CONFESSIONS OF A                                                                  
A San Francisco Girl's Down and Dirty Adventures in the Culinary Playground

Sunday, May 29, 2005

As Promised

Ladies and Gentlemen, the categories are done. I still have some minor tweaking to do, but if you click on the link to your left (Where can I eat, bitch?), you'll be taken to my page o' categories. Have fun!


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
-- La Rochefoucauld

Friday, May 27, 2005

New Mesh Article

My latest Mesh article has been published. I haven't seen the print version yet, but the version on the website was formatted weird so I've got it here for you. It's called:


I have this friend who’s a waitress. She has a regular customer, who, at 92 years old, always orders dessert first. She says, “Honey, I know what I like, and I want my dessert first.” To that I say, “Hell, yeah, grandma! You tell it like it is!”

I never get it when people say they have a sweet tooth. I mean, really, is there anyone who doesn’t? I mean anyone that isn’t lying? Don’t kid yourself, fatty. I know you’re shoving those truffles down your throat when no one’s lookin’.

Thought I might give you a sampling of what I think are the best desserts here in San Francisco. These are destination desserts: desserts that are worth a special trip to a restaurant, and that you’d be hard pressed to find anywhere else. If you’re lookin’ for a molten chocolate cake, or a trio of sorbets, I’m going to kick your sorry ass. Stand back while I have at it.

The macaroons with pistachio ice cream at Bocadillos (710 Montgomery Street at Washington). Sounds simple enough. Wouldn’t think that it would be worthy of wanting to strip down to your panties and shout, “Hallelujah!” but it is. Homemade cookies + homemade ice cream = my wet dream.

I miss summer camp. I was one of those kids who counted the days between summers on my calendar so I’d know how many days were left until camp. This was a) because my mom was crazy and b) because camp meant s’mores. I cure this nostalgia issue by heading to Luna Park (694 Valencia Street at 18th) for their Make Your Own S’mores. Homemade graham crackers, hot chocolate goo and toasty marshmallow stickiness served fondue style. I’ve been known to burn myself because of this. Fuck that, it’s worth it.

I hate vanilla ice cream. But if I’m at Acquerello (1722 Sacramento Street between Van Ness and Polk), and they sprinkle some 25–year–old aged balsamico di Modena over it, you can bet I’ll be licking it out of the dish. No, Virginia, it’s not vinegar. After 25 years, the balsamico becomes sticky and syrupy and let’s rub it on our bodies naked, shall we?

You know what makes me want to scream out in agony? When I see people at The Slanted Door (1 Ferry Building #3) who either don’t order dessert, or, if they do, they order pedestrian shit like crème brulee or flourless chocolate cake. What the fuck? You can get that anywhere. The Asian desserts are where it’s at. And my favorite of all is the black sticky rice pudding in a puddle of coconut milk with diced mango. It’s sweet (but in a good, sexy way), creamy, and I get to feel all angelic because it has fruit in it. They don’t always have it, so go for the Thai basil panna cotta or the sticky rice dumplings in a pinch. Hmmm…$7 for crème brulee or $7 for something I can’t get anywhere else? Guess where my $7 is going?

Ice cream is being unfairly represented here. Tough titty. When I die, I want to be buried in a vat of Mitchell’s (688 San Jose Avenue at 29th) Buko (young coconut) ice cream. I’ve forced someone to miss a flight because of this obsession. I’ve knocked over small children to get to it. Out of my way, bitches, I’m on a mission.

