Mary Ladd

China Boy: What if all San Franciscans read the same book at the same time?

Of course you'd want to participate! (Blog confession: Especially if your husband was involved, which is why I'm posting this. We both gobbled up the book, and have talked to the smart and funny author, Gus Lee, at a sumptuous dim sum feast. One City One Book is a cool program that will eventually make its way to other metro cities in the next few years.)

That's why you should join in with all the very cool San Franciscans participating in One City One Book: San Francisco Reads this fall. 

Presented by the San Francisco Public Library, One City One Book is the city's first citywide book club, bringing readers together to discuss a single book. The book selection, China Boy, by San Francisco native Gus Lee, is about the life of Kai Ting, a young Chinese American boy growing up in the San Francisco Panhandle during the 1950s. Boxing, bullies, and bravery abound in this intense & poignant novel, which shines a light on a fascinating slice of San Francisco history.

Make China Boy your book club's next selection, or join in one of the many discussions and special events (including author appearances at the Koret Auditorium, Litquake, Books Inc., & more) taking place during September and October 2005. City Guides will also be leading special China Boy walking tours of the Panhandle district - you won't want to miss them!

For more details, the complete schedule of events & discussions, and a selected list of San Francisco-based novels, visit:

http://sfpl.org/news/ocob/onecity.htm

For more information, contact Rosie Levy, Program Manager, at [email protected] 

Please help spread the word to your San Francisco friends and fellow readers!

Dagoba Xocolatl-Dark Chocolate, Chilies & Nibs

Like fiery food? How 'bout dark chocolate? Try Dagoba's Xocolatl bar, with a cacao content of seventy four per cent. I gave my husband one for his thirty fifth birthday. He took two bites, and had to find solace in a glass of milk and a handful of Reese's peanut butter cups. It's a whole new chocolate eating experience, but is best suited for serious fire eaters. (Growing up eating jalapenos and peppers with my Dad was the best preparation.)

You won't be disappointed with the Xocolatl bar. It's a rich, balanced, smooth chocolate bar, and the warmth of the chilies will wake up your brain and mouth. My only complaint is I can't eat it today because I have a sore throat from too much celebrating in the last week-one birthday rager, one late night music show and one bachelorette weekend has me dreaming about sleep in a quiet room. Life in the Mission means that may not happen anytime soon.

12 Galaxies Meat Marvels

My energy level was near zero last Friday night. I was hungover and tired from hosting a birthday rager for my husband the night before. Commuting and work had taken a heavy toll. We were both exhausted, but ready for some fun and festive music courtesy of Alejandro Escovedo at 12 Galaxies. The Escovedos are a Bay Area family rich in musical talent, with decades of experience entertaining. It's surprising they aren't covered by the media more. I've had a crush on Alejandro's niece, Sheila E., for years. She did used to hang with the artist formerly known as Prince, afterall.

At 12 Galaxies, I perked up with a beer. Not much of a shock there, given my love of beer and alcohol in general. What really got my blood going and put a smile on my face was the announcement of a raffle. Not just any raffle, but meats bought from Whole Foods that day. The tickets were two dollars each, and prizes included: one whole Coho salmon (I have a plank that would be just perfect for cooking it), five pounds bacon (what's not to love there?), five pounds sausage, Frenched rack of lamb (easy enough to do on your own, but what a catch!), and the Grand Prize of one hundred dollars of Porterhouse steak. My mouth watered, even though we'd just eaten some subpar nachos at La Taqueria Altena (post forthcoming).

"Oh!" I squealed to Oscar, "let's spend twenty, and get ten tickets. We HAVE to win!" My gluttony and greed had taken over, and money woes disappeared. I love a fridge stuffed with food, even if there is only two of us. Oscar, being the voice of reason, bargained, "Here, let's go for ten dollars. See what you can get." I headed to the bar, to buy tickets. The smell of cheeseburgers and grease pumped me up even more. I got five tickets that I tucked into my (increasingly tight) back jean pocket, which I kept checking throughout the night. Didn't want those beauties to end up on the floor. I am the winner, I kept saying in my mind.

The salmon and lamb were raffled off before the show. Not to me. The salmon winner had to put it in his gym bag. We consoled ourselves at not winning by saying, "the meat shouldn't be out of the fridge that long. I wouldn't want to carry it all night, anyways." Sure, we would just be sitting on bar stools all night, but the line seemed to console us slightly. The prospect of all that beef loomed in my mind.

