Taco Rabanne

Me likes the tacos. Let's just establish that upfront. Tacos + Me = BF 4 EVER.

And my hunt for the king of tacos has been snowballing of late. A rigorous, peer-reviewed process. Not complete, by any stretch. But performed with enthusiasm, and a good attitude.

So while the quest continues, I want to announce a new plateau, if not a peak. An apex?

El Huarache Loco*, at the Alemany market. The unsexy market. Saturdays, from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. Order the Mexico City-style tacos, which are good enough that I'm hoping that a certain native son will get his butt out here to try them already. They serve another Mexico City signature, the namesake Huarache: fresh sandal-shaped masa tortillas topped with salsa verde, cheese, meat, nopal salad, and crema.

Now, I'm no fool**. I realize that having to go to a farmer's market on Saturdays to find thse tacos gives them a certain Chowhoundian appeal. There's nothing a Chowhounder likes better than some obscure dish that's available for just one hour each week, and across town, because that's when the sister of the owner drives in from Lodi and she's the only one who knows how to make it, idiot.

But these really are terrific.

Even better, El Hurache's owner, Veronica Salazar, got her start through La Cocina, a very inspiring SF non-profit that helps women start their own food businesses by providing affordable commercial kitchen space, business training, and moral support. I love the food coming out of La Cocina (I'll devote a post to it in coming days).


* I love that the name means "The crazy sandal."

** My imaginary factchecker demands a clarification: I am, not infrequently, a fool about many things, including daytime reality TV. I do, however, try to be smart about my food.

More Mendocino finds

Did I mention that the drive to Mendocino is a bugger? First, it's twisty-turny, which means my only recourse is to do all the driving myself (or invest in a car with better handling). Extreme carsickness makes me want to die. Really, just give it up and expire.

Second, the trip from San Francisco is neatly divided into two parts: an endless, often clogged highway, and the aforementioned twisty-turny part. You crawl across one finish line only to find the second leg of the race.

Still, it is so pretty. Especially Route 182, from Sonoma to the coast. You switchback over the hills, now bright green with the rain, then coast down through wine country into the redwoods, which lead you to the churning ocean. Along the way, you can stop at Schramsberg vineyards, makers of excellent California sparklers, or buy a sack of apples and some apple balsamic vinegar from the Apple Farm in Philo. But you must always stop at Gowan's Oak Tree produce stand for the crispy apple chips. They're like potato chips, but thicker and more delicate. "Are these fried?" I asked the salesgirl. No, she said, they freeze the apples to dry them out. I bit in, and my taste buds went to Toontown. Zing! Pow! Wow! I raced out to the car with two bags. "Are these fried?" Scott asked. "No," I cried, "They're a miracle!"

We are now in the second half of Dungeness crab season and a great time has been had by all. I didn't think I'd find crustacean love beyond the Maine lobster, but Mama's got a brand new crab. We had these these fantastic Dungeness tacos at Sharon's by the Sea in Noyo Harbor, where the crab boats come in each day to deposit their catch. Sharon piles an Asian fusion-y slaw on top of the meat, which is what you see here. Those are homemade potato chips on the right.

Bread heaven

I had a getting-to-know-you visit today with my new doctor. This being San Francisco, I filled out a lengthy questionnaire about my health history, my relationships, my feelings, and my food habits. She gave me great advice, and told me it never hurts to try accupuncture. I wanted to say, "Really? It never hurts?" But I bet she gets that all the time.

One of the questionnaire items had me listing foods that I crave and foods that are comforting. That would be "bread," and "bread." And I found the most fantastic bread up in Mendocino last weekend at Café Beaujolais. Best I've had so far, and that's saying something.

The breads are baked in a wood-fired oven and sold out of a little window on the side of a cottage. Couldn't be more charming. And they are the moistest, crustiest, most flavorful loaves. We bought a fougasse and a levain, and it took some willpower to not devour them on the 4-hour drive home. In the rain, with no lunch.

So here's the question: Now that we've found it, is it...hmm, excessive to do an 8-hour round-trip just for the bread?

Spamalot

Mmmmmm.....meat cupcakes. Could I even make this up? A friend linked me to this recipe on the Hormel website. "Thought it might make a great element in a story on emetics or something along those lines," she said.

I love the yellow ribbon. It says, "Sure, you can dress up your canned pig's ass as a teatime dainty. But don't forget the troops, eating theirs straight out of the can."

