk home. It was 2.5 miles, making our total for the day 6.5 miles, at least according to Google maps. According to my feet, it was more like 8. All for a freebie. Still, it was a lovely weekend.
* this isn't strictly true, we visited a lovely bookshop and had a nice walk in the sunny park. On the way back, which also contained fraught, hot, packed and slow public transport, we made a detour to get to a different line and passed 4 children selling home made pink lemonade for a dollar. It was neon pink and looked terrifying but they were so disappointed when we declined, I almost wanted to double back and buy some until I was reminded by the handy microbiologist with me that it may well be my last neon drink. Still, one for my book of firsts which grows by the day.
** this does not actually exist; however you would be forgiven for thinking it did if you had ever had the pleasure of sharing a meal with myself and my husband. Mike holds his cards to his chest until the very last minute before revealing what he intends to eat, and then sometimes, makes a quick change when actually ordering, just to confound me. It is a rule that we cannot order the same thing, unless there are special circumstances, and after a tasting of our own meal, then a tasting of each others, one of us proclaims, toddler-like, "I win". Often, we both proclaim it, and say the other is wrong. I ,of course, can be gracious, when Mike's meal is better and agree with him, that he has indeed 'won' but alas, this maturity isn't often shared ;)
We knew it would be busy and we would have to get there early to queue, so instead of having a nice cup of cocoa and an early night on Friday, we stayed up late with a bottle of wine, singing terrible songs, karaoke style via Boogie on the Wii. You see, we challenged ourselves to sing all the songs, in turn. OK, it happened, let's speak of it no further. But, so you know, I am not ashamed.
Needless to say, we woke up late and after a seemingly endless faff of a morning, some of which involving having to get the right change for the Muni, and waiting for said Muni for an inordinate amount of time, then having to get the bus part of the way, by the time we got there (a shocking 3pm; we had to stop for lunch too, and make a slight detour via a bookshop in Haight and then get a bit lost) they weren't letting anyone else in. I found out today that they actually stopped letting people in at 1pm for a 9pm closing time. It gives you some idea of how many people showed up.
So, a day wasted* chasing a freebie later, we still had the free chocolate factory tour to look forward to. This time I wasn't disappointed. Again, we had decided to make a slight detour (1.5 mile walk) to a particular shop to look for an ice cream scoop. It always sounds so very very stupid in retrospect these wonderful ideas we have, but I assure you, it was well worth it, and it was just unfortunate that the shop had nothing even remotely ice cream scoopy inside.
We didn't have the change for the bus so we had to then walk another mile or so to the factory. Without a map of Berkeley, I had drawn something resembling directions on a piece of scrap paper. Miraculously they worked moreorless and we reached a point where we could begin to just follow our noses to get there. The sickly sweet chocolate aromas were not as bad as they are in Bournville (just outside Birmingham, UK) but they are very off putting to someone who has come all the way just to taste some chocolate. We were a tad early so got to start sampling in the cafe, in the form of a hot chocolate and a cold chocolate (mine was nicer, which I made a note of in our special food competition book**.)
The tour began by stepping outside to admire the brickwork of the factory. I will admit at this stage I was worried. The guide was an all-American guy who obviously played golf with the same friends every weekend and was well fed by his adoring wife. His terrible jokes began to grate before he even spoke and the other people on the tour terrified and mystified me. They guffawed at every joke, clapped people in union, but in seemingly random patterns, asked truly mind-blowingly stupid questions, and cooed over the chocolate samples. The chocolate was great, if you like a bitter sour after taste, an oily residue on your tongue and having to resist the urge to gag after eating it. It was though the best chocolate we have tasted so far.
I was impressed with the tour over all. It may have been because you got to sit down for 45 minutes and eat chocolate for free (however grim) and my feet were tired from walking. It was a better experience than Bournville (sorry Cadbury's) and I got to see American tourists in America which was a fascinating experience. The propaganda, sorry PR, of these places always intrigues me too and I say they have a good thing going on.
We decided not to walk back the way we came because it was a long journey and that if we walked in a random direction of my choosing, we would eventually reach a station to take us back to San Francisco. Mike was grumbling that if we could hideously lost that it would be all my fault, we didn't have a map, we would have to spend money on a cab, yadda yadda yadda... Since I have heard it all before, and trust wholeheartedly in my luck, I was undeterred. I asked a man on a bike where the nearest station was when we reached a main cross-roads, he sucked his teeth like a plumber and pointed but said it was a long walk. One cyclists long walk, is another's reasonable distance, so we walked. It was only a mile and my gamble had paid off - phew! We had passed through North Berkeley to the tip of South Berkeley without ever seeing the town centre. I liked the place. It can be a bit rough around the edges, but looks like 'proper' America - the America from the a childhood of TV; the Wonder Years, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Simpsons, Little House on the Prairie, well, not quite the last one.