Hours later, at 1 a.m., Alejandro's show began to wind down. I enjoyed the show, but was tired, and antzy to go home and pass out. Not a night for birthday lovin' in the cards for poor Oscar. I cheered wildly and perked up when they played their last song... make that third to last song, because they came back on for an encore. I slumped over and groaned.

"Don't worry, the drawing is soon. What if we win?" Oscar said.

"Oh, we are going to win! I know it! We have to!" I said, as I sat up.

The last rounds of the drawing finally happened. I held out hope. Watched 12 Galaxies "regulars" cheer and dance their way to the stage, and take off with bacon, then sausage. I ran down so I could stand by the stage for the Grand Prize drawing. Pictured myself doing a "beef dance" which is a slight variation of my white girl normal dance, minus the playing of the air ukele. I'd grab the mike, and call out, "I love, love beef! Thank you, 12 Galaxies! Alejandro, you rock. Happy Birthday, Oscar." But in the end, I threw my tickets in the air with a sigh, as the real beef winner whooped with joy.

It's such a good idea to raffle off beef and meat, I may do it at our next party. That takes entertaining to a whole new level for me. The excitement. The bliss of the winners. The hope of scoring an invite to eat with the winners. All that meat deserves a home.

Arinell pizza gone wrong

Many NY style pizza lovers fawn over Arinell pizza in SF, saying it's close enough to the real thing. I like their pizza because it's not too doughy, and can be folded over while eating. Bonus that they play punk or rocker music, which helps me feel edgy, tough and cool as I sit at the counter and eat. At $2.50 a slice, the price is right. My only complaint is they don't deliver.

Today, I had a stomach turning experience while eating a pepperoni slice. The twenty something rocker dude who had taken my money and served me my slice decided to take a beauty break. He took off his hat, and started rubbing his greasy, dirty looking hair. This went on for a good thirty seconds. He moved over to look at himself in the mirror, unaware that I was groaning and lurching from his display.

After rubbing and scratching his dirty locks, he began digging in the corner of his eye, followed by hard rubbing all over his forehead. More rubs across the hair-it looked spiky, ratty and dirty-wasn't that what he wanted? Did he have to torture me so, with my Safety-Sani ways? I watched to see if he washed his hands, but he just walked over to his high stool, and sat down, staring blankly at the stoves.

Not only is his behavior gross, it worries me, as I have a history of seeing fellow diners fall ill. Best example is my friend Erica became grossly ill after a pizza/gelato food prep worker did a double health violation of picking at his face and not washing his hands after going to the bathroom. We know about the not washing hands part because she was in the unisex bathroom when he exited.

Back to Arinell. Maybe I should have said something to the vain pizza dude, but I don't want to start war in a pizza place. I may just wait til my next stop there.

Seattle's Tamarind Tree-a Vietnamese lesson in eating beef

Getting my extended family to visit Tamarind Tree in a strip mall on a recent trip to Seattle took some coaching. "Look, the New York Times wrote them up. It's one of two restaurants they care about!" Blank stares. They read mariners journals and classic car magazines, not the New York Times. Dad, my uncle Don (Dad's brother) and cousin Cory are not adventurous eaters-more of the "meat and potatoes" type. Using the beef to my advantage, I sold them on the beef tasting menu, only $16.95 for 2 people-"what a steal!"

The restaurant is in the International district of Seattle and doesn't look like much from the outside. There were a lot of people milling about, so I went into full drill sarge mode, marching my way to the host stand. "Are you with the group outside?" the waiter asked patiently. "No," I smiled, sticking my ample chest out and rubbing my belly. "But we are REALLY hungry," I giggled. "Okay, um. Let me see," he promised. He came back a few minutes later and said, "Alright, we are ready for you." I'd like to think my flirting skills helped nab a table. The place was full by the time we ordered, and it felt good to beat the crowd.

Six of us decided to go for the meat tasting menu. Cousin Cory is a growing teen, cautious of all things ethnic. No surprise he went for shared appetizers and the Vietnamese equivalent of a mixed grill plate. My aunt wanted separate checks, so their order came out a little slower than ours. My Dad kept looking at me for guidance on how to eat and dip the appetizers. All went well. It helped that we were in such a beautiful setting-water fall, beige painted walls, glazed ceramic plates, soothing music, oh la la!

