Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Hot Time, Sausage in the City
Mike and I spent today in the city. (San Francisco for you folks with a different "City"). We got a new food book a few days ago while shopping at the Fatted Calf at the new Oxbow Market in Napa: Patricia Unterman's San Francisco Food Lover's Guide. (Go there just to check out the red, non-electric slicer-- it is a thing of beauty.) I flipped through it a bit yesterday and marked some potential stops, so today as we drove out through Carneros on our way to the Golden Gate Bridge and surf shops beyond, we looked for something interesting in the neighborhood we'd be visiting. Neighborhood, or "district" is key. Today's destination was the Sunset and Richmond Districts, to visit Mollusk, Wise, and Sunset surf shops. You see, Mike is in the market for a long board, about twelve feet long, to be exact, or at least 11". These are not easy to come by. He's been talking to the guys at Wise, but he is eager to get going, now that he has his wetsuit, so we were hoping to find one.
Anyway, that put us in the outer Sunset, so on the way, we flipped through the book to see what might sound good. I love that the book is organized by neighborhoods, so you can eat where you are. We picked Old Krakow cafe and had Polish food for lunch. I've never had Polish food, besides kielbasa, that I know of. Since I'm part Polish, it was a little exciting.
The borscht, a sublime scarlet broth (no pieces), was vinegary, savory and soothing, with little meat-filled dumplings in it. I have never tasted anything like it. My immediate feeling was that I would seriously crave it the next time I got sick. Total comfort food. Mike slurped it up. The mushroom soup I ordered was creamy and mushroomy, delicious but not mind-blowing. Next, we shared a cucumber salad with sour cream, dill and scallions. Then Mike had an entree called "Hunter's Stew" a mix of sauerkraut, potatoes, pork, kielbasa and mushrooms which he devoured and I thought was just ok, and I had the "Potato Dumplings" which came in a mushroom cream sauce, not unlike the soup. My mistake. Both dishes could have been hotter. Overall, the food was all tasty, though, and the service was quick and friendly. Mike's lunch beer was pretty high-octane, so I drove to the surf shops.
Mollusk is really warm and funky, and has tons of t-shirts, books and artwork, in addition to many boards so cool looking that you'd want to take up the sport immediately just to be that cool-- if it wasn't so cold and foggy in the Sunset. They were also friendly.
On the way home, we decided to look for the high-octane Polish beer we'd had at lunch, called Okicim Porter, at a Russian market behind Wise. Found it, and several others, which we brought home.
Next stop, a particularly rich corner in the Richmond, at Geary between 20th and 23rd, where we found a Polish sausage shop (all handmade), another Russian Market, and a Russian bakery, two thanks to the book, and one thanks to the nice Russian waiter at the Old Krakow. We brought home two varieties of Polish sausage, a small loaf of black bread, and some interesting pastries for dessert.
After about 6 thin slices of black bread with butter this evening, I made braised cabbage with leeks to go under the sausages when we heated them up. Yum. After dinner, we both polished off a strange and still yummy tapioca cream horn pastry that we didn't know the name of. It was an interesting and satisfying day, and a great food adventure. I wish a) that the sun had come out while we were there, b) that I had known about that sausage shop a long time ago, and c) that Mike had been able to find/order the surfboard of his dreams. Another day.
Anyway, that put us in the outer Sunset, so on the way, we flipped through the book to see what might sound good. I love that the book is organized by neighborhoods, so you can eat where you are. We picked Old Krakow cafe and had Polish food for lunch. I've never had Polish food, besides kielbasa, that I know of. Since I'm part Polish, it was a little exciting.
The borscht, a sublime scarlet broth (no pieces), was vinegary, savory and soothing, with little meat-filled dumplings in it. I have never tasted anything like it. My immediate feeling was that I would seriously crave it the next time I got sick. Total comfort food. Mike slurped it up. The mushroom soup I ordered was creamy and mushroomy, delicious but not mind-blowing. Next, we shared a cucumber salad with sour cream, dill and scallions. Then Mike had an entree called "Hunter's Stew" a mix of sauerkraut, potatoes, pork, kielbasa and mushrooms which he devoured and I thought was just ok, and I had the "Potato Dumplings" which came in a mushroom cream sauce, not unlike the soup. My mistake. Both dishes could have been hotter. Overall, the food was all tasty, though, and the service was quick and friendly. Mike's lunch beer was pretty high-octane, so I drove to the surf shops.
Mollusk is really warm and funky, and has tons of t-shirts, books and artwork, in addition to many boards so cool looking that you'd want to take up the sport immediately just to be that cool-- if it wasn't so cold and foggy in the Sunset. They were also friendly.