Catch-up

So back in May, after we had been here for just a month or so, I wrote this post about mental maps and the challenge of learning a new city.

I'd feel like San Francisco was really home, I said, when I knew the following:

1) A good pizza place that delivers
2) Sushi within walking distance
3) Ice cream within walking distance that's just far enough away
4) A brunch place where you don't have to stand in line
5) Dim Sum, ibid
6) That place you recommend to visitors
7) That place with the young chef who just needs one good review
8) The place with the rice pudding
9) An Indian restaurant with puffy breads
10) The place where you meet friends for drinks
11) The place that becomes "your place."

So here's a progress report:

1) Pizza: The one decent delivery place we've found so far is Pizza Express. We'd like to do better.

2) Sushi: Success! Deep Sushi is a mere ten-minute walk away.

3) Ice cream that's just far enough away: That would be Mitchell's.

4) Brunch, no line: In San Francisco? Impossible. But if you get up early, you can sneak into Tartine.

5) Dim Sum: I can't believe I said "ibid." Anyway, it's City View, before 10:30 a.m..

6) Where to send visitors: That's easy. Everybody loves the Ferry Building.

7) The young chef: Can't say enough good things about Dennis Leary at Canteen.

8) Rice pudding: Help! We haven't found any good rice pudding yet...

9) Puffy Indian breads: Of the places we've tried so far, Naan n' Chutney is the puffiest.

10) Place to meet for drinks: That would require me to actually meet friends for drinks. Seriously, we'd all rather eat.

11) The place that becomes "your place": Aw, that's cute. Can't say we've found The One. But nothing beats Saturday mornings at the farmers market with Scott.

---

Bud

For anyone looking for some sign of spring, here's a baby fig on the tree outside our test kitchen.

Fig buds in February. This is all wrong. And so nice.

Enchilada day

Doesn't that sound like a good day? We're making enchiladas seven different ways for a possible story, and it looks like I will be having a plain salad for dinner.

The smell in the kitchen brings back memories of my hopeless waitressing days in Albuquerque. I liked to hide out in the kitchen, where one of the cooks let me fry tortilla chips. He always called me "mujer," and I thought he was flirting with me until I looked up the word.

One day he said, "What are you?"
"What do you mean, 'What am I?'"
"Are you Mexican? White? Spanish?"
"I'm Italian."
"Oh," he nodded, getting back to his quesadilla. "You're half-white."

Tagged, willing, and able

McPolack got me! Who can resist McPolack? She's fabulous. Here goes:

Four Jobs I've Had
1. Tobacco leaf stringer-upper -- a right of passage for the children of the Connecticut River Valley. I can still feel the inky gum on my forearms. Enjoy your cigar.
2. Frozen hamster brain slicer - neurobiology lab, Junior year.
3. Hopeless waitress
4. Dillard's salesgirl (men's deptartment...want some Sansabelts?)


Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over
1. Amadeus
2. Room with a View
3. Annie Hall
4. It's a Wonderful Life/ White Christmas

Four Places I've Lived
1. Boston, MA
2. Albuquerque, NM
3. Peterborough, NH
4. Windsor, CT

Four TV Shows I Love
1. Starting Over (That's two plugs! Watch the ratings rise...)
2. Lost
3. CBS Sunday Morning
4. Simpsons

Five places I've vacationed (these are some favorites):
1. California coast (Big Sur & Pt. Reyes)
2. Welfleet
3. Positano
4. Bermuda ('cuz it was my honeymoon and we sat next to Seal and Heidi Klum at lunch)
5. Key West

Five of my favorite dishes:
1. Grandma's apple crisp
2. The braised pork with cognac, prunes, sage, and walnuts I made on Saturday from Gordon Hammersley's Bistro Cooking at Home.
3. The fluffy gnocchi with cream sauce and shaved white truffles I once had at No. 9 Park.
4. A good piece of fresh walnut bread with a smear of soft-ripened cheese and fresh figs.
5. As McPolack said, anything homemade with love and care.

Four sites I visit daily:
1. Friends' blogs
2. Gawker
3. Epicurious
4. Google

Five places I would rather be right now:
1. Hmmm...in a house perched on a hill in Big Sur...
2. ...with Scott and Clio...
3. ...and my niece and nephew...
4. ...and friends...
5. ...and sister and parents and in-laws. But now it's getting crowded. So everyone has their own house, but you can walk between the houses. But they don't just barge in. And my niece and nephew sleep with my sister and her husband every other night so we can get some rest. And everyone has their own car because it's a nightmare trying to coordinate everyone. And my friends have the party house that they share, but they don't mind that we have the little cottage with the best view and the hot tub because we organized the whole thing. And better restaurants in town, and a free pass to use the hot tubs at Esalen without having to get the creepy naked group massage.

