two brief thoughts (on mojiters and salad greens)

Well-made mojitos are dangerous. On Sunday, Nate and I had lunch with my family at Chelsea's Kitchen. Nate ordered a mojito, and my dad and I followed suit due to peer pressure. By the time the server had returned to take our order (5-10 minutes), I had consumed the entire drink. She suggested another, and I agreed. It was hot out and the mojito was cool and refreshing. I could not refuse. After we finished our lunches, I suggested that we order a sundae (which also looked cool, if not refreshing). My suggestion was laughed off of the table and I was accused of having mojito-eyes. Oh, the shame.

I realize that small, fancy, bitter greens are hip. The more esoteric the leaves, the better. However, I do not like these salads. I eat them, and appreciate that other people enjoy them, that they are most likely better for you than baby romaine, etc. But I do not really enjoy them. The only bitter substance I truly enjoy is Campari. Secret exposed.

redemption song, part dalawa

Yesterday was a magical day in San Francisco. The kind of day that you find in Hawaii or San Diego regularly, but is so precious here. Everyone in the neighborhood was feeling it. We walked F to the park, where the hipsters were out in full force. Such is the lure of a sunny day, even for those dressed in black.

After an hour of lounging on the grass with Kara and Amy, I was itchy and needed to pee. So, we headed to my house to experiment with Mint Juleps. Much harder to perfect than the "simple" recipe makes it seem, the kitchen looked like a tornado (or a four layer cake) had gone through when we were done. After adding a lot of simple syrup to our original concoctions, they were delicious.

The day was coming to a close, but we still had enough time to sit in the backyard with our Juleps and play Boggle. Not the ideal rocking-on-a-porch-swing, Julep-drinking situation, but it worked. Talk turned to dinner and there was a heated debate. What should we show off to Amy that she cannot get in DC? What does Kuzman like to eat? Is Nate going to press the issue of Panchita's? Is Michelle going to add anything to the debate, or will she just call Nate boring and laugh?

San Tung won, as it often does. The pilgrimage began. The line was just manageable, and we were teased several times by the host about the readiness of our table. 30 minutes later we sat down.

Kim chee: Great. Always Great. Burned my mouth a little, exacerbated by the hot tea.

Martinelli's apple juice: Umm, for some reason I cannot eat at San Tung without ordering this. If you ask, I will not give a logical answer.

Steamed shrimp and leek dumplings: Chewy dough, light shrimp flavor, dunked in vinegar and chili oil. Amy says that a real man's lunch is 24 of these with two bottles of beer. I am not a real man.

Potstickers: I don't love these. But they're fried, which is a plus.

Veggie mu shu: Hoisin sauce makes everything wonderful. Also, the tree fungus is delicious. And they make their own pancakes, nice and thick.

Mongolian beef: Actually good. The beef is not battered, but is crispy nonetheless. How do they do it?

Kung pao shrimp: Eh. Brown-ish sauce.

Spinach and garlic: !!! That is all. No, not all. Wonderful and green - none of the icky too-cooked spinach astringency.

Original dry fried chicken: The piece de resistance. Words cannot describe the crunchiness of the batter or the exquisite sel et sucre sauce - but they try.

I <3 San Tung. And owls.

Fried glands, take two.

Fennel and cilantro. These are the remains of the first organic vegetable box to be delivered to our household. A good idea, that. I don't think that I would have thought of buying kale at the market, but I'm happy it arrived in the box last week - tasty. But the fennel and cilantro have been the unfortunate victims of a common disease in our household. We are soo lazy, sometimes. I have excuses. New dog. Energy-sapping, soul-sucking job. It's often a lack of imagination. Perhaps the next box will fare better.

Often the outcome of a moment of extreme laziness is an unforgiveable sin. Domino's. McDonald's. Boston Market. I would go on, but then everyone would know my shame. Sometimes the outcome is a different kind of unforgiveable sin. Gluttony, I think it's called. These dinners don't happen often, but when they do, they're worth writing about. Ah, Cortez.

I know that sweetbreads are either the pancreas or thymus gland of a cow (and/or baby cow). What I do not know is how to tell which of these glands is on the plate when it comes out of the kitchen. Regardless, what came out of the kitchen at Cortez last night was very exciting. Sweetbreads and squid with onions...ooh-wee.

Starting with El Diablo: tequila, creme de cassis, lime, and ginger beer. Then the sweetbreads + squid. And...salad. But not boring salad. Mizuna greens and manchego. Also ravioli with mushrooms and parmesean foam. Remember Marcel from the last season of Top Chef, with the molecular gastronomy? Yeah, like that. But, as I'm sure you could not tell through the medium of TV, the foam is great. Rich, and then it disappears. A whole meal made out of foam would be a dieter's heaven. Perhaps. Not sure how the calories fit into that.

Moving on. A glass of white burgundy with crusted halibut. The standout of this dish was the super sweet onion and the way it blended with the fish and spinach. Really, not a standout, I suppose. More like a perfect combination. And although it was not my dish, I must mention the aged sirloin. Because it was. That. Good. Like a fantastic New York Strip, but smoother. More of a bite, more flavor. Atop a bed of potatoes and cheese (?) pureed beyond recognition. The forkful, followed by a sip of cabernet, was intricate and satisfying. I won't try to relay the moment in any further detail.

