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"disqusTitle": "I Killed Audrey Hepburn",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Poison-Crush.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Poison-Crush.jpg\" alt=\"Poison crush. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"400\" class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-81256\">\u003c/a>It’s true that travel can broaden the mind but, in rare cases, it can also lead to an international celebrity killing spree.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize for mine here and now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It started so innocently. I was sixteen years old and on my first trip to Europe. I sat next to an auburn-haired 14 year-old, who did her best to impress me with her general nonchalance regarding celebrity. Her father, it turned out, was a popular Emmy-winning actor on a hit television show. She mentioned that Peter Sellers occasionally slept on the family couch as casually as another 14 year-old girl might mention she occasionally had pudding for breakfast. Knowing she may have seen Inspector Clouseau in his pajamas, I was under the impression that no one famous could cause her to lose her poise and was therefore rightly impressed. I wasn’t much older than she and was already guilty of nearly wetting myself with excitement upon witnessing \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFnqhefkQJw\" target=\"_blank\">Ann Miller\u003c/a> allowing her dog to defecate on my aunt and uncle’s front lawn.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But her cool, Hollywood attitude was destroyed on that flight to London. Restless after hours of sitting, my new friend decided to stretch her legs. Her preferred method of calisthenics included climbing up the spiral staircase of our Pan Am jet which led directly to the first class cabin. I admired her nerve but wondered how long it would take for her to be ejected by a rabidly class-conscious flight attendant. She was gone for what seemed like ages, and when she reappeared somewhere over the North Atlantic, stopped half-way down the steps and stared at me. Or quite possibly through me. Flushed and shaking, she returned to her seat next and whispered, “Cary. Grant.” she halted, “is on this plane. Cary Grant is up \u003cem>there\u003c/em>.” I followed her look upward with my own and we stared at the ceiling as one would stare up at heaven, because Paradise to us at that moment was a first class cabin paved not with clouds, but with red carpet, and populated by a single, silver-haired, cleft-chinned angel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We spent the remainder of the flight more or less silent. We were fortunate enough to be near the front of the plane and so were the first from cattle class to disembark. We spotted the object of our adoration and ran up behind him, then slowed to keep ourselves a few respectful paces behind; our heads tilted in awe at the back of his head. We continued to worship him in this manner for a few minutes until he disappeared behind a door. Quite possibly the men’s room. And just like that, the spell was broken.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He died four months later. I was saddened by his death but felt no guilt. I was too young to know that I may have been the cause.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On another excursion six years later, I met my brother at Charles de Gaulle airport to fly back home to California. After catching up on our separate adventures, we checked in for our flight home. Doug thought he might try charming the woman behind the counter to see if he could wrangle a ticket upgrade. My French has never been very good, but I somehow understood the most important part of their conversation: “I’d love to help you sir, however our First and Business Classes are full. But I’ll let you in on a little secret… Audrey Hepburn is on your flight today! And so is Julia Roberts!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Telling two gay men that Audrey Hepburn is on their flight might be considered an extreme breach of security today, but everything was much more relaxed in the 1990s. Except for the two of us, thanks to this important piece of information. I’d planned to grab a drink somewhere before boarding, but that was now out of the question. I was intoxicated enough at the thought of sharing the same cabin-filtered air as my favorite film star in the Hollywood firmament. But our excitement turned to extreme anxiety when we saw Miss Hepburn being escorted onto the plane in a wheelchair, much thinner and frail-looking than usual. For the second time in my life, I was rendered silent by a celebrity over the Atlantic Ocean, but this time it wasn’t from excitement, it was from worry. The eleven-hour flight felt like eleven years.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Four months later, I learned of her death from cancer. I nearly cancelled my card night with friends, but decided against it, thinking it might help crowd out the sad news from my mind for a few hours, but the evening ended with my feeling worse that I did before. “Did you guys hear Audrey Hepburn died today?” my friend Itay asked without a hint of emotion. But then again, we were playing poker. I shared with the room what I’d seen of her on my flight home from Paris and told them about the coincidence of Cary Grant, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Well clearly you’re to blame for both of their deaths,” he said. His face was obscured behind his cards. “Remind me never to fly with you– you’re like some time-release killer or something.” As the only gay man in the room, I found both his lack of emotion and the general absence of sympathy for either Miss Hepburn or– more importantly– for me around that table deeply upsetting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Why couldn’t it have been Julia Roberts?” I asked to no one and to everyone. I’d wanted to yell it, but held myself back, so the words came out in a sort of dry squeak, which made me sound exceptionally pathetic. After a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, Itay spoke up. “Just keep an eye on the obituaries. Maybe it’ll turn out you killed her, too.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And with that, the poker game continued more or less interrupted, but I left feeling dirty and diseased. I didn’t speak of this coincidence again for a long time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It wouldn’t be the last time I’d be called toxic by another human being, but was I really that lethal? How many other lives had I claimed by simply breathing the same recirculated air? I was tired of feeling responsible for the earthly exits of these two people adored by the entire film-going world. For years, every time I entered the cabin of an airplane, I would scan the first class seats for the elderly famous, hoping to warn them to flee while there was still time. I could no longer bear the weight of my guilty burden.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So I decided to rid myself of it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There had to be another reason for their deaths. But what sort of connection could two extremely famous and beloved actors from Hollywood’s Golden Age possibly have other than myself? After extensive research, I discovered that Hepburn and Grant had, in fact, met before. They made a film together in 1963 entitled \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NMkeqjacvAU\" target=\"_blank\">Charade\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I watched the film over and over, searching for clues– anything that might exonerate myself and free me from my own unintentionally-criminal pain. Did they eat both something that might have spoiled on the set during production, which may have ultimately lead to their deaths 23 and 30 years later? No, they did not. Hepburn only eats in front of Walter Matthau– a chicken sandwich as he speaks with his mouth full of liverwurst. A French onion soup is ordered, but pushed away in favor of cigarettes. Endless amounts of what seem to be breath mints are consumed, but only by her. The one time the two stars sit down together for a meal, they do not touch it, but chose to talk in veiled terms about intercourse instead. There was a double ice cream cone Hepburn manages to get a lick or two from, but the rest winds up on Grant’s lapel. I was near the end of my emotional tether, about to give up on my search, when I suddenly hit upon the key to my own innocence: \u003cstrong>An orange.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Orange.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Orange.jpg\" alt=\"Orange with poison. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"500\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-81255\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The fruity object of an innocent but sexually suggestive game may very well have been the agent of their slow deaths. I was certain of it. In one particular scene, the Master of Ceremonies at Le Black Sheep Club has patrons line up to pass an orange from one player’s neck to the other’s without the benefit of their hands. All of the actors who came in contact with the offending citrus are now dead: Hepburn. Grant. Ned Glass, the villain to whom Hepburn passes the orange before fleeing was the first to die in 1984. And what of the ample-fronted woman who starts the game? Her career, at the very least, is dead. It became clear to me that someone– most likely a psychotic prop master or vengeance-seeking wardrobe mistress– had poisoned that orange. I briefly wondered what the motive behind this act of horror could have been, but realized that such things are often a waste of time when dealing with the emotionally deranged.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[youtube //www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAcZZtZyfMs]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I looked up various slow-acting poisons which might have been used. Hemlock? No evidence of paralysis present in any of the victims. Dimethylmercury? Possible, but difficult do disguise. Tetrodotoxin? Doubtful. Too fast-acting and difficult to come by unless one has ready access to puffer fish. Cyanide? Too much discoloration. Which leaves but one obvious answer: arsenic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It would be a simple matter to coat an orange with arsenic and let it sit until some of the poison absorbs into the skin of the fruit. The prolonged contact with human flesh– endless takes for what looks like a difficult scene to perfect– would be all the murderer needed to get the contamination ball rolling. But how did he or she continue this deadly scheme and keep the victims’ arsenic levels at a steady but still-undetectable level? In two ways, I have decided: 1) by gifting his victims annual holiday citrus baskets and 2) consistently providing oranges for all major airline carriers with clearly marked instructions which read “For Celebrity Cocktails Only.” It was a brilliant plan. And I felt equally brilliant for uncovering it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before I start popping the champagne to celebrate my freedom from a self-inflicted manslaughter rap, I must remind myself that this is only a theory. And one which has not been thoroughly tested at that. All I can really do is wait and see. So I shall wait for Julia Roberts* to get a few more years on her, book the same flight as she, offer her a cocktail with a slice of innocent-looking orange muddled in it, and keep a close eye on the obituaries for the next four months.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_81254\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 560px\">\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Old-Fashioned.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Old-Fashioned.jpg\" alt=\"Slow-Acting Old Fashioned Cocktail. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"560\" class=\"size-full wp-image-81254\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Slow-Acting Old Fashioned Cocktail. Photo: Michael Procopio\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>Slow-Acting Old Fashioned Cocktail\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>I have no evidence that Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant ever shared a round of these beverages together, but I can guarantee that the combination of alcohol, tainted orange, and recycled airplane oxygen makes for a deadly delicious drink.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Makes \u003cstrong>one\u003c/strong> generous cocktail suitable for your favorite old fashioned movie star.