Que lastima!

The last time I ordered a super veggie burrito at Taqueria Cancun (the one at 19th and Mission) I was sorely disappointed. The tortilla was dry and flavorless, there were very few beans, and the avocado was nearly non-existent (abundant avocados being one of my primary attractions to Cancun). This was about two months ago.

Kara had a similar experience last week. Last year I was getting consistently satisfying burritos there - fresh tortillas, lots of avocados, even melted cheese inside the burritos.

Should I just not bother anymore?

On a happier note, Papalote is definitely not a one off. We've gotten burritos there three times now, and each time I am very happy with the beans, and especially the salsa. They put fun things in the veggie burrito, like carrots and potatoes, to make it more satisfying. I've had the shrimp and prawn burritos, and I don't love them, but I think I'm just not a big fan of this burrito filling. The salsa and tortillas make up for it.

Nate ordered the super tacos, and were they ever super! Absolutely enormous (each order comes with two) and the carne asada was very tasty.

Cancun RIP (the walk to Papalote happens to be more pleasant/less noisy as well).

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.