I know you’ve always wanted some diabetes. Here you go: the maple syrup tart at 1550 Hyde Café and Wine Bar (1550 Hyde Street at Pacific). Doesn’t taste like diabetes, it just tastes good, but anything with that much maple syrup has to throw off your blood sugar. No matter. This shit is great, with a flaky crust and some crème fraiche to seesaw with that sugar. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Yeah, I know Delfina (3621 – 18th Street at Guerrero) was in my last article. Get used to it. I may be a whore, but I’ve got certain johns that I prefer, and Delfina’s one of them. If you’re lucky, you can get a carnaroli rice pudding with white truffle essence (carnaroli is fancy risotto rice for those in the remedial food section). If I knew that I could get this rice pudding, but the only way to do it would be if I cut off one of my fingers or gave up my ability to bear children, I’d probably pick the pudding. Seriously, dudes, it’s good pudding. But it’s not there all the time. In my seven–year love affair with them, I’ve seen it only three times. So that’s like .6 percent of the time when you consider how much I go there. Make a wish and maybe you can get it, but if not, order the buttermilk panna cotta. I promise it will be about three seconds before you’re running your finger along the plate looking for more milky goodness.

One time, I went to Ti Couz (3108 – 16th Street) and they had a special. It was a dessert crepe with coffee ice cream, chocolate sauce and almonds. That was six years ago. Try as I might, it’s the only damn dessert I can manage to order when I go there. Added bonus: the crepe is slathered with butter before the other ingredients are added. Pack the van, because I want to move into that crepe.

Cheese course or dessert? Cheese course or dessert? How about a dessert made with cheese? Specifically, the whipped ricotta with orange granita and shortbread cookies at A16 (2355 Chestnut Street between Scott and Divisadero). It’s got everything you want: cheese, dessert, some creamy milky–ness, some ice–y fruity–ness and some buttery crunchiness. You really can’t go wrong there. Unless you want chocolate. Then you’d better order something else. But you’ll be missing out.

Dessert is like masturbation. It’s hard to share, you sometimes feel guilty for indulging in it, it quite often ends in a mess, but everybody likes it. Isn’t it time that you just owned up to it and enjoyed yourself? Yeah, that’s what I thought.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art"
-- La Rochefoucauld

I'm Hungry

Hey Kids.

I know I've been slacking lately. Having too many jobs is catching up with me. My students have a big show on Tuesday and my show opens on Friday, so I've barely had any time to get my whorin' on (Although I did manage to pay a visit to Bocadillos on my night off on Wednesday. Even though I was so tired that I could barely see my food, I was writhing in ecstasy over all of their tasty little bits).

I promise to be more prolific in June (if I manage to live that long), when I have a few weeks of free days. I'll be sluttin' it up all over the city. Let me know if you'd like to join me.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
-- La Rochefoucauld

Monday, May 23, 2005


If you are on the South Beach Diet, PLEASE do not got to Zuni and order the chicken.

A couple behind us the other night did so, and then proceeded to leave the ENTIRE Tuscan bread salad (with which the delectable bird is stuffed) on their plate. I mean, really, that's just stupidity right there. Anyone who has had the chicken knows that the bread salad is a reason in and of itself for ordering Clucky. The man in the couple also left all of the croutons from his Caesar salad. I really think they should be psychiatrically evaluated. Yes, eat what you like. But don't order something when you know that 50% of it is comprised of something you can't, or won't, eat. Not only does it make work for you (by having to pick around it), it's insanely wasteful.

Jon pretty much had to hold me down to prevent me from walking over and forcing them to eat it. EAT, BITCHES, EAT!

Side note: This couple was also wearing what looked like pajamas. I'm all for casual dining -- I rarely hit any spot in anything other than jeans -- but this was a little too casual, even for me. Additionally, they took the display cookbook back to their table with them and kept it there for the entirety of their meal.

And if this wasn't bad enough, they committed the most cardinal of restaurant sins: They were rude to their server. Why anyone, ever, would fuck with the people who are bringing you your FOOD is beyond me.

My assessment based on the attire, food situation and cookbook faux pas was as follows: Tourists. That's still no excuse.

I really wanted to go and look at their check, so I could see what they tipped and supplement it if necessary (after what I'd seen, that server is lucky if she even got a tip). But I do have a little self control. Emphasis on "a little."