\u003c/p>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>Ingredients:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cli>1 Valencia orange\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup powdered arsenic (organic)\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 maraschino or Amarena cherries: 1 for muddling and the other for garnish\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 sugar cubes\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>About four dashes of Angostura bitters\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 airline bottles of whiskey\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>A splash of club soda\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>Ice\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Preparation:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Thoroughly wash and drip-dry the orange to remove any pesticides. With gloved hands, dump the arsenic powder onto a small plate and roll the citrus around in it until it is fully coated. Let sit for up to three days. When you are ready to make this cocktail, wipe the skin of the orange clean so that no white powder is noticeable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. When you are ready to serve your drink, roll the orange on a generously-fronted German woman until the juice cells of the fruit are sufficiently loosened. Cut a 1/4″ inch slice from the from the orange and then cut that slice in half. Place one half in the bottom of an old fashioned glass.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3. Add your 2 sugar cubes, 1 cherry, and 4 dashes of bitters to the glass, then show no mercy as you pummel the ingredients until they are more or less unrecognizable. Remove the orange. It has done it’s work. Or leave it in for extra oomph.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. Pour in the splash of club soda and stir until the ingredients are sufficiently mingled. Add ice, then fill the glass to the top with whiskey. Garnish with the second cherry and the other half of orange slice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. Serve to any remaining stars of Hollywood’s Golden Age, like Olivia de Havilland or \u003cdel datetime=\"2014-05-02T23:34:53+00:00\">Mickey Rooney\u003c/del>. Or even Eli Wallach. There aren’t many left to choose from.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Repeat every four months until the desired effect has been achieved.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>* I must apologize to Miss Roberts, who will more than likely never read this post. I have nothing against this actress in the least and, in fact, find her rather likable.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Michael Procopio shares a story about adolescent innocence, travel, synchronicity, and Hollywood stars. A recipe for a Slow-Acting Old Fashioned Cocktail is included.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Poison-Crush.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Poison-Crush.jpg\" alt=\"Poison crush. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"400\" class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-81256\">\u003c/a>It’s true that travel can broaden the mind but, in rare cases, it can also lead to an international celebrity killing spree.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize for mine here and now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It started so innocently. I was sixteen years old and on my first trip to Europe. I sat next to an auburn-haired 14 year-old, who did her best to impress me with her general nonchalance regarding celebrity. Her father, it turned out, was a popular Emmy-winning actor on a hit television show. She mentioned that Peter Sellers occasionally slept on the family couch as casually as another 14 year-old girl might mention she occasionally had pudding for breakfast. Knowing she may have seen Inspector Clouseau in his pajamas, I was under the impression that no one famous could cause her to lose her poise and was therefore rightly impressed. I wasn’t much older than she and was already guilty of nearly wetting myself with excitement upon witnessing \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFnqhefkQJw\" target=\"_blank\">Ann Miller\u003c/a> allowing her dog to defecate on my aunt and uncle’s front lawn.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But her cool, Hollywood attitude was destroyed on that flight to London. Restless after hours of sitting, my new friend decided to stretch her legs. Her preferred method of calisthenics included climbing up the spiral staircase of our Pan Am jet which led directly to the first class cabin. I admired her nerve but wondered how long it would take for her to be ejected by a rabidly class-conscious flight attendant. She was gone for what seemed like ages, and when she reappeared somewhere over the North Atlantic, stopped half-way down the steps and stared at me. Or quite possibly through me. Flushed and shaking, she returned to her seat next and whispered, “Cary. Grant.” she halted, “is on this plane. Cary Grant is up \u003cem>there\u003c/em>.” I followed her look upward with my own and we stared at the ceiling as one would stare up at heaven, because Paradise to us at that moment was a first class cabin paved not with clouds, but with red carpet, and populated by a single, silver-haired, cleft-chinned angel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We spent the remainder of the flight more or less silent. We were fortunate enough to be near the front of the plane and so were the first from cattle class to disembark. We spotted the object of our adoration and ran up behind him, then slowed to keep ourselves a few respectful paces behind; our heads tilted in awe at the back of his head. We continued to worship him in this manner for a few minutes until he disappeared behind a door. Quite possibly the men’s room. And just like that, the spell was broken.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He died four months later. I was saddened by his death but felt no guilt. I was too young to know that I may have been the cause.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On another excursion six years later, I met my brother at Charles de Gaulle airport to fly back home to California. After catching up on our separate adventures, we checked in for our flight home. Doug thought he might try charming the woman behind the counter to see if he could wrangle a ticket upgrade. My French has never been very good, but I somehow understood the most important part of their conversation: “I’d love to help you sir, however our First and Business Classes are full. But I’ll let you in on a little secret… Audrey Hepburn is on your flight today! And so is Julia Roberts!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Telling two gay men that Audrey Hepburn is on their flight might be considered an extreme breach of security today, but everything was much more relaxed in the 1990s. Except for the two of us, thanks to this important piece of information. I’d planned to grab a drink somewhere before boarding, but that was now out of the question. I was intoxicated enough at the thought of sharing the same cabin-filtered air as my favorite film star in the Hollywood firmament. But our excitement turned to extreme anxiety when we saw Miss Hepburn being escorted onto the plane in a wheelchair, much thinner and frail-looking than usual. For the second time in my life, I was rendered silent by a celebrity over the Atlantic Ocean, but this time it wasn’t from excitement, it was from worry. The eleven-hour flight felt like eleven years.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Four months later, I learned of her death from cancer. I nearly cancelled my card night with friends, but decided against it, thinking it might help crowd out the sad news from my mind for a few hours, but the evening ended with my feeling worse that I did before. “Did you guys hear Audrey Hepburn died today?” my friend Itay asked without a hint of emotion. But then again, we were playing poker. I shared with the room what I’d seen of her on my flight home from Paris and told them about the coincidence of Cary Grant, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Well clearly you’re to blame for both of their deaths,” he said. His face was obscured behind his cards. “Remind me never to fly with you– you’re like some time-release killer or something.” As the only gay man in the room, I found both his lack of emotion and the general absence of sympathy for either Miss Hepburn or– more importantly– for me around that table deeply upsetting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Why couldn’t it have been Julia Roberts?” I asked to no one and to everyone. I’d wanted to yell it, but held myself back, so the words came out in a sort of dry squeak, which made me sound exceptionally pathetic. After a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, Itay spoke up. “Just keep an eye on the obituaries. Maybe it’ll turn out you killed her, too.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And with that, the poker game continued more or less interrupted, but I left feeling dirty and diseased. I didn’t speak of this coincidence again for a long time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It wouldn’t be the last time I’d be called toxic by another human being, but was I really that lethal? How many other lives had I claimed by simply breathing the same recirculated air? I was tired of feeling responsible for the earthly exits of these two people adored by the entire film-going world. For years, every time I entered the cabin of an airplane, I would scan the first class seats for the elderly famous, hoping to warn them to flee while there was still time. I could no longer bear the weight of my guilty burden.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So I decided to rid myself of it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There had to be another reason for their deaths. But what sort of connection could two extremely famous and beloved actors from Hollywood’s Golden Age possibly have other than myself? After extensive research, I discovered that Hepburn and Grant had, in fact, met before. They made a film together in 1963 entitled \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NMkeqjacvAU\" target=\"_blank\">Charade\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I watched the film over and over, searching for clues– anything that might exonerate myself and free me from my own unintentionally-criminal pain. Did they eat both something that might have spoiled on the set during production, which may have ultimately lead to their deaths 23 and 30 years later? No, they did not. Hepburn only eats in front of Walter Matthau– a chicken sandwich as he speaks with his mouth full of liverwurst. A French onion soup is ordered, but pushed away in favor of cigarettes. Endless amounts of what seem to be breath mints are consumed, but only by her. The one time the two stars sit down together for a meal, they do not touch it, but chose to talk in veiled terms about intercourse instead. There was a double ice cream cone Hepburn manages to get a lick or two from, but the rest winds up on Grant’s lapel. I was near the end of my emotional tether, about to give up on my search, when I suddenly hit upon the key to my own innocence: \u003cstrong>An orange.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Orange.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Orange.jpg\" alt=\"Orange with poison. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"500\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-81255\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The fruity object of an innocent but sexually suggestive game may very well have been the agent of their slow deaths. I was certain of it. In one particular scene, the Master of Ceremonies at Le Black Sheep Club has patrons line up to pass an orange from one player’s neck to the other’s without the benefit of their hands. All of the actors who came in contact with the offending citrus are now dead: Hepburn. Grant. Ned Glass, the villain to whom Hepburn passes the orange before fleeing was the first to die in 1984. And what of the ample-fronted woman who starts the game? Her career, at the very least, is dead. It became clear to me that someone– most likely a psychotic prop master or vengeance-seeking wardrobe mistress– had poisoned that orange. I briefly wondered what the motive behind this act of horror could have been, but realized that such things are often a waste of time when dealing with the emotionally deranged.