Hedonia

Walk with me, dammit

It's that time again, friends. Loyal readers will know that I am a volunteer walking tour guide through City Guides, and that May and October are months wherein we lead special tours, such as new tour debuts, or just less frequent tours that benefit from the better weather.

This year we are doing something very special indeed. Saturday, May 5, we will be walking six tours from the newly republished book Stairway Walks in San Francisco by Adah Bakalinsky. I will be leading the Eureka Valley walk, which really encompasses both Noe and Eureka Valleys. My tour starts at 2 pm at the corner of Elizabeth and Douglass, and will involve a strenuous hike over hill and dale to some remarkable hidden corners of the city. We're talking lots of stairways, so bring good knees. If you're especially hardy or masochistic, you could theoretically catch one of the 11 am tours and still make it to my neck of the woods for another Bataan death march. But hey, that's up to you. And if you cannot make any of the tours because, say, you're too busy getting drunk on margaritas for Cinco de Mayo, then I command you to buy the book, simply because it is a wonderful way to experience our fair city.

A few other highlights from the schedule of May tours:

Fairmount Hill, May 6, 10 am:
Tour cottage-dotted streets and see impressive views, a modern architectural showcase, and the Poole-Bell Mansion. Also hear the story of the Bells and Mary Ellen Pleasant.

Vistiacion Valley, parts I & II, May 19, 10 am & 2 pm respectively:
Explore little-known Visitacion Valley, named by 18th-century Spaniards lost in the fog and part of the only local land grant deeded to an Anglo. Part I: This tour's focus is on the valley's commerce and transportation--past, present, and future--with a foray into the Spanish-style Little Hollywood enclave west of Bayshore and a stop at Silvestri's statuary showroom. Part II: This tour concentrates on the valley's community life--all reflecting the rich history and emerging promise of the "Valley of the Windmills."

Diego Rivera Mural, May 19, 11 am:
See the last and largest of the murals done by Diego Rivera in the U.S.: Pan American Unity, painted for the Pacific Exposition of 1940.

Mission Dolores Neighborhood, May 20, 12 pm:
Learn about the Spanish Mission that formed the neighborhood, the people who gave their names to San Francisco streets, and the lake that has vanished from the landscape. Explore an area created by diverse groups who still have ties here. This tour runs every Sunday, but I am leading the one on the 20th.

Tenderloin, part I & II, May 20 and 27 respectively, 9 am:
Part I: Learn about famous madams, see where Billie Holiday was busted for opium, and discover the neighborhood poker clubs. Flower nurseries and forges to the madams and gamblers of the uptown Tenderloin. Part II: Explore the Tenderloin from the isolated rural village beginnings to the San Francisco bootlegger wars and the start of the California movie industry. Learn about famous madams, see where Billie Holiday was busted for opium, and discover the neighborhood poker clubs. High rollers and card clubs, gangsters and jazz, and the Vietnam era.

And so many more! What are you waiting for? Get off your duff and walk with me, dammit!

One year ago today ... I enjoyed a nibble at the bar at Incanto. Remind me to tell you about the last several visits.

Myth sang

Though I work for the gayest company in the world (no, not that one ... or that one), the lunch options in the neighborhood are far from fabulous. Sure, the occasional chicken-avocado sandwich from Piperade's takeaway window is a delight, and I don't hate the sammies at Il Fornaio too much, but there's a reason I end up eating salad from RJ's Market pretty much every day of the week, and it has nothing to do with watching my girlish figure.

So when a coworker tipped me off to Cafe Myth, the casual lunchery adjacent to the eponymous restaurant, you just know I had to slap on a pair of sensible pumps and sashay down there.

Cafe Myth sits amidst the brick-façade edifices of the Jackson Square Historic District, among the  oldest sections of the city, and one of the few areas of downtown not utterly obliterated in the 1906 quake and fires. In fact, one building in the area famously survived the post-quake inferno:

If, as some say, God spanked the town
For being over frisky,
Why did He burn the churches down
And save Hotaling's whiskey?

Amen, sister, because lord knows this town needed a good drink after all that.

Eat me: McQuade's Celtic Chutneys

I have to admit that I never really got chutney until well into my adult life. My first bite was straight-from-the-jar Crosse & Blackwell Major Grey's at a tender young age, and I had no idea what to do with it. It was sweet, but strangely funky, a little too salty and ohmigod hot for my nubile palate.

Well. Things have changed. Today, I love the complex sweetness of a good chutney, and my only qualm with the aforementioned condiment (a Smucker's product, incidentally) is that it is too pedestrian.

I've made the occasional chutney, the greatest success of which was a reasonably good fuyu persimmon version a couple years ago when I inherited a massive bag of the things from a friend. But in terms of off-the-shelf product, I've been left wanting. Until now.

My first exposure to these piquant creations was at the recent food bloggers' volunteer day at the San Francisco Food Bank. As we lounged about afterwards, soothing our sore muscles and swilling biodynamic wines, among the treats we had to sample were Glaswegian Alison's creations, McQuade's Celtic Chutneys.