So I just made sure that after downing our caramel pot de creme in 3.5 seconds, we left our own tip and then some. Because that server deserves a medal for not bitch slapping them and sending them back to the hell from whence they came.

She gets a major gold star.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
-- La Rochefoucauld

Friday, May 20, 2005

I'm Going to Cheat on My Girlfriend With Her Little Sister

***Pizzeria Delfina is now OPEN!!! You can read my review of it here***

That may be the longest title ever.

OK, so, it's time to run out and buy a new pair of panties because my girl, Delfina, is just about ready to reveal her partner in crime, Pizzeria Delfina.

I'm so excited about this that I might actually wet my pants. Same amazing people that brought us my steadiest trick, it's right next door to the original (so focus shouldn't be an issue) and, of course, we know the food is going to be fucking awesome.

I'm particularly excited that everything looks crazy cheap, including the wine list of 25 wines under $45.

As if my prayers have beeen answered, Pizzeria Delfina will also be open for lunch, something that is not available at Delfina, herself. And they will be open STRAIGHT THROUGH, which means that when I want to eat lunch at 3 p.m., I can do so. This fits right into my preferred eating schedule, since I like to indulge in my dinner tricks around 10:00ish when I can. Right on, bitches!

They're opening sometime next month. You bet your ass I'm calling in sick that day so I can be there the minute she opens her doors.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
--La Rochefoucauld

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Hog Heaven (Hog Island Oyster Company -- Marshall, CA and San Francisco, CA)

I lived a sheltered life before I got my sluttin' on. I grew up in a suburb of Boston, blind to anything but local delicacies. While these included great seafood, authentic Italian food and mean subs, my culinary view was pretty limited.

It was while I was in college that I discovered many things I can't imagine living without. Despite being sequestered in frigid upstate New York, the town surrounding my school was pretty rad. It was there that I visited my first farmer's market, learned about organic ingredients and ate at the famed Moosewood Restaurant. I also had the privilege of earning my education in a place that had it's own dairy with a homemade ice cream shop, orchards that produced beautiful apples every fall and a dining program that was acclaimed far and wide and included no less than 20 dining options in addition to bringing in guest chefs from around the nation. That kind of made up for the fact that I did, indeed, have to walk to class in three feet of snow uphill both ways. Really.

My school had several different colleges within the university, and I was able to take classes in the Hotel school. This enabled me to take a class called "Wines," which involved learning about wine but also drinking fuckloads of it every week. Thank God I subscribed to a notetaking service, because I'd usually fall asleep after the drinking portion.

I also chose to take the cooking class that the Hotel school offered for "non-hotelies." Apparently, we are not all created equal. So I rented the chef's whites, bought some knives and showed up every Friday for the four hour class. Yee haw!

It was in this class that I first tried oysters. I know, ew, oysters in upstate New York. Even the instructor said, "I really try not to eat them unless I'm at the source." But I figured what the hell, ate them anyway, loved them and didn't get sick. I'll never forget the silky goodness sliding down my throat in all their ocean flavored glory.

After that, I became an oyster fiend, lapping them up wherever I thought it was safe to get them. It took me another five years to get Jon to try them and now if I want some of my own, I have to pry them out of his firmly clenched fists.

Fortunately for us, there's Hog Island Oyster Company, located in lovely Tomales Bay.

Hog Island's Oyster Farm is rad. What's more rad, is that you can buy oysters right there and picnic with them. You know they're fresh, because you can see the little buggers all happy in their holding tanks. And you can buy, like, 100 for $1. Not really, but it averages out to about $.50 - $1 per oyster. I'm partial to the tiny ones, I think they are sweeter, so we usually buy 50 for $25, grab a glove and start shucking.

All of H.I.'s oysters are great, it just depends on your preference. Try one of each if you are not sure and then just buy a fuckload of the ones you like best.

Because, apparently, I'm cursed, it always rains when we go there. But I really don't care, because when I see those little beauties wiggling in their shells and taste their briny goodness, all is right in the world.