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/pAcZZtZyfMs'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/pAcZZtZyfMs'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I looked up various slow-acting poisons which might have been used. Hemlock? No evidence of paralysis present in any of the victims. Dimethylmercury? Possible, but difficult do disguise. Tetrodotoxin? Doubtful. Too fast-acting and difficult to come by unless one has ready access to puffer fish. Cyanide? Too much discoloration. Which leaves but one obvious answer: arsenic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It would be a simple matter to coat an orange with arsenic and let it sit until some of the poison absorbs into the skin of the fruit. The prolonged contact with human flesh– endless takes for what looks like a difficult scene to perfect– would be all the murderer needed to get the contamination ball rolling. But how did he or she continue this deadly scheme and keep the victims’ arsenic levels at a steady but still-undetectable level? In two ways, I have decided: 1) by gifting his victims annual holiday citrus baskets and 2) consistently providing oranges for all major airline carriers with clearly marked instructions which read “For Celebrity Cocktails Only.” It was a brilliant plan. And I felt equally brilliant for uncovering it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before I start popping the champagne to celebrate my freedom from a self-inflicted manslaughter rap, I must remind myself that this is only a theory. And one which has not been thoroughly tested at that. All I can really do is wait and see. So I shall wait for Julia Roberts* to get a few more years on her, book the same flight as she, offer her a cocktail with a slice of innocent-looking orange muddled in it, and keep a close eye on the obituaries for the next four months.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_81254\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 560px\">\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Old-Fashioned.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/05/Old-Fashioned.jpg\" alt=\"Slow-Acting Old Fashioned Cocktail. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"560\" class=\"size-full wp-image-81254\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Slow-Acting Old Fashioned Cocktail. Photo: Michael Procopio\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>Slow-Acting Old Fashioned Cocktail\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>I have no evidence that Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant ever shared a round of these beverages together, but I can guarantee that the combination of alcohol, tainted orange, and recycled airplane oxygen makes for a deadly delicious drink.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Makes \u003cstrong>one\u003c/strong> generous cocktail suitable for your favorite old fashioned movie star.\u003c/p>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>Ingredients:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cli>1 Valencia orange\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup powdered arsenic (organic)\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 maraschino or Amarena cherries: 1 for muddling and the other for garnish\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 sugar cubes\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>About four dashes of Angostura bitters\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 airline bottles of whiskey\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>A splash of club soda\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>Ice\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Preparation:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Thoroughly wash and drip-dry the orange to remove any pesticides. With gloved hands, dump the arsenic powder onto a small plate and roll the citrus around in it until it is fully coated. Let sit for up to three days. When you are ready to make this cocktail, wipe the skin of the orange clean so that no white powder is noticeable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. When you are ready to serve your drink, roll the orange on a generously-fronted German woman until the juice cells of the fruit are sufficiently loosened. Cut a 1/4″ inch slice from the from the orange and then cut that slice in half. Place one half in the bottom of an old fashioned glass.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3. Add your 2 sugar cubes, 1 cherry, and 4 dashes of bitters to the glass, then show no mercy as you pummel the ingredients until they are more or less unrecognizable. Remove the orange. It has done it’s work. Or leave it in for extra oomph.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. Pour in the splash of club soda and stir until the ingredients are sufficiently mingled. Add ice, then fill the glass to the top with whiskey. Garnish with the second cherry and the other half of orange slice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. Serve to any remaining stars of Hollywood’s Golden Age, like Olivia de Havilland or \u003cdel datetime=\"2014-05-02T23:34:53+00:00\">Mickey Rooney\u003c/del>. Or even Eli Wallach. There aren’t many left to choose from.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Repeat every four months until the desired effect has been achieved.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>* I must apologize to Miss Roberts, who will more than likely never read this post. I have nothing against this actress in the least and, in fact, find her rather likable.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"disqusTitle": "The Patron Saint of TV Dinners",
"title": "The Patron Saint of TV Dinners",
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"content": "\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_81032\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1448px\">\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/04/TV-Dinner.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/04/TV-Dinner.jpg\" alt=\"TV Dinner. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"1448\" height=\"1086\" class=\"size-full wp-image-81032\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">TV Dinner. Photo: Michael Procopio\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>I can’t remember how old I was when I first saw her standing on top of my neighbor’s television set, but I do remember the feeling of not being able to look away. She was tiny– no more than five inches tall– but her presence was large enough to pull my focus away from the action on the screen to her absolute stillness above it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I asked my friend’s mother why there was a little statue of The Virgin Mary on top of their Sylvania, she corrected me in a tone which faintly suggested that her family were better Catholics than mine would ever be. “Oh, Honey, that isn’t the Virgin Mary. That’s \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clare_of_Assisi\">\u003cstrong>St. Clare of Assisi\u003c/strong>\u003c/a>– she’s the patron saint of television.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I approached the plastic idol with what I hoped was a reverential pace to examine her more closely. She held one hand upward in a gesture of blessing and her face looked up to the heavens. Or perhaps she was simply keeping an eye on the antenna which was fastened to the roof directly above. It was impossible to tell. I tried to pick her up, but discovered that she wouldn’t budge from her place.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’d heard of people having their eyes glued to their television sets, but never their feet. It was a day of firsts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I came home, I took my usual place at dinner– the seat farthest from my mom. It was the lowest position in the family pecking order, but it also happened to be the only chair at the table which afforded a clear view of the family room and the television in it, which was always miraculously turned on and which I always (just as miraculously) got away with watching. I could now tune out the conversation of my older siblings and tune in to early evening network programming knowing there was a new saint in my life who was watching over me as I ate in silence, just like (as I would learn many years later) the sisters of the Franciscan Order founded by her, The Poor Clares.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I felt doubly protected by Saint Clare on the evenings my working mother was too tired to cook dinner and resorted to the convenience of pre-packaged meals. Eating a Swanson’s TV Dinner by the distant glow of our television set now seemed like a holy act, as I experienced the agony of eating reheated peas and carrots without complaint– a supreme expression of childhood piety– so that I might move on to the ecstasy of dessert which nested between the mashed potato and vegetable compartments of the aluminum serving tray.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But such rapture was never to be found at the end of a tv dinner. The sweet portion of the meal was clearly an afterthought on the part of its creator. Frequently under baked and always flavorless, it was consumed without joy. I suffered from a rare type of frozen dinner amnesia which lead to a near-perpetual state of disappointment in this matter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I never thought to ask her to intercede on my behalf to the Swanson’s Frozen Food Company because I wasn’t certain that was her department, so I would pray to no one in particular that there was ice cream to be had in the freezer instead\u003cstrong>*\u003c/strong>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I saved my prayers to St. Clare for the really important stuff, like making sure The Muppet Show would never, ever be cancelled.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_81031\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1086px\">\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/04/Roman-Apple-Cake.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/04/Roman-Apple-Cake.jpg\" alt=\"Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"1086\" height=\"1448\" class=\"size-full wp-image-81031\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake. Photo: Michael Procopio\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>It’s clear to me that St. Clare of Assisi wields a true heavenly power, for there is no other explanation for three seasons of \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SnhgpVb-u5s\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cstrong>The Flying Nun\u003c/strong>\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In life, St. Clare of Assisi was an early follower of St. Francis, also of Assisi. She was a daughter of noble parents who shed her earthy riches to take a vow of extreme poverty, ultimately founding a religious order (The Poor Clares) who still follow her example.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>St. Clare was given the job of watching over the world’s television sets in 1958 by Pope Pius XII, who based his decision on the story that, when Clare was too ill to attend Mass in person, The Holy Spirit projected the proceedings onto her bedroom wall so that she might both see and hear it happen, which gives weight to the idea that flat screen tvs are truly a godsend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for her divine help in creating a decent tv dinner dessert, that remains to be seen. I have what I once thought was a solid childhood memory of one of these “treats” being labeled “Roman apple cake”, but I can find nothing to confirm this as fact. My sister Lori doesn’t remember such a thing, but then again, she doesn’t remember seeing \u003ca href=\"http://foodforthethoughtless.com/2011/07/john-wayne-meatball-recipe/\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cstrong>John Wayne’s testicles\u003c/strong>\u003c/a> either, so there’s that. It has been a true test of my faith.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But that name didn’t appear out of the blue. There is such a dessert, but it is not the one from my memory. The recipe below is simply one I made up. But I’m afraid to take sole credit for its creation because it may very well be the result of St. Clare’s gentle, guiding hand coming to my aid after all these years. God’s helpers move in mysterious ways.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It is a simple dessert, but one which requires a smidgen of straightforward, honest labor, which the Poor Clares tend to look upon favorably. It is not terribly sweet, but the reward of making it with your own hands instead of pulling it out of a cardboard box to thaw may very well bring you an inch or two closer to God.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Serves: Enough.\u003c/strong> You should thank the Lord you’re getting any dessert at all.\u003c/p>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>Ingredients:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>For the batter:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cli>1 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 cup of white sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 teaspoon of salt\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/4 teaspoon of baking powder\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 teaspoon of baking soda\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup of milk\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 cup of vegetable oil\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 teaspoon of vanilla extract\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 egg\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 cups of thinly sliced (peeled and cored) apples (2 apples suffice. I use Pink Ladies.)