The big slip up came with our second course. It was a small plate of thinly sliced beef. Raw beef. We began spooning up the beef and eating it with the sliced cucumber, carrot and dipping sauce. We had nearly finished the dish, when our waiter ran over with a surprised look, and said in a shaking voice, "No! No! You are supposed to dip this-" pointing to a plate of newly arrived rice paper, "in the water," also newly arrived. "That is raw. Raw beef." he added, with an angry scowl to our busboy. "You make rolls with paper," he commanded us. My husband shrugged, "It's just like tartare. Or sashimi. No big deal." Good thing Oscar is definitely not afraid of culinary adventures.

There was barely enough beef left for us to make a roll with. My aunt and uncle were laughing and guffawing while we meekly finished our course. Uncle Don said, "Hey, I hope you guys don't get sick or anything. Man, we can't take you anywhere." (This from a man who once sent a holiday card of himself, sitting on the toilet, with a caption, "Hope everything comes out okay in 1982.") We finished the rest of our beef-a-riffic meal without any further slips. "I thought she knew what to do," said my Dad, with a laugh and a shrug. I hope we can get more beef and practice at the Tamarind Tree the next time we are in Seattle. Sigh-if only there was one in SF!

2046 fuels late night Chinese food chow

Screening the film 2046 last night at the Embarcadero cinema made me hungry. Although I ate some popcorn before the film started, my thoughts kept wandering to food during the dark, sexy film. I was running through a list of items to prepare for Oscar's birthday party: Hawaaian pork with rolls, new potatoes, chicken wings, steamed green beans, cherry tomatoes, donuts, soprasetta, salami, lamb's milk cheese, yellow cake, and more (a mixed bag of food, but all good stuff that he loves).

In 2046, Chow Mo Wan orders things like lamb casserole and snake in a fancy dining hall. The problem is, we don't really get to see him eat. Most of the restaurant scenes instead show drinking, smoking and carousing. Also, there are many passionate love scenes throughout the film, which only further stirred my appetites. Seeing the seductive women make me want to do my hair in a big, mussy fashion the way the Su Li Zhen and Bai Ling characters do. They are hot! It helps that I've had a crush on Gong Li since a college film course.

After getting a free movie poster and leaving the Embarcadero, Oscar told me, "Let's just go home and you can drink some water," when I told him I was hungry for Chinese food. Water. As if. That. Could. Ever. Work. For. Me. After some debate, he indulged my food craving, and we ambled to Chinatown. He probably realized I wouldn't sleep until I got my fill, somehow. We should've headed to the "tried and true" Yuet Lee restaurant, where we had our second date. It is open late, and many cooks of all ethnicities crowd in for catfish clay pot and other savory dishes. I didn't want to walk too far away from BART, and steered us towards someplace closer, by saying, "Let's be adventurous!"

We ended up in a bizarre restaurant called Silver. It has a bare bones decor, with love songs from the fifties to seventies playing. Other customers included: tourists, tatooed, and even a young Chinese family, with girls dressed in similar tops and coats. I liked that Silver has duck and sausage hanging up in an open kitchen, and tanks of live seafood. The biggest turnoff was seeing waiters count their cash rather than pay attention to us, and having to ask for water three times.

Rather than get 1/2 a duck for $9.95, and a few orders of dim sum, we went for the most expensive meal option, at $9.95 a pop. The egg rolls were soggy, and I later noticed it's because they are rewarmed in a microwave. Our more than decent soup had a tasty chicken broth with sausage dumpling. Next, we enjoyed pork fried rice, sweet and sour pork (with HUGE chunks of onion that I polished off), spicy pork, and Sichuan Beef. "We get a ride of luxury," Oscar said as he paid the bill. Ah. He knows I hate BART when it's late. Too bad the "luxury" included a cab that reeked of cigarettes, and a tour of Market Street, complete with sirens and police, breaking up something at a check cashing joint. I kept licking my lips and groaning, regretting that I bit down on so many onion chunks.

I would go back to Silver for soup or duck, but only if it's late at night. There are much better places for lunch in that area.

