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.