\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>For the Frangipane:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cli>3 ounces of almond paste\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>3 tablespoons of butter at room temperature\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 1/2 teaspoons of sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 tablespoon of flour\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 egg\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>For the Crumble Topping:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cli>1 cup all purpose flour\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup white sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup light brown sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 cup slivered almonds\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 teaspoon vanilla extract\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>8 tablespoons of butter, melted but cooled\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>a heavy pinch of salt\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Preparation:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Make the crumble topping first by combining all of its ingredients together and mixing it with your (clean) hands, because this method is both effective and feels wonderful. Place the topping in the freezer to chill, which facilitates clumping, which is a highly desirable feature in this particular case.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. Pre-heat your oven to 350°F. Butter the inside of an 8×8-inch baking dish and set aside.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3. To make the frangipane, combine all of its ingredients together and mix until they are in complete harmony. Set aside.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. To make the cake batter, combine all of the dry ingredients together and stir. Then combine the oil, egg, milk, and vanilla extract and beat until unified. Add these wet ingredients gradually to the dry and mix until thoroughly one. \u003cstrong>There should be no apples in the batter at this point. \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. Spread about 1/3 of batter into your baking dish to form a solid foundation for the cake. Next, generously dot the surface of this layer with frangipane. You will have plenty of frangipane left over which you may then give to the poor, thus gaining Clare’s good favor and ensuring that your cake will be a success.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>6. Add the sliced apples to the remaining batter, thoroughly coating them. Pour all of it over your frangipane dots and gently smooth out the top to a more-or-less even layer. Place a generous coating of crumble topping where it belongs– on top.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>7. Bake on the center rack of your oven for about 1 hour and pray that it rises like a nun’s Holy Bridegroom. Should you find yourself cursed with uncertainty, check it every so often and poke at its center with your finger \u003ca href=\"http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Incredulity_of_Saint_Thomas_by_Caravaggio.jpg\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cstrong>like a doubting St. Thomas\u003c/strong>\u003c/a> until your faith is restored.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>8. Remove from the oven when the center of the cake springs lightly to the touch and the topping is golden brown. Let both your passions and this dessert cool completely before consuming. In fact, wait even longer, if you can– this cake is better on the second day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Serve it alone or with lightly sweetened whipped cream. Serve to your loved ones as you watch your favorite (family-friendly) television program. Serve it to the poor. Serve it up to God, if that pleases you. Just please do something with it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And, as you’re serving it, should any of this cake fall onto your silk tie, your lovely table linen, or your nun’s habit, you can still keep on praying to St. Clare. She just so happens to double as the patron saint of laundry\u003cstrong>**\u003c/strong>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>* \u003c/strong>Sadly, there is no patron saint of ice cream. As yet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>**\u003c/strong> This is completely true.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Michael Procopio shares a childhood story of spirituality, TV dinners and dessert disappointment. He makes up for Swanson’s flawed sweets with a recipe for Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake.",
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"description": "Michael Procopio shares a childhood story of spirituality, TV dinners and dessert disappointment. He makes up for Swanson’s flawed sweets with a recipe for Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_81032\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1448px\">\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/04/TV-Dinner.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/04/TV-Dinner.jpg\" alt=\"TV Dinner. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"1448\" height=\"1086\" class=\"size-full wp-image-81032\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">TV Dinner. Photo: Michael Procopio\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>I can’t remember how old I was when I first saw her standing on top of my neighbor’s television set, but I do remember the feeling of not being able to look away. She was tiny– no more than five inches tall– but her presence was large enough to pull my focus away from the action on the screen to her absolute stillness above it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I asked my friend’s mother why there was a little statue of The Virgin Mary on top of their Sylvania, she corrected me in a tone which faintly suggested that her family were better Catholics than mine would ever be. “Oh, Honey, that isn’t the Virgin Mary. That’s \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clare_of_Assisi\">\u003cstrong>St. Clare of Assisi\u003c/strong>\u003c/a>– she’s the patron saint of television.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I approached the plastic idol with what I hoped was a reverential pace to examine her more closely. She held one hand upward in a gesture of blessing and her face looked up to the heavens. Or perhaps she was simply keeping an eye on the antenna which was fastened to the roof directly above. It was impossible to tell. I tried to pick her up, but discovered that she wouldn’t budge from her place.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’d heard of people having their eyes glued to their television sets, but never their feet. It was a day of firsts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I came home, I took my usual place at dinner– the seat farthest from my mom. It was the lowest position in the family pecking order, but it also happened to be the only chair at the table which afforded a clear view of the family room and the television in it, which was always miraculously turned on and which I always (just as miraculously) got away with watching. I could now tune out the conversation of my older siblings and tune in to early evening network programming knowing there was a new saint in my life who was watching over me as I ate in silence, just like (as I would learn many years later) the sisters of the Franciscan Order founded by her, The Poor Clares.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I felt doubly protected by Saint Clare on the evenings my working mother was too tired to cook dinner and resorted to the convenience of pre-packaged meals. Eating a Swanson’s TV Dinner by the distant glow of our television set now seemed like a holy act, as I experienced the agony of eating reheated peas and carrots without complaint– a supreme expression of childhood piety– so that I might move on to the ecstasy of dessert which nested between the mashed potato and vegetable compartments of the aluminum serving tray.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But such rapture was never to be found at the end of a tv dinner. The sweet portion of the meal was clearly an afterthought on the part of its creator. Frequently under baked and always flavorless, it was consumed without joy. I suffered from a rare type of frozen dinner amnesia which lead to a near-perpetual state of disappointment in this matter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I never thought to ask her to intercede on my behalf to the Swanson’s Frozen Food Company because I wasn’t certain that was her department, so I would pray to no one in particular that there was ice cream to be had in the freezer instead\u003cstrong>*\u003c/strong>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I saved my prayers to St. Clare for the really important stuff, like making sure The Muppet Show would never, ever be cancelled.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_81031\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1086px\">\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/04/Roman-Apple-Cake.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2014/04/Roman-Apple-Cake.jpg\" alt=\"Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake. Photo: Michael Procopio\" width=\"1086\" height=\"1448\" class=\"size-full wp-image-81031\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake. Photo: Michael Procopio\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>It’s clear to me that St. Clare of Assisi wields a true heavenly power, for there is no other explanation for three seasons of \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SnhgpVb-u5s\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cstrong>The Flying Nun\u003c/strong>\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In life, St. Clare of Assisi was an early follower of St. Francis, also of Assisi. She was a daughter of noble parents who shed her earthy riches to take a vow of extreme poverty, ultimately founding a religious order (The Poor Clares) who still follow her example.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>St. Clare was given the job of watching over the world’s television sets in 1958 by Pope Pius XII, who based his decision on the story that, when Clare was too ill to attend Mass in person, The Holy Spirit projected the proceedings onto her bedroom wall so that she might both see and hear it happen, which gives weight to the idea that flat screen tvs are truly a godsend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for her divine help in creating a decent tv dinner dessert, that remains to be seen. I have what I once thought was a solid childhood memory of one of these “treats” being labeled “Roman apple cake”, but I can find nothing to confirm this as fact. My sister Lori doesn’t remember such a thing, but then again, she doesn’t remember seeing \u003ca href=\"http://foodforthethoughtless.com/2011/07/john-wayne-meatball-recipe/\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cstrong>John Wayne’s testicles\u003c/strong>\u003c/a> either, so there’s that. It has been a true test of my faith.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But that name didn’t appear out of the blue. There is such a dessert, but it is not the one from my memory. The recipe below is simply one I made up. But I’m afraid to take sole credit for its creation because it may very well be the result of St. Clare’s gentle, guiding hand coming to my aid after all these years. God’s helpers move in mysterious ways.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It is a simple dessert, but one which requires a smidgen of straightforward, honest labor, which the Poor Clares tend to look upon favorably. It is not terribly sweet, but the reward of making it with your own hands instead of pulling it out of a cardboard box to thaw may very well bring you an inch or two closer to God.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Serves: Enough.\u003c/strong> You should thank the Lord you’re getting any dessert at all.\u003c/p>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>Ingredients:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>For the batter:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cli>1 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 cup of white sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 teaspoon of salt\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/4 teaspoon of baking powder\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 teaspoon of baking soda\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup of milk\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 cup of vegetable oil\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 teaspoon of vanilla extract\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 egg\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 cups of thinly sliced (peeled and cored) apples (2 apples suffice. I use Pink Ladies.)