Now I have to figure out how to get my hair teased and ratted just so, and where to put our beautiful new poster.

Catering with Chef

Last night, I worked a catered dinner for my friend, "Chef" yesterday. I've hired her a few times to work on my events, but usually she hires me to help in the kitchen and then take care of meal service. I love setting the table, pouring wines, and serving. That usually gets me out of doing some dishes.

"CHEF'S" MENU:

• Appetizers: gazpacho, cabrales-fig jam-prosciutto endive.
• Salad: endive with field greens topped by a goat cheese pastry, dressed in a lavender vinagrette.
• Entree: wild salmon with quinoa, carrot, corn, and peas.

Our job was for one of her regular clients, in a gorgeous home. We had 19 adults celebrating a three year old's birthday party, with ten or so kids running around downstairs. Many of the guests were French, including one of the two nannies. Gobs of cash were in different drawers, nestled by Post-Its and pens. One of the kids (the birthday girl) had a star chart on the fridge, listing, "Say please and thank you when I want something." She received "Very Bad" markings on "NOT whining when asked to do something," as well as "Share." My kinda girl.

I haven't catered in a few months, but am always up for an adventure. How easily I forget what a tired grump it can make of me, at times. Even getting there is a MUNI workout: lugging a knife kit, two aprons, two side towels, and my chef's jacket.

Starting at 3 p.m., Chef had me lay out and defrost puff pastry dough, which would end up with goat cheese, atop the salad course. While the dough defrosted, I was to dice carrots into "a little bigger than a corn kernel." The carrots would be sauteed with corn and fresh peas, and added with parsley into quinoa. Top the quinoa with a generous serving of wild salmon, and it's the dinner entree. When Chef dubbed my carrot dice too big, I slightly reduced the size. She looked at my pile of carrot scraps and gasped, "That won't be enough carrots. You need to cut some more of these pieces, so we have more." I felt my neck muscles tighten, but she had a point.

Next came the easy task of slicing off the corn. Easy enough.

For the almost defrosted puff pastry, I was to roll it out and cut six, one-inch rounds out of each sheet. I was able to get almost nine out of the first sheet, so Chef asked me to put that batch back in the fridge and not roll the next sheet out so much, because it was too thin. Okay. After cutting seven rounds, I made a "pretty little edge" on each round by rolling and pinching with my finger tips, and brushed them with egg. "That's not deep enough, because we eventually want a cup for the cheese," cautioned Chef. I pinched and pushed the dough up, and worked through the next 2 sheets. The rounds went on a parchment paper covered cookie sheet, into a 375 degree oven for around 15 minutes.

While the faulty dough sat in the fridge, I jumped on my appetizer, which would give me the biggest headache of the night. (Next time I work with Chef, I must remember to give her a sample piece before making more. Save me from hassle and headache.) I had to top endive with cabrales cheese, organic fig jam, and a prosciutto twirl. The endive didn't need to be shaved down on the bottom, a trick I learned in Garde Manger class in cooking school. Shaving the bottom with a knife allows the endive to sit flate on a platter without tipping over.

I put a quarter inch size blob of cheese on an endive. "That's too much!" said Chef. "Only do half that!" I put cheese on 35 endive leaves, then used a baby spoon to get jam on nearly half of them. "Mary, no. That fig jam has to go on top of the cheese. Otherwise, the prosciutto won't stick. Take all that jam off these ones, and put the jam on the ones you haven't finished." I wanted to ask, "Why can't I just get the jam out of the jar? Transferring it with my fingers will be messy...." but instead took half the jam off, and moved it to an unfinished endive. Sure enough, the jam was getting all over the little leaves.

Chef had more corrections, "Take these leaves and we'll just have to wash and use them for the salad." Her disgust over my jam mess was apparent. I finally stammered, "Okay, but it's really hard moving fig jam. Just so you know." I was mad at myself, but also hadn't eaten, and it was nearing five o'clock. We were both antzy because that was when guests were due to arrive.

I finished and took the appetizers downstairs, but only two guests had arrived. I brought the dough back out, and started setting up. Mr. _____, the client's husband set up a margarita stand by my dough and cutting board. I wanted to let out a primal scream when he used my beautiful Japanese knife to open a bottle of margarita mix, "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!" but alas, I just fumbled my hand and decided to keep the knife on my left, out of his reach.