On the way home, we decided to look for the high-octane Polish beer we'd had at lunch, called Okicim Porter, at a Russian market behind Wise. Found it, and several others, which we brought home.
Next stop, a particularly rich corner in the Richmond, at Geary between 20th and 23rd, where we found a Polish sausage shop (all handmade), another Russian Market, and a Russian bakery, two thanks to the book, and one thanks to the nice Russian waiter at the Old Krakow. We brought home two varieties of Polish sausage, a small loaf of black bread, and some interesting pastries for dessert.
After about 6 thin slices of black bread with butter this evening, I made braised cabbage with leeks to go under the sausages when we heated them up. Yum. After dinner, we both polished off a strange and still yummy tapioca cream horn pastry that we didn't know the name of. It was an interesting and satisfying day, and a great food adventure. I wish a) that the sun had come out while we were there, b) that I had known about that sausage shop a long time ago, and c) that Mike had been able to find/order the surfboard of his dreams. Another day.
Friday, October 12, 2007
All That Junk-- Drinking and Blogging II
My hair (which is huge) is thick with the smell of cigar smoke. In the distance, I can barely make out the throb of "My Humps" (What you gon' do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk? If you have not seen the Alanis Morisette version, you must.) I've had a glass of wine, and a shot of tequila, but I'm home and on the computer. I'm not sure, but I think I might actually have become a grown-up.
Tonight was/is the winery's annual post-harvest party. I came home from work, had a little snack because I knew I'd be having wine, took my vitamins and drank a glass of water. I touched up my makeup, cajoled my hair into taking a less Roseanne Roseannadanna-like shape and went over to the party. I made a point of saying hello to nice people I remember from last year's party, and people I've been meaning to meet. I tasted thoughtfully through a "vertical" of ten years each of Petit Syrah (their spelling) and Cabernet Sauvignon. I ate dinner and listened to mariachis play La Bamba, and a bunch of other deafening traditional songs featuring many trumpets. In my ear. While I was eating a taco. Made by a German.
I watched the kids (and some adults) dance to a bad dj. The same bad dj they had last year. Crap segues from, for example, Brick House to Billie Jean, with a little classic TEQUILA! and Baby Got Back thrown in. (He has to play it, it's on the list.) Now and again something actually from this decade. I'm surprised there's no chicken dancing. The kids love it. They just dance and dance. The oldest one is 12, the youngest, an exceptionally tired-and-wired 3. My little ranch neighbor girls, Arnulfo's daughters, are pretty bad-ass dancers, by the way. I wish I had their cool style when I was 8. Rather than slamming back another couple of shots of tequila and showing my age by jumping up to boogie to KC and the Sunshine Band (not that I didn't bust out some Rollercoaster of Love on the i-pod today, which I did) I walked home. You Shook Me All Night Long serenaded my starry egress. (A starry egress, you say? Would that be a leggy bird painted swirly blue?)
Now I can hear "Shout" creeping in my open screen door from the darkness. Truly one of the most annoying songs in the whole world to dance to. But that's beside the point.
The point is, in spite of my grousing, I had a good time. It was a really nice party. Everyone had fun, but I didn't need to be a part of every nook and cranny of it. I didn't feel the need to keep up with the boys. (Nor to go home with them, except the one I came with.) I didn't nervously over-serve myself, or get myself into drunken conversations from which I couldn't extract myself, or from which someone else couldn't extract him or herself. And I didn't worry that anyone would think that I was this or that if I simply walked home. I'd like to take a shower and wash this smell out of my enormous hair. I would like to read in bed, clean and cozy in my flannel jammies, and most importantly, I'd like to wake up tomorrow feeling normal instead of having throbbing eyeballs and a sweatered gecko for a tongue.
I will probably stay up late if I can, just to make sure Mike gets home ok. He's got a short walk, but he looks after the boys to make sure anyone who overdoes it is in good hands. William, the Kiwi assistant winemaker, takes over when it gets down to the final few stalwarts still playing pool stonefaced, like old-time sharks, down in the smoking room. The company pays for free taxis for anyone who wants one, but you know it's about as easy to get a drunk in a taxi as it is to get a big baby in a small snowsuit. Still, they've put the taxi company number on little slips of paper in discreet little trays all over the place, next to every bar, and the taxi company knows that the company picks up the tab tonight. I actually overheard one guy telling another that it was a good deal, and he should think about it for later.