\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>For the Frangipane:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cli>3 ounces of almond paste\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>3 tablespoons of butter at room temperature\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 1/2 teaspoons of sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 tablespoon of flour\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 egg\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>For the Crumble Topping:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cli>1 cup all purpose flour\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup white sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup light brown sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 cup slivered almonds\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 teaspoon vanilla extract\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>8 tablespoons of butter, melted but cooled\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>a heavy pinch of salt\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Preparation:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Make the crumble topping first by combining all of its ingredients together and mixing it with your (clean) hands, because this method is both effective and feels wonderful. Place the topping in the freezer to chill, which facilitates clumping, which is a highly desirable feature in this particular case.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. Pre-heat your oven to 350°F. Butter the inside of an 8×8-inch baking dish and set aside.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3. To make the frangipane, combine all of its ingredients together and mix until they are in complete harmony. Set aside.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. To make the cake batter, combine all of the dry ingredients together and stir. Then combine the oil, egg, milk, and vanilla extract and beat until unified. Add these wet ingredients gradually to the dry and mix until thoroughly one. \u003cstrong>There should be no apples in the batter at this point. \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. Spread about 1/3 of batter into your baking dish to form a solid foundation for the cake. Next, generously dot the surface of this layer with frangipane. You will have plenty of frangipane left over which you may then give to the poor, thus gaining Clare’s good favor and ensuring that your cake will be a success.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>6. Add the sliced apples to the remaining batter, thoroughly coating them. Pour all of it over your frangipane dots and gently smooth out the top to a more-or-less even layer. Place a generous coating of crumble topping where it belongs– on top.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>7. Bake on the center rack of your oven for about 1 hour and pray that it rises like a nun’s Holy Bridegroom. Should you find yourself cursed with uncertainty, check it every so often and poke at its center with your finger \u003ca href=\"http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Incredulity_of_Saint_Thomas_by_Caravaggio.jpg\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cstrong>like a doubting St. Thomas\u003c/strong>\u003c/a> until your faith is restored.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>8. Remove from the oven when the center of the cake springs lightly to the touch and the topping is golden brown. Let both your passions and this dessert cool completely before consuming. In fact, wait even longer, if you can– this cake is better on the second day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Serve it alone or with lightly sweetened whipped cream. Serve to your loved ones as you watch your favorite (family-friendly) television program. Serve it to the poor. Serve it up to God, if that pleases you. Just please do something with it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And, as you’re serving it, should any of this cake fall onto your silk tie, your lovely table linen, or your nun’s habit, you can still keep on praying to St. Clare. She just so happens to double as the patron saint of laundry\u003cstrong>**\u003c/strong>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>* \u003c/strong>Sadly, there is no patron saint of ice cream. As yet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"disqusTitle": "The Corn Dogs of Easter",
"title": "The Corn Dogs of Easter",
"headTitle": "Bay Area Bites | KQED Food",
"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/corndog-frying.png\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/corndog-frying-290x290.png\" alt=\"corndog frying\" width=\"290\" height=\"290\" class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-59035\">\u003c/a>When I was a boy, I took everything the Catholic church told me literally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After my first visit to the confessional, I was absolved of my transgressions by Father O’Connor and told that, as soon as I said my ten Hail Marys, my soul would be light and unburdened by the weight of sin. When I had finished my last “Amen,\" I ran outside to the church’s tetherball court and began jumping around the blacktop, convinced that with each leap, I rose higher in the air and therefore rose closer to God. It was a very good feeling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I took Holy Communion, I understood that, thanks to the miracle of Transubstantiation, I was accepting an actual piece of Christ’s body onto the tip of my tongue. But which piece? I didn’t dare ask the priest who was doling out the goods, so I’d just return to my pew and sit next to my mother with the Eucharist softening and balancing on my tongue. I was afraid to chew the wafer, thinking it would cause Jesus unnecessary pain, so I just let it rest there until it dissolved, wondering if I could tell from what part of His body it came. Was it from His thigh or His breast? Was it light meat or dark? If I were to have judged based solely on flavor, I would have come to the conclusion that I was eating a part of His sandal every time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And yet I always found myself wanting to go back for seconds. We never ate before morning Mass, so I was always extremely hungry. When everyone else was praying for the souls of the recently departed, I was praying for breakfast. Ingesting the communion wafer may have brought me closer to Christ, but it also whetted my appetite as it found its way into my stomach and got my gastric juices churning. It was a uniquely Catholic torture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At Easter Mass, which felt like the longest of the year, I found this torture even more grueling, which was appropriate given to constant reminder of Christ’s suffering and dying for our sins. I identified with Him because I was suffering and dying, too. Of hunger. I’d look at the altar and think the priests could have done a much better job at feeding their congregation if they had set it up as a buffet. It was already set with silver and a nice cloth, so they didn’t have far to go.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I never thought as to what they might serve at the buffet, but I was confident that whatever it was, they’d never run out of anything because Jesus would never let that kind of thing happen. Especially at one of his own parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the bible told me so. And quite literally, for that matter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Crucifixion Corn Dogs\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/Crucifix-corndog.png\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/Crucifix-corndog.png\" alt=\"Crucifix Corndog\" width=\"602\" height=\"605\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-59036\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If I were a seven year-old today and attending Easter mass, I know what I would like to see served at an Easter Service buffet. Naturally, everything would conform to a Jesus/Easter theme: Hot cross buns, hollow chocolate bunnies, and cereal in the shape of crosses and halos on one end; a deacon with a big knife to carve up the Lamb of God on the other. Or the Ham of God, since I wasn’t a fan of eating lamb back then.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And in the middle of everything would be a treat which would really bring home the drama of Christ’s Passion in edible form. Something delicious and filling, but would still remind us of Christ’s suffering with each and every mouthful: corn dogs on a cross.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They’re more substantial than a communion wafer, and more delicious, too. And, given the nature of hot dogs, you still won’t be certain from which part of the body they came.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With the Catholic church suffering a loss in attendance, even at Easter time, drastic measures should be taken to reverse the decline. Ordaining women, getting rid of the celibacy rule, and welcoming gay, lesbian, and transgendered would be nice, but I don’t see these things happening any time soon, so they might as well throw a nice, big buffet and see what happens. Or they might come up with some other novel approaches. All they have to do is ask the seven year-olds* of their diocese. After all, Jesus loves the little children.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This recipe is adapted from Saveur magazine’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.saveur.com/article/Recipes/State-Fair-Corn-Dogs\">State Fair\u003c/a> recipe, which was, of course, gotten from poor people who work state fairs, who got it from some other people, who most likely got it from wheat and corn crops. And cows. And mustard companies. The using-a-chopstick-as-a-handle trick I learned from \u003ca href=\"http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2011/10/classic-corn-dogs-and-cheese-on-a-stick/\">Ree Drummond’s\u003c/a> website. She most likely learned this trick from Beatrice Lillie’s character Mrs. Meers in Thoroughly Modern Millie. And \u003ca href=\"http://mattbites.com/\">Matt Armendariz\u003c/a> will very likely be including this recipe in his upcoming Holidays On A Stick! cookbook (publishing date undetermined).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If the idea of squirting a mustard Jesus onto your corn dog makes you uncomfortable, you can still stay in theme by creating a condiment version of The Penitent Thief. Or The Impenitent one, if that is more your style.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Serves 8.\u003c/strong> To serve multitudes, pray over this recipe’s ingredients for as long as needed if you are perfect and without sin. For everyone else, multiply the recipe by hand.\u003c/p>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>Ingredients:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cli>2 cups all-purpose flour\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 1/3 cup yellow cornmeal\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>4 tablespoons sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 tablespoons baking powder\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 teaspoon baking soda\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 teaspoon dry mustard\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 teaspoons kosher salt\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 3/4 cups whole milk\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup buttermilk\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 eggs, lightly flogged\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>16 6″ hot dogs. I have chosen to use chicken dogs, which is more than likely still offensive to practicing Catholics on Good Friday, but probably less so than beef franks.\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>Vegetable oil, for frying\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>4 pairs of wooden take-out chopsticks to serve as posts, 8 coffee stirrers to serve as crossbeams.\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>Yellow mustard and (non-yellow) catsup for garnish\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Preparation:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, dry mustard, white pepper, and salt. In a separate bowl, combine milk, buttermilk, and egg until the trinity becomes a confusing, inseparable muddle. Add the liquid to the dry ingredients until all becomes binding and Universal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. In a wide, deep pan or Dutch oven (this requires more elbow room than an ordinary, non-Catholic corn dog recipe), pour oil to a depth of 2″ and warm over medium-high heat until the oil reaches 350°F.