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:
LET ME BE YOUR SUGAR MAMA
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