The dog just wanted out, so I danced a few funky steps with my shadow to the thumping beats still ringing out in the dark of our little valley. Over at the party, the youngsters (not the dancing children-- the older ones) are still drinking and smoking cigars, and apparently, they still need the funk. Gotta have that funk.
G'nite.
Tonight was/is the winery's annual post-harvest party. I came home from work, had a little snack because I knew I'd be having wine, took my vitamins and drank a glass of water. I touched up my makeup, cajoled my hair into taking a less Roseanne Roseannadanna-like shape and went over to the party. I made a point of saying hello to nice people I remember from last year's party, and people I've been meaning to meet. I tasted thoughtfully through a "vertical" of ten years each of Petit Syrah (their spelling) and Cabernet Sauvignon. I ate dinner and listened to mariachis play La Bamba, and a bunch of other deafening traditional songs featuring many trumpets. In my ear. While I was eating a taco. Made by a German.
I watched the kids (and some adults) dance to a bad dj. The same bad dj they had last year. Crap segues from, for example, Brick House to Billie Jean, with a little classic TEQUILA! and Baby Got Back thrown in. (He has to play it, it's on the list.) Now and again something actually from this decade. I'm surprised there's no chicken dancing. The kids love it. They just dance and dance. The oldest one is 12, the youngest, an exceptionally tired-and-wired 3. My little ranch neighbor girls, Arnulfo's daughters, are pretty bad-ass dancers, by the way. I wish I had their cool style when I was 8. Rather than slamming back another couple of shots of tequila and showing my age by jumping up to boogie to KC and the Sunshine Band (not that I didn't bust out some Rollercoaster of Love on the i-pod today, which I did) I walked home. You Shook Me All Night Long serenaded my starry egress. (A starry egress, you say? Would that be a leggy bird painted swirly blue?)
Now I can hear "Shout" creeping in my open screen door from the darkness. Truly one of the most annoying songs in the whole world to dance to. But that's beside the point.
The point is, in spite of my grousing, I had a good time. It was a really nice party. Everyone had fun, but I didn't need to be a part of every nook and cranny of it. I didn't feel the need to keep up with the boys. (Nor to go home with them, except the one I came with.) I didn't nervously over-serve myself, or get myself into drunken conversations from which I couldn't extract myself, or from which someone else couldn't extract him or herself. And I didn't worry that anyone would think that I was this or that if I simply walked home. I'd like to take a shower and wash this smell out of my enormous hair. I would like to read in bed, clean and cozy in my flannel jammies, and most importantly, I'd like to wake up tomorrow feeling normal instead of having throbbing eyeballs and a sweatered gecko for a tongue.
I will probably stay up late if I can, just to make sure Mike gets home ok. He's got a short walk, but he looks after the boys to make sure anyone who overdoes it is in good hands. William, the Kiwi assistant winemaker, takes over when it gets down to the final few stalwarts still playing pool stonefaced, like old-time sharks, down in the smoking room. The company pays for free taxis for anyone who wants one, but you know it's about as easy to get a drunk in a taxi as it is to get a big baby in a small snowsuit. Still, they've put the taxi company number on little slips of paper in discreet little trays all over the place, next to every bar, and the taxi company knows that the company picks up the tab tonight. I actually overheard one guy telling another that it was a good deal, and he should think about it for later.
The dog just wanted out, so I danced a few funky steps with my shadow to the thumping beats still ringing out in the dark of our little valley. Over at the party, the youngsters (not the dancing children-- the older ones) are still drinking and smoking cigars, and apparently, they still need the funk. Gotta have that funk.
G'nite.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Sights of Seattle, etc.
This awesome picture (which I did not take) was posted on Neatorama. (Later I'll tell you about my fondness for fence-eating trees.) Apparently, someone chained their bike to a tree many years ago, and never came back for it, so the tree eventually ate it.Interestingly, it happens to be on Vashon Island, Washington, where my friends Karen and Lars and their two dogs, Inky and The Colonel, live. Worth a pilgrimage on our next visit. I had a chance to see Lars and Karen while I was in Seattle. Here's Lars in a cool bar called King's or King Hardware, in Ballard:
He's very handsome, but can't resist making faces for the camera--so unlike any of my other friends. Just above his head is a taxidermied bobcat. The walls were filled with diverse taxidermied wildlife of the great white north. One wall was devoted almost entirely to wintry northwest landscapes, from skillful oils to paint-by-numbers. I loved it. Actually, I just love Seattle. One, because so many people I love are there, and two, because it is chock full of weird little places like this. I love to walk and explore in the neighborhoods. It's a fantastic food town, so I know there's a great local beer, cup of coffee, or tasty treat in store for me wherever I go. As I mentioned, I brought home piroshkies, but I also brought home beautiful alderwood-smoked Copper River salmon. The fish display at the local Whole Foods made me swoon. The fresh salmon display looked like pyramids of silver ingots on ice. Sorry, no picture of that, but I can still picture it in my mind. (I didn't have a real camera with me, so most of these images are from my phone.) More later on Seattle.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Healdsburg's Bear Republic Brewing Company
Another weekend, another pub. This time, a perennial favorite: Bear Republic Brewing Company in Healdsburg.Sonoma County has a somewhat unfair abundance of fine beers. Though there are several small breweries which produce amazingly diverse and astonishingly well-made beers, in my very own, very biased personal opinion, there is no finer beer than Racer 5 IPA. I can appreciate other styles, and the skill with which they are made, but when it comes to drinking, this is the brew for which I thirst. Fresh is always best, here at the brewpub, or at the Toronado.