We got back into the city, and realised that we had no money for the Muni home. A quick trip to the cash machine revealed that we actually had no money full stop (overdrafts in US are not a option at least on our account) so we had to walk home. It was 2.5 miles, making our total for the day 6.5 miles, at least according to Google maps. According to my feet, it was more like 8. All for a freebie. Still, it was a lovely weekend.
* this isn't strictly true, we visited a lovely bookshop and had a nice walk in the sunny park. On the way back, which also contained fraught, hot, packed and slow public transport, we made a detour to get to a different line and passed 4 children selling home made pink lemonade for a dollar. It was neon pink and looked terrifying but they were so disappointed when we declined, I almost wanted to double back and buy some until I was reminded by the handy microbiologist with me that it may well be my last neon drink. Still, one for my book of firsts which grows by the day.
** this does not actually exist; however you would be forgiven for thinking it did if you had ever had the pleasure of sharing a meal with myself and my husband. Mike holds his cards to his chest until the very last minute before revealing what he intends to eat, and then sometimes, makes a quick change when actually ordering, just to confound me. It is a rule that we cannot order the same thing, unless there are special circumstances, and after a tasting of our own meal, then a tasting of each others, one of us proclaims, toddler-like, "I win". Often, we both proclaim it, and say the other is wrong. I ,of course, can be gracious, when Mike's meal is better and agree with him, that he has indeed 'won' but alas, this maturity isn't often shared ;)
Friday, August 29, 2008
Our monthly bread
Today is pay day (not mine sadly as I am still living vicariously [I doubt this word has been used in the correct context, but I am leaving it in]) so I thought we deserved a treat. In fact, I got two - bread and the stuff which will make the Wii work which I have now ordered. It is a good day. Sadly, I have used up most of the money in one morning, but hey ho, that's the way it goes sometimes when you have strange priorities.
Yesterday or maybe the day before, they largely roll into one (this is leading somewhere fret not) I went to Safeway. It is our nearest shop and I have learnt the tricks of how to shop there cheaply. We have changed our diet accordingly. A large bunch of coriander costs 69c (about 35p), a mango is 75p, avocados are pennies, but apples are a no no, and tomatoes have to be used cunningly - so Thai and Mexican it is. I am experimenting with recipes too which I am really enjoying but it has led to some very strange meals. We made spring rolls with filo pastry (I almost didn't find this in the shop - it is spelt Phyllo here) which we baked in the oven. The filling was spot on; the outside went from crispy to soggy in an instant, and we had made 8. We still have 4 left and I force us to eat one each week to get rid of them.
I digress - Safeway, yesterday. I was followed around the shop by a man with no hand. Instead he had a hook. What was worse was that he looked mean, and he was angry. Safeway attracts a wide range of society, and many of the more interesting ones like to shop when I do. At first we had to inspect every inch of the shop to see what they had and what was cheapest. I could probably sit a written exam now, particularly if they had a section on items they don't stock. I still get a little excitement from the shop; mainly from hilariously named products (Big Ass Beer anyone?). It's staff and customers fail to excite me now, even the ones who don't recognise a swede, or have vicious looking hooks.
I knew it was time for a change. With money in my pocket, suncream on my exposed flesh, as few clothes on my back as would be decent (yes, its hot here, summer has started now and I find my wardrobe wholly unprepared for this), I set off. Whole Foods was my destination, 0.88 miles away, or a 1.76 mile round trip. I got the shuttle to the library which about half way there and walked the rest [for shuttle spotters, the driver was Addya, a petite* and attractive woman with a sultry Spanish accent, like Marcus' girlfriend from Eldorado.**]
Whole Foods is a strange shop and I have a very limited understanding of how it all works. I have been there before and left bewildered and poorer. This time it wasn't going to beat me, and I needed items which Safeway will just never supply, like decent bread and tapioca starch - it's probably best not to ask about that one, and I am wittering as it is, so deviating from my point would be even worse now.
They have a bulk buy section where I eventually worked out, you scoop out what you want in a bag and take one of their labels and write the code on it and then tie it around the bag. The pen was provided but I do not jest when I tell you it took me ten minutes to find it, and meanwhile a homeless man stole something and exited through the alarmed door I was standing next to and it all got a bit fraught.
Whole Foods have many core values which if you find yourself at a loose end can be read here. I would like to draw your attention to the policy of making "store environments that are inviting and fun." I'm sure that every other shopper was having the time of their lives, but I was merely getting some provisions and trying not to scream out loud at some of their prices. In their defence, the staff are always wonderful. I just don't understand what is going on. At the checkout, I was asked if I wanted to have the 5c for using my own bag deducted from my bill or given to charity. I was prepared for this question after a lengthy explanation the last time I was there (I have translated the words for you rather than put verbatim what they actually ask) and asked to donate my 2 and a half pence. To honour my wondrous charity, I was given a wooden disc with the name and address of the store on one side, and 'Nickels for Non Profits' on the other. I really have no idea why. I mean, it's lovely and I am very grateful, but there is no need for that much praise for 5 cents.