Four bloggers I am tagging:
I'm burning through my list here! Any volunteers?

What's in a name #2

Growing up in New England, most of the Italians I knew were from Sicily, Calabria, Abruzzo, Naples. For all sorts of reasons, Italian-Americans from the South tended to settle in the Northeast. Meanwhile, my family, on both sides, came from the North...Piacenza and the hill towns around Tortona in Piemonte. Somehow, we ended up in Connecticut.

So it wasn't until I was in my mid-twenties that I met another Traverso who wasn't a direct relative. It was a snowy night at a dinner party in Boston, and she was from Argentina. My family tells a story about my great-grandmother Severina who came to this country via Geona. There were two boats at that port the day she left: one heading to New York, the other to Buenos Aires. Severina chose New York and made her way to Plymouth, Massachusetts where she cooked for the men who were digging the Cape Cod Canal. After she had saved up enough money, she went back to Italy to retrieve her husband and three sons. Perhaps that Argentine woman and I were long-lost cousins, but her great-grandmother had taken the other boat.

Anyway, I digress. My point is: no Traversos. So you can imagine my delight when I learned that there was a semi-famous Italian specialty market in Santa Rosa with my very same name. In fact, people have often said, upon meeting me, "Oh, Traverso as in Traverso's?" No, I didn't think so, I said, but inside I felt the thrill of belonging, if only by association.

I finally stopped by the shop a few weeks ago. The store has been open since 1922, and is run by George Traverso and his son Michael, who represent the 3rd and 4th generations, respectively. We compared family histories enough to determine that we're not cousins, though their ancestors came from an area near Genoa and did live in Hartford for a brief period. But we had a nice chat, and they gave me a cap and a t-shirt to take home. I like to put on the shirt and dance around Scott shouting, "Traversos rule the world!"

I have to admit, though: I was hoping to find a relation. In my heart of hearts, I wanted cousins and uncles and Sunday dinners. In our family line, I'm the last Traverso. The ranks have thinned on the east coast...wouldn't it be nice to find a batch of long-lost relations out here? Instead, I went looking for family and all I got was a t-shirt.

But it's a nice shirt. And the fact is, I have a big family. It's just made up of Kirsners and Vogels and Roehls and Clios now. "Resisting change doesn't recapture the past," as the saying goes. "It loses the future."

Sundance, snow pants

Spent most of last week at Sundance, working on a travel story, watching "films," turning 35, doing a little skiing, and a fair amount of eating.

35 is big. Not old, but big. No more pretending to be in your post-grad years. No more playing young and stupid when you mess up. MTV doesn't want you anymore (fine, it was never that good anyway, we were going in different directions). Looking ahead to something that looks different from the last 15 years.

But on to the festival. A quick recap:

Celebrity sightings: Maggie Gyllenhaal (prettier in person), Justin Timberlake (shorter in person, but aren't they always?), some guy from Metallica (just what you'd expect).

Favorite movie: American Blackout (Hey, turns out one person can make a difference!)

Restaurants visited: Zoom, Chimayo, Chez Betty. Chimayo was the favorite, but I gotta say, when you live in San Francisco, you're grading on a curve most everwhere else.

Yikes, does that mean I've become one of them?

Better latte than never

Behold the best chai latte I've ever had. It's from the Pine Cone Diner in lovely Point Reyes Station.

What made it so good? No added sugar, so you can control the sweetness; just the right amount of spice and heat; and a nice crown of foam. Surprising how hard it is to find that, even here in latte land.

Photo: Kirsner's cell phone

Local favorites

One of the great thrills of going back home was the chance to visit two of my old haunts in Cambridge. The first, Formaggio Kitchen, is the former employer of Jessica from Feed and Supply, and still the best cheese shop I know. Hi-Rise Bakery is a source of superior breads, pastries, and jams, and an employer of comically grumpy and disaffected art students.

I love Formaggio not just for its good looks and jaw-dropping selection. It's the cheese cave underneath the store, where all the little live things are allowed to come to their peak ripeness before they hit the floor. With that kind of care, you're always assured that the Abbaye de Belloc for which you shell out $22/lb. for will be so good, you'll only need to eat a little bit at a time. Thereby resolving your ambivalence about paying $22 for a hunk of cheese.