The Bear's space always looks to me as though it couldn't quite decide what it wanted to be when it grew up-- in the eighties. Chairs are mismatched, the space is oddly shaped and the walls are full of eclectic clutter. The music can be very good or very, very bad. That said, we've grown comfortable there and hardly notice anymore. What Bear Republic does offer, in the form of veteran barman Ryan Lindecker, is a warm, friendly welcome, to regular "tankers" as well as occasional patrons like ourselves. Prompt, attentive, knowledgeable, and above all, smiling, Ryan treats everyone like a local.
The rundown:
Overall- 5+ always worth a detour
Beer- 5+
Service- 5+
Atmosphere- 4
Burgers-5 grilled to exactly the temp ordered, could be too charred for some people's tastes, but perfect for mine. Decent bun.
Fries- 3.5 Two out of three on the Fry-fecta: fairly flavorful and crispy, but no skin. A word about potato skin: potato skin indicates that the fries came from actual potatoes, not macerated, re-formed, extruded, crinkle-cut, flavorless, or, god forbid--frozen-- potato-ish items. Often, though not always, it indicates they are hand-cut, with a french-fry cutter, just before cooking. Thin or thick, this is the only acceptable way to make fries. Real fries, skin on, even if they are not crispy, are better than McGarbage any day.
Other Parking is hardly an issue, the square is a nice little walk and shop, great bookstore nearby. Avoid the French Dip. Ketchup ever-so-slightly fermented. I have an irrational fondness for slightly fermented ketchup from my days as a waitress at an old-school seaside cafe in Santa Cruz, where the ketchup was topped up daily after sitting out on the blue plaid oilcloth-covered tables all day and would sometimes explode. This is also where I learned about real french fries, real orange juice, fresh calamari, clean pepper shakers, homemade food and "cold coffee". Grazie, Aldo.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Rogue Ales Public House SF
One of our favorite things to do on the weekend is find new pubs. We've been to just about every brew-pub and tap-house in northern California, and many in the Pacific Northwest. Usually we just rank them in our minds, but this time we made a little chart.
This weekend, Mike and I went to San Francisco to find Rogue Ales Public House. It is in the North Beach neighborhood, on the corner of Union and Powell, near Washington Park. It was an unbelievably warm and sunny day in the city. San Francisco locals, who think 65 degrees is hot weather, had all their white out and on parade.
If a place has great beer, we will often overlook other deficiencies. The setting at Rogue is very pubby and comfortable, but parking was a bitch. While Rogue has a great selection of beers (42 beers on tap), friendly and knowledgeable service, a huge menu, and a fine IPA, the pints were $5.50 and we got dinged $8.25 for an average to small sized order of onion rings-- ouch! We blamed both on the touristy location.
As far as food quality goes, I tried the Kobe beef burger, since I've never tried Kobe beef. It was juicy and had good flavor, but was a little loosely composed and under-grilled for my taste. The bun was the most un-artisinal bun I have ever seen on a burger of that price and quality. Why would they make "the world's greatest burger" and serve it on the world's lamest bun? Combined with the soft burger, it made for a very mushy experience. It most definitely came out of a bag with red, blue and yellow dots on it. Fries had no skin and were unremarkable. Mike had a Cobb salad that was made from nice-looking ingredients but that he said was bland. Time to change out the once-clever paper six-pack condiment holders for some clean ones. Hidden outdoor beer garden in the back is perfect on a sunny day. Alternative music selection hit the spot.