I took my Acme Bread ciabatta (I don't think they sell dynamite to blow up Road Runner but I will keep looking), my oat bran and dried apricots and fled. Tesco, all is forgiven, except buy one get one free on fireworks that time, which was just plain wrong.
* She sat closer to the steering wheel than I do, and that is quite close
** I realise that no one will understand this reference, but I was an Eldorado fan and I am not ashamed
Yesterday or maybe the day before, they largely roll into one (this is leading somewhere fret not) I went to Safeway. It is our nearest shop and I have learnt the tricks of how to shop there cheaply. We have changed our diet accordingly. A large bunch of coriander costs 69c (about 35p), a mango is 75p, avocados are pennies, but apples are a no no, and tomatoes have to be used cunningly - so Thai and Mexican it is. I am experimenting with recipes too which I am really enjoying but it has led to some very strange meals. We made spring rolls with filo pastry (I almost didn't find this in the shop - it is spelt Phyllo here) which we baked in the oven. The filling was spot on; the outside went from crispy to soggy in an instant, and we had made 8. We still have 4 left and I force us to eat one each week to get rid of them.
I digress - Safeway, yesterday. I was followed around the shop by a man with no hand. Instead he had a hook. What was worse was that he looked mean, and he was angry. Safeway attracts a wide range of society, and many of the more interesting ones like to shop when I do. At first we had to inspect every inch of the shop to see what they had and what was cheapest. I could probably sit a written exam now, particularly if they had a section on items they don't stock. I still get a little excitement from the shop; mainly from hilariously named products (Big Ass Beer anyone?). It's staff and customers fail to excite me now, even the ones who don't recognise a swede, or have vicious looking hooks.
I knew it was time for a change. With money in my pocket, suncream on my exposed flesh, as few clothes on my back as would be decent (yes, its hot here, summer has started now and I find my wardrobe wholly unprepared for this), I set off. Whole Foods was my destination, 0.88 miles away, or a 1.76 mile round trip. I got the shuttle to the library which about half way there and walked the rest [for shuttle spotters, the driver was Addya, a petite* and attractive woman with a sultry Spanish accent, like Marcus' girlfriend from Eldorado.**]
Whole Foods is a strange shop and I have a very limited understanding of how it all works. I have been there before and left bewildered and poorer. This time it wasn't going to beat me, and I needed items which Safeway will just never supply, like decent bread and tapioca starch - it's probably best not to ask about that one, and I am wittering as it is, so deviating from my point would be even worse now.
They have a bulk buy section where I eventually worked out, you scoop out what you want in a bag and take one of their labels and write the code on it and then tie it around the bag. The pen was provided but I do not jest when I tell you it took me ten minutes to find it, and meanwhile a homeless man stole something and exited through the alarmed door I was standing next to and it all got a bit fraught.
Whole Foods have many core values which if you find yourself at a loose end can be read here. I would like to draw your attention to the policy of making "store environments that are inviting and fun." I'm sure that every other shopper was having the time of their lives, but I was merely getting some provisions and trying not to scream out loud at some of their prices. In their defence, the staff are always wonderful. I just don't understand what is going on. At the checkout, I was asked if I wanted to have the 5c for using my own bag deducted from my bill or given to charity. I was prepared for this question after a lengthy explanation the last time I was there (I have translated the words for you rather than put verbatim what they actually ask) and asked to donate my 2 and a half pence. To honour my wondrous charity, I was given a wooden disc with the name and address of the store on one side, and 'Nickels for Non Profits' on the other. I really have no idea why. I mean, it's lovely and I am very grateful, but there is no need for that much praise for 5 cents.
I took my Acme Bread ciabatta (I don't think they sell dynamite to blow up Road Runner but I will keep looking), my oat bran and dried apricots and fled. Tesco, all is forgiven, except buy one get one free on fireworks that time, which was just plain wrong.
* She sat closer to the steering wheel than I do, and that is quite close
** I realise that no one will understand this reference, but I was an Eldorado fan and I am not ashamed
Thursday, July 10, 2008
It all comes down to bread
A Londoner by birth, I find myself a long way from home. My husband has a job in San Francisco for a year. I am along for the ride. Until that is I apply for a work permit, which may take some time. So, I thought I would try to record for posterity a few observations of my new home. (I will however say that my research into American culture thus far has gone no further than Bill Bryson books, Hollywood films, and countless stereotypes which tend to seep silently into ones pores, so I plan to enjoy my year, proving those typecasting pores of mine wrong hopefully - it kinda worked in Liverpool, but that's another story...)