And since the good Lord above seems to answer my prayers once in awhile to make up for the rain, Hog Island has an outpost in the Ferry Building. And not only do they carry the delicious bivalves, they'll cook you some tasty dishes as well. These include some fan-fucking-tastic clam chowder, oyster stew and pasta with clams. Plus, you can get beer there. The only drawback is that the goods don't come as cheap once they've carted 'em down to the big city.

In addition to oysters, The Island O' Hogs provides manila clams. These are teeny tiny, the way I like them. We usually buy a pound of them and then go to town when we get home. Yes, I do eat at home sometimes. Stop laughing.

So my advice is hop in your car and make the drive out to Tomales Bay so you can get your action for cheap. But if you're rich and/or lazy, you can just go to the Ferry Building. (Just don't park on the street and not put enough money in the meter and get a $35 parking ticket like I did today after going to Taylor's. HOW THE FUCK DOES A QUARTER ONLY BUY 7.5 FUCKING MINUTES?????).

And just for kicks, let me know how many oysters you can manage to eat in one sitting. It only counts if you don't puke.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
-- La Rochefoucauld

Monday, May 16, 2005

I'm On It

So I've figured out a way to categorize my posts for y'all, but it's crazy ass slow to implement it all. I'll let you know when it's in working order, or when I give up and slit my wrists -- whichever comes first. I know I promised beginning of June -- but now I'm aiming for end of June. Kind of like a restaurant opening.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
--La Rochefoucauld

Friday, May 13, 2005

He's Smaller in Person

So my hubby works for a fucking rad company. Not only does this company have free lunch every day, but they occasionally bring in guest chefs. In the past they've had Martin Yan (as in Yan Can Cook) and Bruce Aidells (bring on the sausages). Today was different.

I've been there for lunch before. It's good. I've never made a special trip for a guest chef, though, until today.

Today it was...

IRON CHEF BATALI!!!! Allez Cuisine!

That's right, Molto Mario himself, he of Babbo and Lupa fame came to sign books at Jon's company today.

It was this that caused me to bolt out of my first grade class today, hop in the car and make the godforsaken trip down to the South Pole, I mean *Bay*, despite the fact that I had to be in meetings in Berkeley and rehearsal in the Creek later in the day. I was gonna get me some red haired lovin' if it killed me.

I arrived with perfect timing, and Jon and I waited only about five minutes. We were informed that only "badged staffers" could get a signed book. We were trying to get two, so we could get one for K & B. But after dude told us we couldn't, we dutifully put one back figuring that K & B would understand. After all, they are in Paris without us right now.


We get to the front and I'm on the verge of tears because I'm so happy. I hate celebrity chefs in general, I think they are mostly full of crap and usually, once they become super famous, their food turns to crap, too. Exhibit A: Emeril. Exhibit B: Todd English. Exhibit C: Bobby Flay (who, by the way, is also a dick. How that dude managed to land Stephanie March as a wife, I'll never know. That guy is just an arrogant fuckhead). But not Mario Batali...

Not only is his food still great despite his many TV shows, but he also manages to keep it real. I'm always so impressed with how fucking cool and down to earth he seems on TV. And guess what? He was like that today, too.

Once we finally got to the front, and I blabbered on like the idiot I am, he was super gracious. He couldn't understand why we didn't have two books. When we explained that I did not work there, he scoffed, grabbed another book, obliged Jon's request to make that one out to K & B, made some chit chat, thanked us for our compliments and smiled, smiled, smiled. LOVE HIM.

When one of Jon's coworkers asked when he was opening a restaurant in SF, he replied "Never. San Francisco closes to early. Everyone's in bed by 10:15." Amen, brother. It's harder to find an open restaurant after 10:00 p.m. in this city than it is to find your mama's panties after a night with the bowling team. WHY CAN'T YOU BITCHES STAY OPEN????