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/Wiener-Demo.png\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/Wiener-Demo-290x290.png\" alt=\"Weiner demo\" width=\"290\" height=\"290\" class=\"alignright size-medium wp-image-59038\">\u003c/a>3. As the oil is heating, make the hot dog crucifixes. To assemble, cut about 2″ off the narrow part of each chop stick which, under ordinary circumstances, be the end one would place in one’s mouth. Discard the circumcised tips. Gently insert the chopstick into one end of a hot dog, until all that is left visible is a 2″ handle. Cut a second hot dog in thirds, discarding/sacrificing the center piece. These will be the arms of the cross. To attach, cut a coffee stirrer to the appropriate length and slide through the center of the top half of the whole wiener, then slide on the remaining 2/3 of cut wiener. (See photo**).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. Dip one crucifix into the batter, coating well. The batter should be firm and giving, but not run. If it is too dry, add a little milk. Too runny, add a little more flour. The batter is as forgiving as He is. Gently shake off any excess and lay directly into the pot of hot oil. Fry on one side for about 1 1/2 minutes. Using tongs, gently turn its other cheek and fry for the same amount of time. On the third minute, let it rise from the oil and rest on a shroud of paper towels to cool. Repeat until all crucifixes are battered and fried.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. To serve, decorate with mustard. You do not have to put the image of Christ on every corn dog. If you have any martyrs in your family, feel free to squirt on their likeness and share it with them to show that you know how much they themselves have suffered, which will give them great comfort. Just please remind them not to bite into the coffee stirrer crossbeam, which most decidedly will not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>* Or eight year-olds. Luis Antonio de Bourbon was ordained cardinal on 19 December, 1735. He was eight years old\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>** Note: This is a photo of a practice-run crucifixion dog in which I discovered that coffee stirrers are excellent for sidebeam support, but terrible for for use as handles, which is why one should use chopsticks.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "And in the middle of everything would be a treat which would really bring home the drama of Christ’s Passion in edible form. Something delicious and filling, but would still remind us of Christ’s suffering with each and every mouthful: corn dogs on a cross.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/corndog-frying.png\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/corndog-frying-290x290.png\" alt=\"corndog frying\" width=\"290\" height=\"290\" class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-59035\">\u003c/a>When I was a boy, I took everything the Catholic church told me literally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After my first visit to the confessional, I was absolved of my transgressions by Father O’Connor and told that, as soon as I said my ten Hail Marys, my soul would be light and unburdened by the weight of sin. When I had finished my last “Amen,\" I ran outside to the church’s tetherball court and began jumping around the blacktop, convinced that with each leap, I rose higher in the air and therefore rose closer to God. It was a very good feeling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I took Holy Communion, I understood that, thanks to the miracle of Transubstantiation, I was accepting an actual piece of Christ’s body onto the tip of my tongue. But which piece? I didn’t dare ask the priest who was doling out the goods, so I’d just return to my pew and sit next to my mother with the Eucharist softening and balancing on my tongue. I was afraid to chew the wafer, thinking it would cause Jesus unnecessary pain, so I just let it rest there until it dissolved, wondering if I could tell from what part of His body it came. Was it from His thigh or His breast? Was it light meat or dark? If I were to have judged based solely on flavor, I would have come to the conclusion that I was eating a part of His sandal every time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And yet I always found myself wanting to go back for seconds. We never ate before morning Mass, so I was always extremely hungry. When everyone else was praying for the souls of the recently departed, I was praying for breakfast. Ingesting the communion wafer may have brought me closer to Christ, but it also whetted my appetite as it found its way into my stomach and got my gastric juices churning. It was a uniquely Catholic torture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At Easter Mass, which felt like the longest of the year, I found this torture even more grueling, which was appropriate given to constant reminder of Christ’s suffering and dying for our sins. I identified with Him because I was suffering and dying, too. Of hunger. I’d look at the altar and think the priests could have done a much better job at feeding their congregation if they had set it up as a buffet. It was already set with silver and a nice cloth, so they didn’t have far to go.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I never thought as to what they might serve at the buffet, but I was confident that whatever it was, they’d never run out of anything because Jesus would never let that kind of thing happen. Especially at one of his own parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the bible told me so. And quite literally, for that matter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Crucifixion Corn Dogs\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/Crucifix-corndog.png\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/Crucifix-corndog.png\" alt=\"Crucifix Corndog\" width=\"602\" height=\"605\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-59036\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If I were a seven year-old today and attending Easter mass, I know what I would like to see served at an Easter Service buffet. Naturally, everything would conform to a Jesus/Easter theme: Hot cross buns, hollow chocolate bunnies, and cereal in the shape of crosses and halos on one end; a deacon with a big knife to carve up the Lamb of God on the other. Or the Ham of God, since I wasn’t a fan of eating lamb back then.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And in the middle of everything would be a treat which would really bring home the drama of Christ’s Passion in edible form. Something delicious and filling, but would still remind us of Christ’s suffering with each and every mouthful: corn dogs on a cross.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They’re more substantial than a communion wafer, and more delicious, too. And, given the nature of hot dogs, you still won’t be certain from which part of the body they came.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With the Catholic church suffering a loss in attendance, even at Easter time, drastic measures should be taken to reverse the decline. Ordaining women, getting rid of the celibacy rule, and welcoming gay, lesbian, and transgendered would be nice, but I don’t see these things happening any time soon, so they might as well throw a nice, big buffet and see what happens. Or they might come up with some other novel approaches. All they have to do is ask the seven year-olds* of their diocese. After all, Jesus loves the little children.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This recipe is adapted from Saveur magazine’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.saveur.com/article/Recipes/State-Fair-Corn-Dogs\">State Fair\u003c/a> recipe, which was, of course, gotten from poor people who work state fairs, who got it from some other people, who most likely got it from wheat and corn crops. And cows. And mustard companies. The using-a-chopstick-as-a-handle trick I learned from \u003ca href=\"http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2011/10/classic-corn-dogs-and-cheese-on-a-stick/\">Ree Drummond’s\u003c/a> website. She most likely learned this trick from Beatrice Lillie’s character Mrs. Meers in Thoroughly Modern Millie. And \u003ca href=\"http://mattbites.com/\">Matt Armendariz\u003c/a> will very likely be including this recipe in his upcoming Holidays On A Stick! cookbook (publishing date undetermined).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If the idea of squirting a mustard Jesus onto your corn dog makes you uncomfortable, you can still stay in theme by creating a condiment version of The Penitent Thief. Or The Impenitent one, if that is more your style.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Serves 8.\u003c/strong> To serve multitudes, pray over this recipe’s ingredients for as long as needed if you are perfect and without sin. For everyone else, multiply the recipe by hand.\u003c/p>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cstrong>Ingredients:\u003c/strong>\n\u003cli>2 cups all-purpose flour\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 1/3 cup yellow cornmeal\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>4 tablespoons sugar\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 tablespoons baking powder\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 teaspoon baking soda\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 teaspoon dry mustard\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 teaspoons kosher salt\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1 3/4 cups whole milk\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>1/2 cup buttermilk\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>2 eggs, lightly flogged\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>16 6″ hot dogs. I have chosen to use chicken dogs, which is more than likely still offensive to practicing Catholics on Good Friday, but probably less so than beef franks.\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>Vegetable oil, for frying\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>4 pairs of wooden take-out chopsticks to serve as posts, 8 coffee stirrers to serve as crossbeams.\u003c/li>\n\u003cli>Yellow mustard and (non-yellow) catsup for garnish\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Preparation:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, dry mustard, white pepper, and salt. In a separate bowl, combine milk, buttermilk, and egg until the trinity becomes a confusing, inseparable muddle. Add the liquid to the dry ingredients until all becomes binding and Universal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. In a wide, deep pan or Dutch oven (this requires more elbow room than an ordinary, non-Catholic corn dog recipe), pour oil to a depth of 2″ and warm over medium-high heat until the oil reaches 350°F.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/Wiener-Demo.png\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2013/03/Wiener-Demo-290x290.png\" alt=\"Weiner demo\" width=\"290\" height=\"290\" class=\"alignright size-medium wp-image-59038\">\u003c/a>3. As the oil is heating, make the hot dog crucifixes. To assemble, cut about 2″ off the narrow part of each chop stick which, under ordinary circumstances, be the end one would place in one’s mouth. Discard the circumcised tips. Gently insert the chopstick into one end of a hot dog, until all that is left visible is a 2″ handle. Cut a second hot dog in thirds, discarding/sacrificing the center piece. These will be the arms of the cross. To attach, cut a coffee stirrer to the appropriate length and slide through the center of the top half of the whole wiener, then slide on the remaining 2/3 of cut wiener. (See photo**).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. Dip one crucifix into the batter, coating well. The batter should be firm and giving, but not run. If it is too dry, add a little milk. Too runny, add a little more flour. The batter is as forgiving as He is. Gently shake off any excess and lay directly into the pot of hot oil. Fry on one side for about 1 1/2 minutes. Using tongs, gently turn its other cheek and fry for the same amount of time. On the third minute, let it rise from the oil and rest on a shroud of paper towels to cool. Repeat until all crucifixes are battered and fried.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. To serve, decorate with mustard. You do not have to put the image of Christ on every corn dog. If you have any martyrs in your family, feel free to squirt on their likeness and share it with them to show that you know how much they themselves have suffered, which will give them great comfort. Just please remind them not to bite into the coffee stirrer crossbeam, which most decidedly will not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>* Or eight year-olds. Luis Antonio de Bourbon was ordained cardinal on 19 December, 1735. He was eight years old\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>** Note: This is a photo of a practice-run crucifixion dog in which I discovered that coffee stirrers are excellent for sidebeam support, but terrible for for use as handles, which is why one should use chopsticks.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"disqusTitle": "LGBT Pride Profile: Waiter and Writer Michael Procopio",
"title": "LGBT Pride Profile: Waiter and Writer Michael Procopio",