As for Hi-Rise, I love them for their brichoe, their jam, and their jam-filled brioche. And the shrimp salad. The cookies and cakes and pies are also buttery and tender, but I save my calories for the jam and bread.

Hi-Rise's big downside, or charm, depending on how you look at is, lies in the subduction zone of the cash register, where cranky staff meets entitled customer. This is the great risk of doing business in places like Cambridge, and I'm not sure there's much to be done about it. The millionaire, NPR-listening, gluten-sensitive buyers believe they are each more special than the next. They struggle to share the big "family table" in the middle of the store. No room! Too many exceptional people! Meanwhile, the art students fail to conceal their contempt. And I silently project I'm not one of them, really while I order a jam-filled brioche, but with the apricot-lime jam, please, not the raspberry. No, not the apricot-lemon, the apricot-lime, 'cause I really like what the lime does to the...oh, uh, thank you.

What I did on my winter vacation

Just got back from a tour of Connecticut, New York, and Massachusetts. We never spent more than 2 nights in any one place, but I got to visit my hometown (that's the defunct 99-cent movie theater in the photo), Lenox, Stockbridge, Cambridge. I love that cold, dark, snowy little corner of the world.

When I lived in New Mexico in the mid-90's, I must have flown home for the holidays. I just don't remember it. But what a pleasure this time. The plane came in low over the farmland that borders Bradley Airport and looking down, I saw large snowy fields bordered by maples, each with a little lighted farmhouse in the center and snow on the roof. And, just because the scene was so perfect, I'm going to say there was smoke coming out of those chimneys. "Look!" I said. "it's New England!"

When we got down to the little baggage claim, we saw crowds of families greeting their arrivals. Rosy cheeks, laughter, embraces. Mom and Dad in the crowd. Sometimes life forgets itself and hands you your own Capra moment. The trick is to stop and take it in. And then remember it, when you're back in your quiet office, two weeks and 3000 miles away.

Brandy's dandy

Here's the product of this year's holiday craft binge: cranberry and pomegranate cordials. I mixed the liquor; Scott made the labels.

The recipe is simple, and comes courtesy of Molly W.: 6 cups cheap red wine, 5 cups sugar, one bag of cranberries. Simmer together until cranberries pop. Cool to room temperature, then refrigerate for a few days to let berries steep. Strain, stir in 3 cups brandy, then bottle.

For the pomegranate mix, I used white wine, a mix of POM juice and fruit, and a little less sugar. Unfortunately, I wasn't measuring as I did this, so you'll have to wing that one.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Happy holidays

Here's a photo of the croquembouche that Jessica of Feed and Supply served at her Christmas party last night. It was stunning, and nothing's more fun than pulling your very own creampuff off a sugary tower.

Jessica is the most relaxed host I know. Where I'm always racing around at the last second ("Plates! We need plates to eat on!"), Jessica comes to the door smiling and serene, even when she has a little bit of cooking to do. I always leave her house feeling contented and cared for. Isn't that a nice gift?

Here's a photo of J's tree, just to give this place some sparkle...

But enough about you

Apartment number one tagged me a couple of days ago, and I've been remiss. Here are the rules:

Post 10 weird and random facts about yourself, then at the end, list the names of 5 more suckers bloggers.

I do enjoy a good meme. Here goes:

1. I hate overhead lighting.

2. I like to cultivate a handful of quirks like #1.

3. Not that I made them up, but I'm not doing much to get over them, either.

4. I TiVo Starting Over every day, and when Scott's out of town, I watch it for hours.

5. I was in the cast of the first American musical to tour China.

6. I love Cream of Wheat.

7. If I had to choose between a 7-course wine dinner and a drive-in movie, I'd take the drive-in every time. A 4-course dinner? It's a toss-up.

8. I think all desserts should have salt.

9. Mark Bittman is my culinary role model.

10. Some day, I want to sell pies out of a reconditioned ice cream truck.

Now I'm tagging:
McPolack Inc.
Feed and Supply
cuarentayuno
Mona's Apple
and Rachael of Fresh Catering

The buck stops where?

I went to Mijita for the first time this Sunday and tried their signature quesadilla Mijita, a thick, fresh, handmade corn tortilla stuffed with Mexican cheeses, chiles, and epazote, then folded up like a calzone and cooked on the griddle. It came with a fabulous sweet-smoky-tangy tomato salsa and good guacamole. More than any dish I've had in San Francisco so far, this captured those hot earth flavors that I love in Mexican cooking. And Traci Des Jardins makes a point of sourcing local produce and using organic meats. Great view of the Bay, too. The price: About $25 for lunch for two: 2 tacos, a quesadilla, beans, and two aguas frescas. And the quesadilla was overkill, really. We were stuffed.