Did I mention that I just got home from rehearsal and have to be BACK in the Creek for rehearsal at 9:00 AM tomorrow and I'm fucking hungry right now and NOTHING IS OPEN and NOTHING WILL BE OPEN before I leave tomorrow? Guess it's yogurt and crackers for me.

Anyway, it was totally worth the drive. He rocks.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
--La Rochefoucauld

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Show of Hands, Please

I need some feedback here, bitches. Post your comments below, or send me an e-mail. Your choices are as follows:

I can

A. Continue posting about Thailand until I've blogged the whole trip, which will probably take us through June at the slow ass rate I'm going...


B. Alternate my posts with a little local action and then some Thai tidbits. I just don't want anyone to feel deprived (See how I love you?).

What say you, my subjects?


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
-- La Rochefoucauld

City of Angels, Part 2: Seafood Delight (T & K Seafood -- Bangkok, Thailand)

On our first day in Bangkok, Fai showed us the ropes. Make friends with your servers, people. You never know when you'll be in a foreign country and need them. After taking us for a traditional (2 hour) Thai massage, Fai announced he had just the right place for us to eat dinner.

ME: What's it called?

FAI: No name. It's street food.

ME: Rad.

Turns out it does have a name, which is T & K Seafood. And you eat inside a restaurant. But all the food is cooked in carts out on the street. I also asked Fai what type of cuisine it was, to which he replied "Seafood." OK.

T & K Seafood is located in Chinatown. The building is several floors held together by very steep, very narrow staircases. But there are tables and menus. There are also napkins, but napkins in Thailand suck. This was the thing Jon and I were the most perplexed about. They give you napkins at every restaurant, but the paper napkins are worse than 1-ply toilet paper, and are pretty much useless. Because a fair amount of food is eaten with the hands, and the napkins are apparently made of paper vapor, a lot of finger lickin' goodness goes on. This is not nearly as erotic as it sounds because it's balls hot outside and, in this particular restaurant, inside. So hot that when Jon lovingly put his hand on my back, I affectionately responded with "Ick. No. Don't."

Because it was our first day and it was (all together now) HOT, my appetite was not stellar. But Fai did all the ordering so we were in good shape.

Water all around (Thank Christ for that). Beer for Jon. Cokes for me and Fai. And one sassy waitress for all of us.

We had roasted prawns and roasted crab. I don't know what kind of crab it was, and neither did Fai, but it was super. Fai ordered it steamed and it came roasted but no one cared. The roasting did make it more difficult to pick the meat out of the shell but I love a challenge.

Then came the alien prawns. These suckers were about 7 inches long (heads on) and there were twelve of them. I'm getting all hot just thinking about it. They're river prawns and the meat was so sweet, the flesh so firm that I felt like a restaurant virgin all over again. Just call me Madonna.

We then had a whole fish with garlic, chilies, a sweet sauce and some ginger. Our waitress was concerned it would be too spicy for the whities (we were the only whities there). Fuck the bullshit, it's time to throw down. You don't know who you're talking to here, mama. By the time we got through with our tasty little minnow, it looked like vultures had descended. Yum.

The last thing, and by far my favorite in the vast sea of yumminess that T & K provided us was the seafood and glass noodle salad. This had prawns, squid and snapper. And it was cold (it was at this moment that I got down on my knees and sung praises to the sweet Lord above). I loved this dish because in addition to being cold, it was spicy and the squid was like none I've ever tasted. I almost wished I *hadn't* tasted it, because squid will never be the same again. Pardon me while I sob.

At this point, our sassy waitress began teaching Jon Thai, and badgering us to eat more. Fai explained to her that we had jet lag, but that we loved it. We paid. It was about 460B, or $11. Jon took the 40B change and gave sassy waitress 100B instead. She acted like we'd just bought her a Rolls. Refresher: 100B=about $2.50.

I asked about a bathroom, Fai suggested I wait until we passed through the more sanitized restaurant on our way to his car. I didn't ask.