"headTitle": "Bay Area Bites | KQED Food",
"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2012/06/560Procopio_DryBABJune2012.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2012/06/560Procopio_DryBABJune2012.jpg\" alt=\"Michael Procopio\" title=\"Michael Procopio\" width=\"560\" class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-44862\">\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003cem>Michael Procopio photo courtesy of Julie Michelle Photography\u003c/em> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Our gay-friendly town is full of visitors. June means that the Bay Area and more specifically, San Francisco, fills to the brim with folks from all over the world to observe and celebrate the events, marches and festivities that culminate in \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfpride.org/\">SF LGBT Pride\u003c/a>. Bay Area Bites is noting this 42nd annual come-as-you-are love fest by telling stories from the LBGT chefs and personalities who keep us sated 365 days of the year. We’ve talked with Palomino’s chef \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/2012/06/15/lgbt-pride-profile-palomino-chef-adam-jones/\">Adam Jones\u003c/a>, and chef \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/2012/06/20/lgbt-pride-profile-top-chef-and-juhu-beach-club%E2%80%99s-preeti-mistry/\">Preeti Mistry\u003c/a> of the upcoming Juhu Beach Club. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/#!/procopster\">Michael Procopio\u003c/a> was on the top of our list of folks to talk to because he is funny and smart. Readers may remember his witty writing from his days here as a Bay Area Bites \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/author/michael-procopio/\">contributor\u003c/a>. He currently turns out great lines like these at his \u003ca href=\"http://foodforthethoughtless.com/\">Food for the Thoughtless\u003c/a> blog: \u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>“If the dough has become too warm at this point (read: if it feels as droopy as a retired wet nurse’s bosom) place the folded dough onto a tray and pop it into the freezer until it is once again pert.”\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>Then there’s this one, \u003cem>“Wash hands as thoroughly as if you were about to perform surgery on your own grandmother.”\u003c/em> Procopio lives in North Pacific Heights and attended the California Culinary Academy. He grew up in Anaheim and is a professional waiter who also has experience cooking in restaurants. Procopio was interviewed via telephone recently. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>The culinary world has often been portrayed as quite sexist. What is your perspective and experience with regard to homophobia in the restaurant world?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nMy experience has been very good actually. When I worked in the kitchen, I worked in a small restaurant for a Kiwi woman who was actually wonderful. I never had any problem in a restaurant kitchen. Oddly the only homophobia and discrimination was from someone famous that I’d rather not get into. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2012/06/560Octopus_ProcopioBAB.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2012/06/560Octopus_ProcopioBAB.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"560Octopus_ProcopioBAB\" width=\"560\" class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-44861\">\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003cem>Michael Procopio photo courtesy of Julie Michelle Photography\u003c/em> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Is there a difference between the front of the house vs. the kitchen regarding this issue? A difference for men vs. women? \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nMost of my career has been spent as a waiter. It’s been 20 years of waiting tables. There’s one woman in the kitchen at the restaurant where I work and she’s openly gay. She sort of straddles the two worlds because she’s on the floor as well. Our pastry chef was joking that gay men are in the pastry department and gay women are on the line, cooking. It seems a bit of a stereotype but at least it’s true in our restaurant. We’ve got a great kitchen staff. I think they’re all really nice people and they kick ass. If you don’t work well, that’s going to be more of an issue than whether you’re a man or woman. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>What is it like coming out as a service professional? Has being an LGBT person affected you career in any particular way?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI was already out. I’ve lived here for 17 years. I’ve never had an issue. It’s just a part of who I am. It doesn’t define me as a person and a waiter. My sensibilities and humor come through individually. I don't see it as gayness, I see it as Michael-ness and it can be a non-issue. I can’t speak for anybody but we have whatever we consider a normal-to-us life here. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Is there a gay subculture within the food world? In the Bay Area?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI lived in the Castro for several years and there were concentrations of gay restaurants: Mecca, \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/orphan-andys-san-francisco\">Orphan Andy’s\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"http://castrosausagefactory.com/\">The Sausage Factory\u003c/a>… that’s just because of the neighborhood. Frankly it’s San Francisco for god’s sake. I don’t think people really bat an eye. To me it’s a non-issue.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for a subculture, there’s not one that I’ve witnessed. I have gay friends and straight friends in the restaurant industry. I don't’ see any concentration. At my restaurant, there’s three gay men and one gay woman. I work with one guy who’s very effeminate and stereotypical. He’s an extremely professional waiter and so am I. It’s something I don't try to flaunt or hide. I don’t think there’s a gay union. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You live near the \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/red-door-cafe-san-francisco-3\">Red Door Café\u003c/a> and call it one of the gayest spots around. Can you tell us more?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThe clientele is mixed. The owner, Ahmed, is unapologetically gay. He often dresses in costumes and wigs. Sometimes there’s an hour and a half wait. During the wait, Ahmed makes people hold baby dolls. He’ll say, “If you can’t take care of the doll, you can’t take care of me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Or he’ll interview people with a mirror, and ask, “Tell me something fabulous about yourself, why I should serve you.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He makes people play along. When you’re in, it’s theater. The food is good. It’s an incredible place: a performance piece, where everyone is participating. It’s really fascinating. He frankly doesn’t give a shit. He only wants people that want to be there. I told him this is what I feared San Francisco is losing... being there made me the happiest boy in the city. It’s awesome. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Red Door Café is only open four days a week, Friday through Monday. I rarely go in to eat because it’s so busy. I go get a coffee there and then hang out, chat and watch the action… watch the barista.\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>\u003cbr>\nHow do you celebrate Pride Month personally and professionally?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI don’t. It’s personal for me. I don’t like any kind of crowds, gay or straight. If it’s a drunk crowd, it gives me the creeps. I don’t care for parades because I worked in one every evening at Disneyland. I was even Goofy, and it was very hot in the costume. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I understand pride and the meaning of it. I have been to the parade. I showed up jaded and said, “Oh the floats suck.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then I saw people marching from the small towns from outside the city and saw how they were beaming and joyful. I thought, “they couldn’t do this where they live.” The only pride I felt was from that. I’m not proud that I’m a gay man -- it’s not necessarily a thing to be proud of because it’s just who people are. But I was proud of my city because it fosters acceptance. The fact that all these people feel welcome here and can march in the open is really an incredible thing. I think that’s great. If I do go to anything, I go to the \u003ca href=\"http://thedykemarch.org/\">Dyke March\u003c/a> because it’s fun and unstructured. I wander because I like to keep moving. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Do you think about your style of humor as particularly gay? Are you aware of it? \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nMy humor is a product of my environment. I’ve always had a very gay sensibility. I grew up with an older brother, Doug, who was my primary source of entertainment. He was very funny and he was gay. He loved musicals. He was my primary influence. I owe a lot to him. I just happened to have an older brother who even as a teenager was a middle aged gay man trapped in a teenager’s body. For Anaheim, he had a very worldly outlook. And he was remarkably sophisticated. \u003ca href=\"http://foodforthethoughtless.com/2010/08/death-in-the-afternoon/\">He died of AIDS\u003c/a>. That’s part of the pride celebration that gets me, and it’s not in a bad way. I’m so grateful to see people marching with AIDS. When I do see them marching, it’s sort of a happy-sad time. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’ve always been surrounded by smart people. Even in school I felt like I was keeping up with them. I kept myself sharp. I’ve been lucky enough to be surrounded with really talented, funny people. \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "In celebration of LGBT Pride month, Mary Ladd profiles Michael Procopio, who is a San Francisco waiter and writer online at Food for the Thoughtless. Procopio shares how his brother Doug, who died of AIDS, influenced his brand of humor, and talks about one of his favorite gay eateries.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2012/06/560Procopio_DryBABJune2012.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2012/06/560Procopio_DryBABJune2012.jpg\" alt=\"Michael Procopio\" title=\"Michael Procopio\" width=\"560\" class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-44862\">\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003cem>Michael Procopio photo courtesy of Julie Michelle Photography\u003c/em> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Our gay-friendly town is full of visitors. June means that the Bay Area and more specifically, San Francisco, fills to the brim with folks from all over the world to observe and celebrate the events, marches and festivities that culminate in \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfpride.org/\">SF LGBT Pride\u003c/a>. Bay Area Bites is noting this 42nd annual come-as-you-are love fest by telling stories from the LBGT chefs and personalities who keep us sated 365 days of the year. We’ve talked with Palomino’s chef \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/2012/06/15/lgbt-pride-profile-palomino-chef-adam-jones/\">Adam Jones\u003c/a>, and chef \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/2012/06/20/lgbt-pride-profile-top-chef-and-juhu-beach-club%E2%80%99s-preeti-mistry/\">Preeti Mistry\u003c/a> of the upcoming Juhu Beach Club. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/#!/procopster\">Michael Procopio\u003c/a> was on the top of our list of folks to talk to because he is funny and smart. Readers may remember his witty writing from his days here as a Bay Area Bites \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/author/michael-procopio/\">contributor\u003c/a>. He currently turns out great lines like these at his \u003ca href=\"http://foodforthethoughtless.com/\">Food for the Thoughtless\u003c/a> blog: \u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>“If the dough has become too warm at this point (read: if it feels as droopy as a retired wet nurse’s bosom) place the folded dough onto a tray and pop it into the freezer until it is once again pert.”\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>Then there’s this one, \u003cem>“Wash hands as thoroughly as if you were about to perform surgery on your own grandmother.”\u003c/em> Procopio lives in North Pacific Heights and attended the California Culinary Academy. He grew up in Anaheim and is a professional waiter who also has experience cooking in restaurants. Procopio was interviewed via telephone recently. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>The culinary world has often been portrayed as quite sexist. What is your perspective and experience with regard to homophobia in the restaurant world?