So, everything is bigger.
People are friendly and people do wish you a nice day! Cute.
It's very clean on the whole, like the nation is run by OCD - which is frankly excellent, and after some of the public toilets I have visited in my life, I wish good old Blighty would take a leaf out of its American counterparts' books.
The telly is really bad, but the adverts are frequent and mesmerising. Pure comedy gold.
Noise is constant, but that just maybe where I live.
Food is too sweet.
Actually, food is proving to be an issue, for one who cares deeply about it.
I was led to believe that food (as well as general cost of living) over here was going to be so much cheaper. This is a downright lie. Sure, it is cheaper to eat out here than it is to eat in England, and I am guessing people eat out a lot more, but it still isn't cheap! For those who want to cook for themselves, it is challenging (at face value anyway). Supermarkets seem to be few and far between and half the size of ours; unlike the Tesco metro on every corner, with a Tesco Extra a mile away in any direction from where you live we have got used to of late. There are corner shops a plenty but the prices sky high. When you actually make it to a supermarket, the food is really expensive, especially anything healthy. Our first trip was to Calafoods, a supermarket sort of near where we are currently staying, as recommended by my Not for Tourists book. Pah! Then we plugged for Safeway as it was a name I recognised. 5 tomatoes cost me $8. Say no more. Then, glory of glory, we discovered Trader Joe's which is frankly, ace, but there aren't enough of them. It's worth the hike though. Supermarkets sorted.
Alas, next problem. The food is far too sweet for my palate (and I pride myself on my sweet tooth - my girth takes some beating let me assure you). Why did no-one tell me this important stuff before I came? No wonder they don't have what is surely the epitome of umami, Marmite. The bread is so sweet, you hear your teeth decay as you chew. No wonder dentistry here is good; born out of necessity methinks.
It was suggested to me that I try Anderson's the bakery and try to get my grubby little mitts on an English loaf. I felt like a fool going in and asking with what sounded like the Queen's accent (in contrast only!) for an English loaf. It cost $3 for what to me is half a white tin loaf. It was OK, but white. I knew granary was off the cards, but white bread is a thing of my childhood and that is where it is staying thank you very much. Still, it's early days and I shall find ways around it I'm sure, like quitting my whinging and making my own. It's only bread.
I have even acquired some Marmite, a gift from one who must be the most generous soul in the world - see I told you that San Franciscan's were friendly. Now we can add magnanimous to the list.
So, everything is bigger.
People are friendly and people do wish you a nice day! Cute.
It's very clean on the whole, like the nation is run by OCD - which is frankly excellent, and after some of the public toilets I have visited in my life, I wish good old Blighty would take a leaf out of its American counterparts' books.
The telly is really bad, but the adverts are frequent and mesmerising. Pure comedy gold.
Noise is constant, but that just maybe where I live.
Food is too sweet.
Actually, food is proving to be an issue, for one who cares deeply about it.
I was led to believe that food (as well as general cost of living) over here was going to be so much cheaper. This is a downright lie. Sure, it is cheaper to eat out here than it is to eat in England, and I am guessing people eat out a lot more, but it still isn't cheap! For those who want to cook for themselves, it is challenging (at face value anyway). Supermarkets seem to be few and far between and half the size of ours; unlike the Tesco metro on every corner, with a Tesco Extra a mile away in any direction from where you live we have got used to of late. There are corner shops a plenty but the prices sky high. When you actually make it to a supermarket, the food is really expensive, especially anything healthy. Our first trip was to Calafoods, a supermarket sort of near where we are currently staying, as recommended by my Not for Tourists book. Pah! Then we plugged for Safeway as it was a name I recognised. 5 tomatoes cost me $8. Say no more. Then, glory of glory, we discovered Trader Joe's which is frankly, ace, but there aren't enough of them. It's worth the hike though. Supermarkets sorted.
Alas, next problem. The food is far too sweet for my palate (and I pride myself on my sweet tooth - my girth takes some beating let me assure you). Why did no-one tell me this important stuff before I came? No wonder they don't have what is surely the epitome of umami, Marmite. The bread is so sweet, you hear your teeth decay as you chew. No wonder dentistry here is good; born out of necessity methinks.
It was suggested to me that I try Anderson's the bakery and try to get my grubby little mitts on an English loaf. I felt like a fool going in and asking with what sounded like the Queen's accent (in contrast only!) for an English loaf. It cost $3 for what to me is half a white tin loaf. It was OK, but white. I knew granary was off the cards, but white bread is a thing of my childhood and that is where it is staying thank you very much. Still, it's early days and I shall find ways around it I'm sure, like quitting my whinging and making my own. It's only bread.
I have even acquired some Marmite, a gift from one who must be the most generous soul in the world - see I told you that San Franciscan's were friendly. Now we can add magnanimous to the list.
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