Then I stumbed across Mijita's reviews on Yelp.com. Reviews ran mixed-to-negative, which was surprising, but maybe there are consistency problems. What did shock me is that 14 out of 22 reviews complained about the prices. "Waaaaay overpriced," one said. "Too pricey," said another. Then the capper: "There's no reason for a taco to cost $5."

Wha?

WTF?

Don't mean to get all soap-boxy, but this stupidity is hard to take, especially from San Franciscans. I bet half these folks read Fast Food Nation and boycotted McDonald's for ethical reasons. But don't take away their cheap burritos! Mexican food isn't supposed to actually cost money. Forget what it takes to make a profit on a $3 super taco.

Everybody needs a little time away

Wow. Ten days since my last post. Sometimes you just need a break, you know? Especially when you think about food for a living. My friend Julia calls it "being fooded out."

My other excuse is that we had my sister's family here for ten days. We did all sorts of fun things, very little of which was food-related, thanks to my niece and nephew. Unless you count the cotton candy at Disneyland.

But last night I made a really nice pan-roasted monkfish on mushroom ragout. Here's the recipe:

I minced 4 cloves of garlic and 4 shallots, finely chopped 1 yellow onion, and diced 3 portabella mushroom caps and about 5 large chanterelles. Then I rendered 3 diced strips of thick-cut bacon (I like Niman Ranch) over medium heat until browned. Removed the meat, but left the fat, increased the heat to medium-high, and browned the garlic, shallots, onion, and mushrooms. Added a bay leaf and a handful of halved pear tomatoes. Seasoned with salt and pepper, Portuguese allspice and a tiny bit of regular allspice. When everything was nicely caramelized, I deglazed with a little chicken stock.

In a separate pan over medium-high heat, I seared the salt-and-pepper-sprinkled monkfish in a little olive oil, then roasted it at 425 for 7 minutes. Took it out, realized that wasn't enough time, and put it back in for another 5. Took it out, realized it still wasn't enough time, and put it back for 4 more.

The monkfish looked a little pale on the ragout, so I sprinkled it with some dried tomato powder that my mom had given me. Pretty! Unfortunately, I didn't manage to pull out the camera before we dove in. But this is a photo of the lovely Masút Pinot Noir I drank with it. This is a small biodynamic winery in Mendocino County founded by Robert Fetzer (yes, that Fetzer). If you can get your hands on a bottle (about $32), you'll be happy indeed. As my boss said when she tried it today, "This is true Pinot Noir."

The olive project: Week 2

The olives are now in their fourth day of the more concentrated brine. All in all, they've been in the mix for 12 days. Just 78 more to go!

Sorry for the poor quality of the photo. Didn't have time to use the camera, so I used my cell phone. But you can se that some are still purple, some are green, and some are turning a nice shade of brown.

Favorite food-related fainting stories #3

My apologies: This is probably the most unappetizing post I'll ever write. But the fainting stories were such a hit, and this one really is funny.

Remember the woman who faints when she eats too much?

We’ll call her Katy. Being a fainter, she has a few good stories up her sleeve. This is one of my favorites:

Katy and her husband were at a wedding in Vermont last July. It was perfect: a beautiful meadow, mountains in the background, bridesmaids in cornflower blue, and a line of tuxedoed groomsmen, including the bride’s younger brother.

So baby brother had been out drinking with the guys the night before, and had skipped breakfast that morning. Naughty brother! (That's the food connection, btw).

Suddenly, standing up for the groom began to seem like a very tall order indeed. The bride’s parents watched as he turned green and began to sway. By the time he actually hit the ground, they were ready. They raced in, propped him up, and dragged him to a chair in the front row.

Flustered, but determined, the young couple resumed their vows.

That’s when the dry heaves began.

Overwhelmed by all those tequila shots, baby brother’s system was doing its damnedest to shake off the poison. But the well was dry, so all he could do was put his head between his knees and roar.

Now the entire wedding party was beginning to look pale. So the bride’s father did what had to be done, and dragged baby brother off across the meadow. The wedding resumed, and the couple got hitched without another hitch. But the caterers couldn't help noticing that the guests were unusually restrained at the buffet line.