As more guests arrived, they congregated around the blender. Everyone was tan and just back from Europe, although one guest cooed, "I read about you in Paper City!" which is a local society rag. Dirty glasses (from Gumps, natch) began piling up near my station, and Chef and I took turns getting them washed and dried.

The messed up dough made flat, small rounds. Guess who gets to repeat the whole dough process again, with a fresh sheet? I even forgot to egg wash before putting them in the oven, until Chef spoke up.

It helps to plate and serve guests that are running behind and have had a lot to drink, as this party had. I wolfed one bite of pizza in the basement, when Chef had me get the greens out of the spare fridge, for the salad course. I had to weave my way around the adult table to serve and clear plates, nearly tripping over a wood bucket by the fireplace each go. Moving that damn thing was the best thing I could do. The rest of dinner went fine (how could it not? The adults were bombed on margaritas and wine....), aside from having kids run in the kitchen and ask for various food and beverages. What, two nannies can't handle you guys?

My six hours of slave labor netted $142 cash, which is a decent hourly wage for catered events. "She always pays cash. She has a lot of money lying around," said Chef, with a big smile.

Joseph Schmidt: The trouble with peanut butter and chocolate

Don't try and pass off something that you didn't buy. It will only lead to trouble. The kind owners of R&A dry cleaners recently gave me a peanut butter and chocolate Joseph Schmidt candy bar to try. There's some history there. We are on their VIP list because we spend hundreds of dollars on laundered goods each year. They gave us a box of Joseph Schmidt truffles when we got married, around Easter, and close to Father's Day. I even saw Joseph unloading the candy from his Mercedes and hugging the laundress last year. She told me they've known him for years.

Knowing how much Oscar loves the peanut butter and chocolate flavor duo, I offered it to him when he got home. "Where did you buy this?"

"Oh, I got it when I was out and about, running around today."

"Thank you. It's yummy," he said, as he finished the candy bar.

Two days later, I was busted. "I was at R&A today and saw the owner giving a little boy the same chocolate bar with peanut butter. You didn't buy it anywhere, you got it when you were dropping off laundry."

"Ummm, I didn't say I bought it anywhere, so it's not like I lied," I answered.

He laughed and shook his head. "But you made it sound like you picked it out for me in a store or something. I bet the only reason you gave it to me is because you didn't want it."

I laughed back and said, "No," without adding anything else to further incriminate myself. Chocolate is serious business in our house.

I was able to redeem myself by getting a chocolate fix at the Joseph Schmidt store on 16th Street in the Castro today. I bought Oscar some peanut butter nougat and caramels, with some dark and milk chocolate bars thrown in for good measure. Darn it but they didn't have any of his favorite candy bars. It may be better that way. I wouldn't want to remind him what a sneaky wife he has.

Me-so headachy and gray haired. Red Miso soup to the rescue

I re-read an interesting book recently called Glow by Christine Pirello that details how food effects the way we look and feel. There's descriptions on everything from white bumps near the eyes to acne and dry skin. I paid close attention to the sea vegetables category because I discover new gray hair on an almost weekly basis.

One reasonable theory in Glow is that gray hair and baldness are hereditary. May be, but my Mom didn't get too much gray hair til her mid-forties, so I'm looking to cheat my fate. Who would be happy finding gray hair, aside from Jim Jarmusch, who's had it since age fifteen, and uses his hair to attain outsider status wherever he goes. But I digress.

Glow suggests eating sea vegetables daily or as often as possible, because they contain valuable nutrients that are tough to find in other food. I was surprised Oscar agreed to my "let's eat miso soup with seaweed for breakfast idea." Maybe he's used to my crackpot ideas (do you want to try raw foods? Let's get a juicer. How bout a food dehydrator?), and presumably realizes I say more than I actually do. After a month of my miso for breakfast suggestion, we have yet to eat any home made miso soup, for any meal.

Until today. I was head-achy and hungry, and nothing in the fridge or pantry jumped out... until I noticed the package of toasted seaweed. I pulled out a jar of mellow red miso (Westbrae Natural brand) from the fridge and found a good layout for how to make miso one pot miso soup. I tweaked the recipe so it could match as close to restaurant miso soup as possible. This means I omitted their suggestion of thinly sliced carrot, cauliflower, or cabbage. The results were a light, salty, slightly sweet soup, with onions that were a bit too crunchy (longer saute time should help for future batches), and the seaweed a little too soggy. I thought I had stirred all the miso in thoroughly, but found a glop in the bottom when I was serving. Avoid this by stirring continuously until the miso melts into the broth.