On our way back to the hotel, Fai took us to a street cart for mango and sticky rice. The woman peeled an entire mango the size of a baby and place it on top of the sweetest, chewiest, most delicious sticky rice. I lapped it up like the dog I am.

Then I passed out.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art"
-- La Rochefoucauld

Monday, May 09, 2005

City of Angels, Part 1: Bed Time (Bed Supperclub -- Bangkok, Thailand)

Darlings, I'm so sorry I've been such a slacker. I started rehearsal for a new show two days after our return from Thailand, and my students also have a show at the end of the month plus a host of other things so, in short, I need a Xanax.

Bangkok means "City of Angels." And what angels they are. I haven't seen as much of the world as I'd like to, but of the parts I *have* seen, I've never met friendlier people. Thailand is also called the "land of smiles." Pretty accurate. FYI, the Thai call Bangkok Krung Thep (not Bangkok) and that's shorthand for a name that takes about 5 full minutes to say in it's entirety (Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit). I'll stick with Bangkok.

Here's where being a restaurant whore pays off. When you make friends with your servers, you have friends when they move back to their home countries. This was the case with Fai, who was a waiter at our local Thai spot when we first came to SF. He moved back to Bangkok, stayed in touch and helped us immensely when we arrived in Thailand. I'll have more to report on him when I get to the street food.

Anyway, here's the first of what I've about Bangkok. I figured I'd start with the place with the most buzz: Bed Supperclub. And being the whore that I am, I felt it only appropriate.

Every thing I read and heard about the Bangkok dining scene mentioned Bed Supperclub. So we had to go.

Bed Supperclub is located over by Sukhumvit, at the end of Soi 11. If you're looking for the dining scene in Bangkok, Sukhumvit is where it's at.

So we got off the Skytrain and walked and walked and walked seeing nothing that looked like Bed Supperclub. Then all of a sudden, past some crappy hotels, a man walking a baby elephant and some shrubbery, there it was. This huge, white pod with a large staircase. This had to be it.

As you walk up the staircase, you're greeted by six Thai men in black and white t-shirts bearing the word "BOUNCER." They ask for your name and the hostess leads you to the door of the restaurant where a doorman slides it open to let you into the spacecraft. I mean restaurant.

The interior goes like this: two floors. On each floor both walls are lined with a long bed (like a Cal King to the tenth power). Each bed is covered in white sheets and has pillows against the "headboard." The beds are basically like really comfy extended banquettes. At the foot of the bed were little tables for your food and drink. Jon and I found ourselves wondering what happened when someone spilled their red wine on the sheets. It didn't look like a situation they'd be able to remedy easily.

In the middle of the first floor (where we sat), there is a DJ cage made of scaffolding and surrounded by lit up traffic cones. This is the kind of place that would be HUGE in NYC, Vegas, LA. But on the night we were there, it didn't even fill up (granted it was a Monday). It's also the kind of place that is a total turn off to us in any of those aforementioned cities. I just spend the entire meal feeling like I'm not cool enough to be there. But Bed Supperclub was simply fun. The staff is great and friendly, sitting on beds with your fellow diners isn't nearly as uncomfortable when you're all from different countries and no one is trying to be noticed. It was great.

We had a few cocktails with ginger and kaffir lime and other Thai yummmies.

Now for the food. Despite the fact that the restaurant looks like it was made for George Jetson on acid, the food is excellent. All too often restaurants sacrifice the quality of the food for the scene, but not here. Chef Dan Ivarie puts together some slammin' combinations in spite of the weirdness surrounding him (I'll get to that later). The meal is a three course prix fixe affair with choices for each course. What we chose was as follows.

