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.

Post-marathon laze-about

I've fallen into a degenerate state of sloth. In the two weeks since the marathon, I've had more to drink and eat than I did during the whole of training (exaggeration, I hope). This weekend was no exception.

During my birthday celebration last weekend, me and some marathon buddies pinky-swore to spend an afternoon and evening in Sonoma. This plan was made many, many times during marathon training and never happened, so we were all surprised to show up in Sonoma on Saturday afternoon. Upon arriving at Rob's fiancee's grandpa's house, we set out on a major shopping trip to Sonoma Market. We spent outrageous sums on groceries, and then trucked it all back to the house. Josh and I made a pitcher of white sangria in preparation for several hours by the pool.

Having never used a high-tech juicer before (the kind that can juice an entire peach, let's say), I assumed that the juice would fall into the clear container on the side. Instead, the pulp fell into that container, and the juice streamed out of the spigot. That I had not noticed until that point. A good start to the afternoon.

Post-swim, we started to prepare the feast. Fried zucchini flowers stuffed with feta, caprese salad, five varieties of stinky cheese with baguette, garlic olives, crackers with smoked salmon and creme fraiche, and the piece de resistance, courtesy of food-magician Josh: Georgian chicken. I think this is something of his own creation. A chicken, stuffed with carmelized onions, brown rice, cherries, pine nuts, and fennel, barbecued until crispy while being basted with cherry butter. Yes, barbecued. It was amazing.

I will also say that the zucchini flowers were better than expected. I had never made or eaten them before, but I found some at the farmer's market on Saturday morning. They are quite simple to prepare, and oh how delicious! I will be making them more often.

An evening full of hypocrisy.

Yesterday afternoon, I was invited to a vegan bake-off. I eagerly accepted, as I like all excuses to bake and sample others' baked goods, but then I was stuck: what can I make that doesn't have eggs in it? The go-to website for dessert recipes, Orangette, was full of eggs and butter and more eggs. Google searches revealed hidden pockets of raw-foodists and vegans allergic to soy. They were no help. Back to trusty Orangette. One dessert revealed itself to need only butter, not eggs. And it seemed like I could make it in under two hours.

Now, butter is not vegan, of course, but I happened to have a box of Earth Balance Trans-Free Shortening in the fridge. I bought this one day at Trader Joe's, convinced that I was about to have a pie-baking frenzy. The frenzy never came, for good or bad, and I was left with tasteless looking blocks of fat in the refrigerator door. Make that vegan tasteless looking blocks of fat.

Nate obligingly picked up some bananas and flour (we were running low - quel horreur!) and I was ready to make Coco-Banana Bread. I made the bread, radically altering the recipe (subbed cognac for rum, shortening for butter, sweetened for unsweetened coconut, and more), and was less than pleased with the inital results.

I arrived at the bake-off location, and...no vegans! Not a single person participating in this debacle was a vegan. Some reformed vegans or vegetarians, one actual vegetarian, but no vegans. Confused by the rules of the contest in the absence of an obvious driving force, I was told that it was, as many things are, a long story. Involving vegan cupcakes. A gauntlet was laid down, and the bake-off was born. Not so long a story, I suppose.

Miracolo of miracolos, my bread came in second! It sunk in the middle while I cut it, becoming denser and sweeter, and the crust became crispier as it cooled. My strange shape-shifting bread lost to a peach-cherry cobbler. I happen to prefer a crisp, but the peaches were delicious. Hats off to the peach cobbler!