Eating the soup made my headache disappear. I'll keep you posted if my gray hairs miraculously stop showing up each week.

Easy Miso Soup Recipe:

1 tsp. olive oil

1 onion, medium diced

2 cups vegetable broth or water (I used water after discovering my box of veggie broth expired in 2003. What? I thought I just bought it a year ago. I usually use chicken broth or stock, so that may be why I never noticed the expiration.)

2 sheets toasted seaweed, cut into small squares. Tip: Slice into sheets, then stack the sheets and cut into small squares.

1-2 Tbsp. Miso, to taste

3 oz. firm tofu, diced

Garnish before serving: 1/2 Tbsp. Eden Shake Sesame and Sea Vegetable seasoning

In medium saucepan, saute onion in oil until they turn translucent. Make sure they are not too crunchy by tasting one. Add broth or water, cover and simmer for 3-4 minutes. Add 1-2 tablespoons miso, and seaweed, and dissolve. Simmer 5-10 more minutes. Sprinkle Eden shake over soup before eating. Serves 2 for breakfast or as a light starter to a meal.

Mold alert in our butter!

Gross out city: the butter we used to spread on tonight's bread had mold at the bottom of its serving dish. A quick read on various websites told us we will not die or become sick of botulism or other scary ailments. The only symptoms to look for (according to one website) are gagging, nausea and vomiting from the smell and taste of mold. We didn't smell or taste any mold, which gives me hope that the mold was at the bottom of the Butter Bell dish rather than on its way to our greedy open mouths.

I already felt queasy from seeing the guts drip out of our large prawns at dinner ("adventurous eating" I chirped, with a cringe). I grumpily told my husband he was not seeing grey in our butter, two times. Note to self, I do not need to be such a bee-atch at dinner, even if he won't turn off the "news" (I could hear from the kitchen that it was ESPN Zone, does he think I'm deaf?) and help get dinner to the table.

The reason we had mold in our Butter Bell is I didn't read online the part about putting fresh, cool water at the base, which will keep the butter fresh if changed out every 3 days. I don't remember the Butter Bell box even having directions that included the water step. I should've researched further, rather than smugly thinking my way was the best way. Guess I'll take the chore of changing out the water every 3 days, unless I toss the Butter Bell and revert to our butter-in-a-dish-in-the-fridge days.

Why is it I now crave a heaping serving of chocolate ice cream?

Saying goodbye to the fridge & its contents

Cleaning the fridge out before leaving on a vacation is a depressing job. Say goodbye to ingredients both raw and random. Dreamy recipes (yes, I do dream of cooking often) are never realized. My list of goodbyes happened as we recently prepared for a one week holiday.

Here's a sampling of ingredients and dreamed up dishes that never came to be:

One pound bag of spinach: I pictured you in a simple saute with garlic and red pepper flakes, or a frittata with onions, garlic, and cheese. Rolling you with some chicken or pork with cheese and sundried tomatoes would look and taste lovely.

Fresh tomatoes from Alan Cheuse's garden: you were meant for a beautiful salad, delectable BLT sandwich with mayo, salt and pepper, plate of pasta, or a corn salad with green onion, cilantro, and champagne vinegar.

Handmade tortillas: Why didn't I find the time to cook you up with some chilaquiles? How could I forget to slather you with cheese, beans, avocado, hot sauce, and sour cream?

Garlicky pinto beans: The spice combo of cumin, oregano, and cayenne is swoon worthy of the aforementioned handmade tortillas, along with a side of carnitas pork or beer can chicken.

Thickened yogurt (drained in the fridge with cheesecloth): I didn't take the time to drizzle you with sour cherry sauce or other fruit, or make you into a healthy smoothie for breakfast.

Leftover Pork chop: Mashed potatoes with gravy and steamed or sauteed asparagus would've tasted so grand on a foggy day.

Any advice on how to avoid overstocking the fridge before a vacation would come in handy. Next time I will abstain from going out to restaurants, and will pack Oscar a lunch every weekday before the trip.