Alongside our plates of charcuterie, cheese and chocolate were little glass bowls of glistening Gaelic goodness. Now, I wasn't aware of Scotland's place in chutney culinaria, but I shall never doubt again. From my first taste, it was true love.

The ones I specifically remember tasting that day were the Moray Fig & Ginger and the Elgin Habanero. Despite its incendiary name, the habanero chutney's introductory taste is a mustardy-vinegary kick, with a pleasantly sweet crunch of apple. Only on the finish do you get a throat-tickling burn of capsaicin. The Moray fig is its sweeter sister, with a honeyed palate and caviar-like crunch from the fig seeds. I immediately scampered to Cowgirl Creamery to share these treats with DPaul.

The obvious application is with a cheese plate, and you can't go wrong there. We had each with an unremarkable sharp cheddar and crackers to reasonably good effect, though I felt bad for the poor cheese's whimpering cries under the chutney's operatic trill. By contrast, as a flavor- and texture-enhancing condiment to some smoky grilled pork chops, the sweet-tart zing of the moray fig was like long-legged, blonde arm candy strutting alongside a tall, pomapdoured mayor.

Sure, they run something like a buck an ounce, but you only live once, so you might as well live happy. I say run, don't walk to these locations and stock up on these charming chutneys right now. I said now!

One year ago today ... I told you how to find out everything you ever wanted to know about the 1906 quake and fires. Did you avail yourselves of it? Sheesh, why do I bother?

Anchor Oyster Bar

(Sorry for the crappy cell phone shot. Didn't have the camera handy.)

I grew up in the Northeast, in Schenectady, NY, which I often say is a nice place to be from. You'll notice I don't live there anymore. But it has many desirable characteristics -- a deep and interesting history, access to locations of great natural beauty and relative proximity to the greatest city on earth, New York. It's also just a few hours' drive from the New England shores.

Because my mother is a beach addict and sun worshiper, nearly every summer involved at least one excursion to pray at the shrine. We lolled on the rocky shores of Rhode Island, gawked at mansions in Newport and ships in Mystic, CT, went whale-watching from Provincetown, MA.

Sensations from these trips are emblazoned in my mind. Hot sun prickling on skin. The ionic smell of salt air. Gulls calling overhead. The rush of adrenaline watching a 60-foot humpback whale hurls itself bodily out of the sea, landing in a dull, percussive whomp and casting an enormous watery plume.

And then there's the seafood.

Crispy strips of fried clams. Cherrystones and oysters on the half shell. Filets of firm, white fish plucked fresh from the sea. To say nothing of the lobster rolls, which I have been pining after for years and which, as God is my witness, I will make this year. Hold me to it, people!

I'm not saying that we don't get some of the finest seafood in the world right here in good old Ess Eff. But I am saying it's a whole different kettle of fish than you get back east. But when I get nostalgic for New England seaside shacks, I know I can fix my jones at Anchor Oyster Bar.

Apples and oranges ...

... and flash-frozen corn.

Yesterday a couple dozen Bay Area food bloggers got together to volunteer at the San Francisco Food Bank (900 Pennsylvania St), packing cosmetically undesirable (yet still entirely edible) fruits for distribution, and then bagging and packing miniature corn cobs (or, "cobbs" as it were) one dozen at a time.

I think it's wonderful that, whereas many other cities' food banks can handle only canned and dry goods, the SFFB goes out of its way to incorporate lots of fresh produce in their program. There's no reason the beneficiaries of food banks should be subject to an unhealthful diet due to their circumstances.

This was pretty hard work, no doubt, and at times outright disgusting. Most of the apples were in good shape, but a whole lot of the oranges were squishy or, worse, completely covered in powdery or hairy mold. Seems like I just posted my confession about how I feel about oranges, and fate dealt me this card. Guess I better not say anything about how I feel about car accidents.

The corn bagging was more fun. We set up assembly-line stations to put stickers on bags, which in turn got filled with a dozen half-cobs, then sealed with a tape machine and finally boxed up for distribution. I enjoyed the machine-like process.

Being food bloggers, we obviously know how to handle food. We processed more than a ton of apples and oranges, and plowed through the entirety of our tasks in significantly less time than originally slated.

After, we all headed to Yield Wine Bar (2490 3rd St) for a little sipping, snacking and socializing. We sampled some excellent edibles, including a delish sausage from Fra'Mani; some super ham from Fatted Calf; rich, salted dark chocolates from Poco Dolce and really phenomenally good chutneys from McQuade's Celtic Chutney. Not to mention top-notch bartendressing from hostess with the mostess Sam.

Involved and interested as we all are in food, it was rewarding to get hands-on and do something that will help put food in the mouths of those who might otherwise not get enough. It's also bigtime fun. We worked like dogs and drank like fish. But boy, am I sore today.   

Related: See what other food bloggers present had to say about the experience: Our intrepid hostesses Amy and Sam, Christine of Albion Cooks and Joy the Restaurant Whore. Plus, an interesting reflection on the part of Marc of Mental Masala on mycology as it pertains to groady moldy oranges.

One year ago today ... we dished up some perfect pizzas.