Not your average meatball sub.

The weather has been beautiful in San Francisco lately, making it very difficult for me to stay inside my windowless office all day. Even around Civic Center, where the wind is usually gale-force, it's been sunny and warm, perfect weather for eating and walking outside.

Yesterday I went to the Heart of the City farmer's market to grab my weekly ration of snack fruits. After I picked out my apples and raspberries, a carton of pink mushrooms caught my eye. Pink tree oyster mushrooms, said Mr. Mushroom Man. They'll turn a lovely salmon color when you cook them, but use them right away. Apparently they have a short shelf life. Also, they are smelly, I learned as I trucked them around the city in the afternoon. By the time I got home, they stunk so badly that I had to throw them away. Quel dommage.

Today I broke my rule of "trying to eat more food from home" for the millionth time to try a bahn mi from the best sandwich shop in the 'loin (according to Yelp! and SFWeekly). Saigon Sandwich, on Turk and Larkin, had a line out the door when we arrived. I took a chance on meatball, and was happily rewarded when I bit into my sub a few minutes later on the lawn in front of City Hall. Heaven. Also, for $2.50, I don't have to feel badly that I am squandering my money on lunch.

Vegetarians have all the fun.

My go-to spot for lunch lately has been Ananda Fuara, a vegetarian restaurant run by followers of the guru Sri Chimoya. This might seem like an odd choice by such an ardent proponent of all-bacon, all the time, but really, it's just comfort food. I think the best thing there is the curry and salad combo, which includes the curry of the day, basmati rice, and salad with lemon tahini dressing (if you're smart and pick the lemon tahini dressing). The servers all wear silky robes. Well, the female servers. The men wear blue t-shirts. No equality in dress here. And the ceiling has a trompe l'oeil sky, complete with puffy clouds.

Having vegetables and tofu for lunch makes me feel very virtuous. And calm. And it's a nice place to study anatomy, or read weird books about folk remedies by M.F.K. Fisher, both of which I am apt to do during lunch.

Something new.

The first food picture!

I have broken the seal, as Kara says. Perhaps there will be more to follow (this usually happens when a seal is broken).

Kara and I made these vanilla cupcakes with cherry frosting in honor of S, bride-to-be. The cake was a bit of a disaster. My mom thinks this is because I over-mixed the batter. I think it is because I took the recipe, "Happy Day Cake," out of a scary book I found in her kitchen cupboard called Happy Living - A guide for brides.

Although the aforementioned book is good for many laughs, I do not think it is good for light, fluffy, buttery cake batters.

However, the weekend in Phoenix was good for food. We had the fabled Chino Bandito, although I do not think Kara liked it as much as she pretended. And we had very small quiche and eclairs at S's wedding shower. We ate brisket under the misters at S's house, and I learned how to make a sandwich out of brisket and a bialy.

Someday, Phoenix and San Francisco will merge into one, so I can have Tartine for breakfast, Crazy Jim's and/or Miracle Mile for lunch, and then dinner at my mom's house.

Eww.

That's all I have to say.

My work friend gave me a tamal to eat for my lunch today, courtesy of one of her clients. This work friend is a vegetarian, and suspected that the tamal contained pork. She was right.

This tamal was done in the Salvadorian style, wrapped in a banana leaf instead of a corn husk, then also wrapped in some kind of paper. The intense wrapping led to a very moist tamal, which seemed like a bonus at first. Then I noticed that the masa was a little chalky. But the flavor was good, so I took another bite. And I bit right into a big glob of fat. Pig fat. Not crunchy, yummy pig skin, or a little fat attached to some muscle for flavor. A big, gooey glob of fat.

I gagged. I hate it when that happens - I feel like a food wimp.

I walked to my neighbor's office to tell her the story and advertise the presence of more tamales in the fridge. Then I returned to my office and attempted to finish my lunch. No luck. Visions of fat prevented me from eating more than two bites.

I'm hungry.