For starters, I had a fennel, watermelon and rocket salad with lemon truffle vinaigrette. Watermelon is fucking phenomenal in Thailand. They grow it north of Bangkok near Ayutthaya and it is unbelievable. The watermelon here tastes like a mealy wedge of crap compared to theirs. Besides that, the combination of the fruit with the lemon-truffle vinaigrette was incredible. I described it at the time as revelatory as I would never have thought of that combination of ingredients, and if I had I never would have thought that it would taste good. It does.

Jon had a tuna and octopus carpaccio with sesame vinaigrette, roasted rice and chick pea salsa. Again, delicious. Jon anointed the octopus as "the best he'd ever tasted" (I reminded him of Italy and he waffled but stuck with his story) and my fork made it's way over to his plate several times during the course. It was here that we struggled with how you eat your food at Bed. Do you sit back and eat it from your lap? Sit up and eat it in your lap? Sit up and try to balance your dish on the teeny tiny table? We tried all three and none was particularly comfortable. Didn't really matter because the food is fucking awesome.

Next came our entrees. Jon got the pan fried crab cake on yellow lentil pumpkin puree with wilted greens and whipped basil corn milk. I had pepper-vanilla sea scallops with beet root risotto and balsamic glazed onions. Jon's crab cake was about as big as his head (Newsflash: his head is so big that he cannot find hats that fit him. Really.). The chef also managed to cram about three entire crabs into this crab cake. Here's where my proclamation comes in: I declared this the best crab cake *I'd* ever tasted. It had been coated in cornmeal before the pan frying and the crab was as sweet and tender as you pretend to be when you're making the moves on that sweet little farm girl visiting from Iowa.

My scallops were the big gamble. Would they be sucky and metallic? Or tasty and sweet? I cried tears of joy my friends. I don't know where they get their scallops (heaven?) but they did not disappoint. I'm usually not a fan of vanilla in my savory dishes, but this was beautifully executed.

Jon and I were both more enamored with the other person's accompaniments than our own. No matter how full I was, I couldn't stop eating his lentil/pumpkin puree and he was still talking about my beet risotto as we trudged through the Grand Palace dripping sweat the next day. Shut your damn mouth, boy, it's too hot to talk! The balsamic onions that he got with his crab cake reminded us both of the ones that the Slow Club uses (which is also where we ate our last SF meal before boarding the plane -- we figured comfort food was the way to go).

Our server couldn't have been nicer if we had begged him to be. He cleared our plates and allowed us ample time to chill/digest/absorb the weirdness before dessert.

Dessert. I had blueberries in calamansi honey with dubonnet sorbet and a pine nut cookie. The cookie was more like a tuile. Fine by me. The blueberries were shockingly fresh and had perfect ripeness. No mealy nastiness. Calamansi is a citrus fruit which some describe as a lemon, some a lime. No matter. It gave the honey, and blueberries a complex flavor that I adored. I kept the combo in my mouth so long that I began to feel like I was french kissing my food, decided that it was inappropriate to be doing so (I do try to maintain some veil of decorum when out), and swallowed like any good whore would do. As for the dubonnet sorbet. was interesting, no doubt. Not my cup of tea. I've never been a fan of alcohol in my dessert. Alcohol in the glass,dessert on the plate/in the bowl, please. Dubonnet is pretty bitter, is flavored with herbs and quinine and well, here you go, Jon -- have at it. I was taking malaria pills anyway, so I didn't need no stinking quinine.

Jon made fun of me for ordering this dessert as my usual reaction to a bowl of fruit on a dessert menu is "What the hell is this Alice Waters bullshit?" Alice is amazing, but I ain't paying no $7 for a bowl of fruit I can get for $2.50 at the farmers market. Nonetheless, I ordered the blueberries and loved them.

Jon had Mango crepes with white chocolate cream, banana ice cream and pistachio praline. I didn't try these because a) I don't looooove mango and b) they were gone before I had a chance. Jon sucked them all down, looked at me with a goofy smile and confided that even though he was full, he wanted to see if he could get some more.