And, dessert. Toffee parfait inside cruchy chocolate, with popcorn ice cream and sour gelled fruit. Junk food, but pretty. With a shot of maple liquer. I wasn't driving.

And now you can see why it was so hard to come up with something to make for dinner tonight. Lit'l Smokies and pasta just aren't going to top fried glands, invertebrate seafood and liquid toffee fluff. Although I do love Lit'l Smokies.

How to eat fried glands

Saturday night, S + O and I went to Chapeau! in the Richmond. I've wanted to try sweetbreads for several years now, and I heard they were on the menu. Also, S and I always like an excuse to drink too much wine and be driven around by O.

Ah, thymus glands. The sweetbreads at Chapeau! were fried and drizzled with a deep mushroom sauce, with some itty bitty carrots and parsnips on the side. They have an organ-y taste, but it's very light, as is their texture. We also had the foie gras, which was fantastic. Seared lightly on top of a bit of toast, with an amazing vinegar and honey sauce. It gave the foie at the General's Daughter a run for the money.

Altogether, Chapeau! gets an A+. The proprietor is charming (and was happy to see another Parisian in the form of O) and suggested a great wine to go with dinner. Embarrassingly, I cannot remember what it was, except that it was something white and a little buttery, from France. Normally, I prefer a crisper white, but it was perfect with our wide range of dishes: foie gras, sweetbreads, salmon, halibut, monkfish, and cassoulet.

Hat! - we will be back.

Who can't polish off a keg? We can't.

Yesterday, Kara and I held a fundraiser for the SF AIDS Foundation. It was not the most effective fundraiser in the history of the universe, which was mostly my fault. I must have missed class on the day that "making money" tips were handed out. I think those tips would have gone something like this:

Don't buy fancy foodstuffs and libations if you're not throwing a fancy party, where people will be inclined to donate hundreds of dollars. This seems self-evident, but not for me. I insisted upon offering a selection of fine foods - thai barbecue chicken, kefta kebabs, and baked tofu, among other things. I think they were all delicious, and I got to try my hand at some new recipes, but really...necessary? Same thing goes for the variety of beverages. Also not necessary.

Don't buy a keg if you are not absolutely, positively sure that many, many people will come to the party. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale - cool and refreshing. A keg of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale - catalyst for an excellent afternoon gathering. A keg of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale + not as many people as you expected - melty keg on the stairwell all week. Oops.

Well, it looks like I've only come up with two rules so far. But they are important ones, of which I will probably never take heed.

The bottom line is...we made lots of money for the AIDS Foundation (our expenses standing in as our donations) and had a great afternoon drinking white sangria and eating meatballs. Rephrase: I had a great afternoon drinking white sangria and eating meatballs. I hope everyone else had fun, too.

Perks.

Yesterday, I joined a posh gym. They have scented shampoo in the showers and Q-Tips on the bathroom counters. Also, TVs on most of the cardio machines and small towels near the weight machines. One of the perks that comes with the joining of this posh gym is two personal training sessions, the first of which establishes your "fitness profile." I met my trainer yesterday, and he declared that he could make me stronger than any of the other girls (his word) training for the marathon.

I fear, however, that he is going to make me change my diet. Last night, for dinner, boyfriend cooked (heated up a frozen pizza and made a salad). Not just any frozen pizza, mind you, but one from Trader Joe's, their margherita pizza. They are delicious, I think, but not exactly diet food. So what will I have to do for lazy dinners? Make plain chicken breasts? Blech. We shall see. I am meeting with the Minister of Doom after work tonight.

In response to the possible diet change, I stopped at a favorite lunch place after the gym. Oasis Grill makes delicious gyros, falafel sandwiches, and something called the Mediterranean Melt. This involves chicken and mushrooms and gooey cheese wrapped up in a lavosh with vegetables. All these sandwiches are best spicy, which the guys behind the counter know. After you order, they ask, "Spicy?" Say yes, if you know what's best for you.

Please, buff trainer man, don't take away my Mediterranean Melt.

1.5 days worth of food

I'm turning into a junk food addict. We just had a diner lunch, courtesy of St. Francis Fountain. And McDonald's on Thursday night (don't tell anyone). I think I'll skip the McDo description and move on to the wonderful find we made a few weeks ago.

St. Francis is my idea of a perfect 1950s soda fountain, right on 24th St. Apparently, it's the oldest ice cream parlor in the city. My "club" sandwich had avocado on it instead of bacon, because not everything needs bacon (although my boyfriend would beg to differ). They use shredded iceberg on their sandwiches in lieu of the big watery chunks. How delightful. I ordered egg salad on the side, which may seem like an odd choice until you try their egg salad. It has lots of relish in it and a little red onion, along with the regular stuff; seems simple, but it's so good.

Surprisingly, this one meal has been holding me all day. That's bizarre for a Saturday, because it's a long run day. I'm training for the San Francisco marathon with the National AIDS Marathon Training Program, and this morning we ran 14 miles. Such a lengthy run generally leads to me eating a full meal every two hours. But not today, on the longest run ever. Strange.

Okay, now I'm hungry. Everything's back to normal.