The Raska's are gone.

Nate and I usually keep a box full of Raska's in the fridge. These are pre-packaged ounces of cream cheese in little tubs that can be brought to work to eat with a cold bagel. The breakfast of champions (when the champion in question no longer smokes cigarettes for breakfast). They are called Raska's because that is the brand. They are from Costco.

Tragically, the last Raska is gone. Empty box. Usually this is remedied by a trip to Costco, but I think our membership has expired. We certainly haven't been there in months...possibly since before our move. That box of Raska's lasted a long time.

The book I was reading on the bus this morning, called "It was probably something you ate," is making me think that I shouldn't be eating packaged cream cheese. Or anything from a store. Or a restaurant. Which is a problem, because I didn't pack my lunch today. I don't think I can survive the day on almonds and a red pepper.

Why, in San Francisco of all places, do they not have one of these "100 mile grocery stores" that my friend Ben shops at in Portland? I know, I can go to the farmer's market and get my grocery box, etc., but what is that saying when even Rainbow imports some of their stuff from Chile?

Mission number three (behind the missions of getting into UCSF and training for a triathlon): make more food at home. Try to buy most things local. Be a quasi-locavore.

Also: make my own cheese.

Michelle, denizen of the Mission, too embarrassed to speak Spanish

Ah, fruit lady and her friend, you make me so nervous. On a hot afternoon, I ride the bus home, preparing my request for fruit in Spanish, getting hungrier and more sure of myself. Then I arrive at your cart, and mumble, "Mango, please."

Yesterday was no exception. I decided on the way home that I wanted to try these elotes that everyone is carrying about, so I rehearsed my request in my head: "Quisiera un elote, por favor." I even played out the possible ways that the conversation would go, so that I would be prepared. But, as usual, when I got to the cart, I chickened out. Corn, please. If only she was alone, I would be less nervous.

Kara says that someday we will go to the fruit cart together, and she will order in Spanish first. Then I can just say, "lo mismo." Sounds like a cop-out.

On a more food-related note, the elote was not exactly what I was hoping for. It seems that there are different preparations for these goodies, but what I got was corn slathered in mucho mayo (as fruit lady's friend commented), sprinkled with cheese and powdered chile. It was delicious, but smelled rank. And really not a treat for a hot day. Maybe next time I will skip the mayo, or ask for a little bit. In Spanish.

By special request.

A devoted reader needs to know: how did my brothers' visit go? My three brothers and their friend, Skow, visited many, many days ago, during the week of my birthday. This was also the week after the marathon and the week after the first of many post-marathon celebrations. I was tired, and sore, but strove to be a delightful host. We saw many sights, including the Golden Gate Bridge, Sutro Baths, Golden Gate Park, and Chinatown. We also went to Stinson Beach, where we expected to see sharks thrashing about in the water, eating seals and surfers, per Nate's recollections, but alas. No sharks. Most of these sights were seen in the company of Francesca, who sat on laps in the backseat of the beleaguered Pathfinder.

The BEST and funniest thing that happened during this visit was the "Great Frisbee Rescue." After Skow and Willie purchased frisbees from the Presidio SpoBa, we went to Marina Green to try them out. In the parking lot, Skow punted his frisbee, which promptly caught a gust of wind and zipped into the bay. Undaunted, Skow rushed to the car, jumped into his boardshorts, and dove into the bay after it! The bay that is 60 degrees on a good day. The bay that is filled with sharks and drowned Alcatraz escapees and rough looking waves. But the frisbee was saved.

The WORST and lamest thing that happened during this visit was the "Great Suppenkuche Switcheroo." Our house and others met at Suppenkuche for what was going to be a great feast. Closed! For renovation! Set on German food, we trucked over to Walzwerk. A poor substitution. Disappointment all around, except for the waitresses, who kept exclaiming - We have been so busy all week! Sam (I think) was kind enough to point out that Suppenkuche was closed. Poor Walzwerk.