During the meal, I wondered aloud where the massage therapists were to massage our feet. Jon was dubious because of health codes and things. Yeah, they don't really have those "health codes" in Thailand so sure enough, out came two Thai folks with the words MASSAGE printed on their shirts. For 100 Baht, they'd give you a 15 minute massage. That's about $2.50. Bargain for us, rip off for Thailand (You can get a 2 hour full body massage for around $7-$8). So while Jon had his shoulders rubbed, I checked out the bathrooms.

For the bathrooms, you need to leave your pod and cross over to the bar pod that becomes a nightclub. Then you go down some weird stairs into a funkified bathroom that's all white. The stalls are lined up in a unisex fashion, a la The Slanted Door. By the time I made the three mile trek back to our table and gave the doorman the secret handshake, Jon was just about done with his massage.

So then I got one. I had no sooner turned my back on the room to start receiving my bliss before weird music started up and I became aware of people moving behind me.

ME: What's going on?

JON: Some sort of weird performance art that involves measuring people's shoes.

Two women, one with a tape measure, the other with a hole punch, were measuring various objects and molesting any possessions they could get their hands on. The folks in the kitchen just shook their heads. Our lovely ladies then launched into interpretive dance which involved, at various intervals, writhing on the floor and falling on each other. I miss all the good stuff.

We took that as our cue to leave, but on our way out thanked the Chef, who was very gracious. When asked if it was hard to cook in such a surreal environment, he replied that he just tries to ignore it most of the time and focus on his food. Right on, dude.

Our entire bill including two three course meals, three cocktails, 10% service charge, tax and performance art came to about $86 US. It was the most expensive meal we ate in Thailand. A hell of a bargain, in my opinion. Especially when you consider that all that price will buy me is some chicken and a glass of wine at Zuni.

We made a conscious effort to eat as much Thai food as possible while in Thailand, but also felt a duty to try out the buzz worthy spots. In fact, Fai encouraged this saying even the Thai don't eat Thai food all the time. Bed Supperclub was a worthwhile deviation from our authentic* experience.

If you get to Bangkok, spend some time in Bed. Whorin's never been so much fun.


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
-- La Rochefoucauld

*I'm white, so no matter how authentic I try to be, I'm still white. "When in Rome" doesn't quite work when your skin is a big flashing sign that says "This is not my country."

Thursday, May 05, 2005

I Don't Look Good in Green

I am officially more jealous of anyone than I've ever been in my whole life. Pim, of Chez Pim, is currently on a trip to Europe that involves trying restaurants that I have wet dreams about. She's not only eating at El Bulli in Spain (a restaurant that I've been pining for since I started whorin'), but she's also eating at The Fat Duck in London, which Restaurant magazine recently voted the best restaurant in the WORLD. Well, at least I've been to the one they consider to be the best here in the US, as well as some others. Doesn't ease my pain, though.

I'm so fucking jealous.

Promise to get some Thailand info up soon...


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art"
-- La Rochefoucauld

Sunday, May 01, 2005

Jet Lag Sucks

I'm back from Thailand, and, as you can see from the time of this post, I've got a bit of jet lag.

I was really sad to leave such a beautiful, tasty country. Did I mention that it's fucking hot there?

Coming home yesterday, I knew I needed some non-Asian food to get me back in the SF spirit. Something with cheese. So I, of course, picked the quintessential San Francisco food, the burrito.

It's never tasted so good. That's a really great thing because after the past two weeks, I have a feeling that I'll be a little disappointed in the Thai food available to me here.

I'll have a full on play by play of everything we ate as soon as I can adjust to the 50 degree temperature drop. One of our last days there, we were told it was 45 degrees Celsius. You do the math. I'm *still* hot.

As a teaser, I'll give you my top five favorite things about Thailand eats:

1. Pad Thai -- anywhere, anytime. It may seem boring, but over there, it's like the national dish.

2. Noodle Soups

3. Miang Kum

4. Khao Soi

5. Anything cold

More to come...


"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
--La Rochefoucauld