Rogue Ale's Ratings:
(1= skip it<--->5=great)
Beer- 4+
(skip the Morimoto soba ale- the blandest beer we have ever tasted, otherwise good-great)
Atmosphere -4-5 - classic pub
Burger- 2 -a disappointment
Fries- 3- (frie-fecta= crispy, skin on, flavorful- these were one out of the three- flavorful)
Other- 3
Parking difficult, prices expensive, service friendly and knowledgeable, bathroom clean but no soap in sight (how do the employees wash their hands if they are out of soap?)
Overall, 3.5 out of 5
During happy hour, it might be a 4 or even a 5. Half-price pints might make all the food taste better! Ambitious, name-dropping menu (Neuske's bacon, Kobe beef, Niman Ranch, you know the culprits.) Based on our choices, I wouldn't venture far-- if you go, seek recommendations from the friendly staff.
Other pubs to visit:
Russian River Brewing Company in Santa Rosa- pros: big selection of all their own very well made beers, parking ok, prices decent. Cons: no burgers and fries
The Toronado, San Francisco- king of tap-houses, freshest and widest selection of beers, just say 5, Rosamund sausages next door can be brought into the bar. Eclectic and loud jukebox, just like we like it.
Triple Rock, Berkeley- The best burger and fries anywhere, great beers
Third Street Brewing Company, Santa Rosa- nice beers, pub food
Ben and Nick's, Oakland- Family/pub atmosphere
Healdsburg Brewing Company- The world's best IPA- Racer 5. Stick with the less-ambitious food selections. Good burger, ok fries (no skin). Don't go anywhere near the French Dip sandwich. They should be ashamed of themselves.
This weekend, Mike and I went to San Francisco to find Rogue Ales Public House. It is in the North Beach neighborhood, on the corner of Union and Powell, near Washington Park. It was an unbelievably warm and sunny day in the city. San Francisco locals, who think 65 degrees is hot weather, had all their white out and on parade.
If a place has great beer, we will often overlook other deficiencies. The setting at Rogue is very pubby and comfortable, but parking was a bitch. While Rogue has a great selection of beers (42 beers on tap), friendly and knowledgeable service, a huge menu, and a fine IPA, the pints were $5.50 and we got dinged $8.25 for an average to small sized order of onion rings-- ouch! We blamed both on the touristy location.
As far as food quality goes, I tried the Kobe beef burger, since I've never tried Kobe beef. It was juicy and had good flavor, but was a little loosely composed and under-grilled for my taste. The bun was the most un-artisinal bun I have ever seen on a burger of that price and quality. Why would they make "the world's greatest burger" and serve it on the world's lamest bun? Combined with the soft burger, it made for a very mushy experience. It most definitely came out of a bag with red, blue and yellow dots on it. Fries had no skin and were unremarkable. Mike had a Cobb salad that was made from nice-looking ingredients but that he said was bland. Time to change out the once-clever paper six-pack condiment holders for some clean ones. Hidden outdoor beer garden in the back is perfect on a sunny day. Alternative music selection hit the spot.
Rogue Ale's Ratings:
(1= skip it<--->5=great)
Beer- 4+
(skip the Morimoto soba ale- the blandest beer we have ever tasted, otherwise good-great)
Atmosphere -4-5 - classic pub
Burger- 2 -a disappointment
Fries- 3- (frie-fecta= crispy, skin on, flavorful- these were one out of the three- flavorful)
Other- 3
Parking difficult, prices expensive, service friendly and knowledgeable, bathroom clean but no soap in sight (how do the employees wash their hands if they are out of soap?)
Overall, 3.5 out of 5
During happy hour, it might be a 4 or even a 5. Half-price pints might make all the food taste better! Ambitious, name-dropping menu (Neuske's bacon, Kobe beef, Niman Ranch, you know the culprits.) Based on our choices, I wouldn't venture far-- if you go, seek recommendations from the friendly staff.
Other pubs to visit:
Russian River Brewing Company in Santa Rosa- pros: big selection of all their own very well made beers, parking ok, prices decent. Cons: no burgers and fries
The Toronado, San Francisco- king of tap-houses, freshest and widest selection of beers, just say 5, Rosamund sausages next door can be brought into the bar. Eclectic and loud jukebox, just like we like it.
Triple Rock, Berkeley- The best burger and fries anywhere, great beers
Third Street Brewing Company, Santa Rosa- nice beers, pub food
Ben and Nick's, Oakland- Family/pub atmosphere
Healdsburg Brewing Company- The world's best IPA- Racer 5. Stick with the less-ambitious food selections. Good burger, ok fries (no skin). Don't go anywhere near the French Dip sandwich. They should be ashamed of themselves.
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