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nMy experience has been very good actually. When I worked in the kitchen, I worked in a small restaurant for a Kiwi woman who was actually wonderful. I never had any problem in a restaurant kitchen. Oddly the only homophobia and discrimination was from someone famous that I’d rather not get into. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2012/06/560Octopus_ProcopioBAB.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2012/06/560Octopus_ProcopioBAB.jpg\" alt=\"\" title=\"560Octopus_ProcopioBAB\" width=\"560\" class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-44861\">\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003cem>Michael Procopio photo courtesy of Julie Michelle Photography\u003c/em> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Is there a difference between the front of the house vs. the kitchen regarding this issue? A difference for men vs. women? \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nMost of my career has been spent as a waiter. It’s been 20 years of waiting tables. There’s one woman in the kitchen at the restaurant where I work and she’s openly gay. She sort of straddles the two worlds because she’s on the floor as well. Our pastry chef was joking that gay men are in the pastry department and gay women are on the line, cooking. It seems a bit of a stereotype but at least it’s true in our restaurant. We’ve got a great kitchen staff. I think they’re all really nice people and they kick ass. If you don’t work well, that’s going to be more of an issue than whether you’re a man or woman. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>What is it like coming out as a service professional? Has being an LGBT person affected you career in any particular way?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI was already out. I’ve lived here for 17 years. I’ve never had an issue. It’s just a part of who I am. It doesn’t define me as a person and a waiter. My sensibilities and humor come through individually. I don't see it as gayness, I see it as Michael-ness and it can be a non-issue. I can’t speak for anybody but we have whatever we consider a normal-to-us life here. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Is there a gay subculture within the food world? In the Bay Area?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI lived in the Castro for several years and there were concentrations of gay restaurants: Mecca, \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/orphan-andys-san-francisco\">Orphan Andy’s\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"http://castrosausagefactory.com/\">The Sausage Factory\u003c/a>… that’s just because of the neighborhood. Frankly it’s San Francisco for god’s sake. I don’t think people really bat an eye. To me it’s a non-issue.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for a subculture, there’s not one that I’ve witnessed. I have gay friends and straight friends in the restaurant industry. I don't’ see any concentration. At my restaurant, there’s three gay men and one gay woman. I work with one guy who’s very effeminate and stereotypical. He’s an extremely professional waiter and so am I. It’s something I don't try to flaunt or hide. I don’t think there’s a gay union. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You live near the \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/red-door-cafe-san-francisco-3\">Red Door Café\u003c/a> and call it one of the gayest spots around. Can you tell us more?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThe clientele is mixed. The owner, Ahmed, is unapologetically gay. He often dresses in costumes and wigs. Sometimes there’s an hour and a half wait. During the wait, Ahmed makes people hold baby dolls. He’ll say, “If you can’t take care of the doll, you can’t take care of me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Or he’ll interview people with a mirror, and ask, “Tell me something fabulous about yourself, why I should serve you.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He makes people play along. When you’re in, it’s theater. The food is good. It’s an incredible place: a performance piece, where everyone is participating. It’s really fascinating. He frankly doesn’t give a shit. He only wants people that want to be there. I told him this is what I feared San Francisco is losing... being there made me the happiest boy in the city. It’s awesome. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Red Door Café is only open four days a week, Friday through Monday. I rarely go in to eat because it’s so busy. I go get a coffee there and then hang out, chat and watch the action… watch the barista.\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>\u003cbr>\nHow do you celebrate Pride Month personally and professionally?\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI don’t. It’s personal for me. I don’t like any kind of crowds, gay or straight. If it’s a drunk crowd, it gives me the creeps. I don’t care for parades because I worked in one every evening at Disneyland. I was even Goofy, and it was very hot in the costume. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I understand pride and the meaning of it. I have been to the parade. I showed up jaded and said, “Oh the floats suck.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then I saw people marching from the small towns from outside the city and saw how they were beaming and joyful. I thought, “they couldn’t do this where they live.” The only pride I felt was from that. I’m not proud that I’m a gay man -- it’s not necessarily a thing to be proud of because it’s just who people are. But I was proud of my city because it fosters acceptance. The fact that all these people feel welcome here and can march in the open is really an incredible thing. I think that’s great. If I do go to anything, I go to the \u003ca href=\"http://thedykemarch.org/\">Dyke March\u003c/a> because it’s fun and unstructured. I wander because I like to keep moving. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Do you think about your style of humor as particularly gay? Are you aware of it? \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nMy humor is a product of my environment. I’ve always had a very gay sensibility. I grew up with an older brother, Doug, who was my primary source of entertainment. He was very funny and he was gay. He loved musicals. He was my primary influence. I owe a lot to him. I just happened to have an older brother who even as a teenager was a middle aged gay man trapped in a teenager’s body. For Anaheim, he had a very worldly outlook. And he was remarkably sophisticated. \u003ca href=\"http://foodforthethoughtless.com/2010/08/death-in-the-afternoon/\">He died of AIDS\u003c/a>. That’s part of the pride celebration that gets me, and it’s not in a bad way. I’m so grateful to see people marching with AIDS. When I do see them marching, it’s sort of a happy-sad time. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2008/04/harira400.jpg\" alt=\"harira\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I spent time in Morocco a couple of years ago, I found \u003cem>\u003cstrong>harira\u003c/strong>\u003c/em> on nearly every menu. Traditionally, it is the food that breaks the month-long, daylight fasting of Ramadan, but I was told by more than one old geezer that it was also referred to as \"Smoker's Soup\" because it helped purify the lungs. From what I saw, these men most likely ate spoonfuls of the stuff between long drags on their Marlboros.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Owing to the fact that I was not only riding, eating, and wearing camels, but smoking a hell of a lot of them, too, I decided to join them in their health regimen. My lungs didn't necessarily feel any better, but my stomach did. And maybe my soul, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Two years later, as I struggle to leave the Camels back in the Sahara where they belong, I have returned to \u003cem>\u003cstrong>harira\u003c/strong>\u003c/em> in my latest and most successful attempt at purification. Nowhere on the internet could I find any mention of this being a smoker's soup. Of course, the old men who imparted this wisdom looked as though they'd never heard of a gmail account. God bless them and I pray that they never do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It comforts me to know that you can't find everything by Goggle search.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Harira\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are probably as many \u003cem>\u003cstrong>harira\u003c/strong>\u003c/em> recipes as there are families who make it. No two recipes I've seen are alike. This is one I happen to think is really good. Some people like to add pasta, some people prefer a bit of egg. And some people can get a thrill knitting sweaters and sitting still.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This soup can be made meatless by simply omitting one of the ingredients. If I have to tell you which one, you are a very bad vegetarian.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Serves 6\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Ingredients:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1/2 pound lamb. Not fancy cuts, just stew meat. Cut into 1 inch pieces. Throw in a few bones, too.\u003cbr>\n2 tablespoons olive oil\u003cbr>\n1 tablespoon butter\u003cbr>\n1/2 cup lentils. Not French lentils. Some Moroccans still take issue with the French.\u003cbr>\n3/4 cup tomato paste\u003cbr>\n1 bunch parsley stems, tied together like some sort of Morticia Addams bouquet.\u003cbr>\n1 bunch cilantro stems treated as the parsley has been treated, leaves reserved for garnish.\u003cbr>\n1 large onion, finely chopped\u003cbr>\n1 cinnamon stick, three to four inches in length\u003cbr>\n1 teaspoon smoked paprika\u003cbr>\n1/2 teaspoon powdered ginger\u003cbr>\nA pinch of saffron\u003cbr>\n1 cup (for this recipe) canned chickpeas, drained\u003cbr>\n1 tablespoon flour\u003cbr>\nThe juice of one lemon\u003cbr>\nWater\u003cbr>\nSalt and pepper to taste\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Preparation:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Heat oil and butter in a large Dutch oven. Add lamb bones and meat to brown nicely.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. Add onion and cook until translucent. Then add spices, tomato paste, lentils, parsley, and cilantro stems. Cover with 8 cups of water, stir, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, add the canned chickpeas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3. Make a slurry of flour with 1/2 cup of cold water and add to the soup, stirring well. Simmer for another 15 minutes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. When finished, remove lamb bones and the parsley and cilantro stems. Add as much salt and pepper as you deem necessary. Be generous with the salt, if you don't think it will kill you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. Ladle into warm bowls. Garnish with a scant fistful of cilantro leaves and wedges of lemon. Have at it with a loaf of very crusty bread and a spoon.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>6. Repeat as needed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now how do you feel? Has the tar from 20 years of passionate cigarette smoking suddenly found the urge to leave your body? Oh. Well, I hope your soul is satisfied. Or, if you lack one of those, then at least your stomach.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/2008/04/harira400.jpg\" alt=\"harira\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I spent time in Morocco a couple of years ago, I found \u003cem>\u003cstrong>harira\u003c/strong>\u003c/em> on nearly every menu. Traditionally, it is the food that breaks the month-long, daylight fasting of Ramadan, but I was told by more than one old geezer that it was also referred to as \"Smoker's Soup\" because it helped purify the lungs. From what I saw, these men most likely ate spoonfuls of the stuff between long drags on their Marlboros.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Owing to the fact that I was not only riding, eating, and wearing camels, but smoking a hell of a lot of them, too, I decided to join them in their health regimen. My lungs didn't necessarily feel any better, but my stomach did. And maybe my soul, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Two years later, as I struggle to leave the Camels back in the Sahara where they belong, I have returned to \u003cem>\u003cstrong>harira\u003c/strong>\u003c/em> in my latest and most successful attempt at purification. Nowhere on the internet could I find any mention of this being a smoker's soup. Of course, the old men who imparted this wisdom looked as though they'd never heard of a gmail account. God bless them and I pray that they never do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It comforts me to know that you can't find everything by Goggle search.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Harira\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are probably as many \u003cem>\u003cstrong>harira\u003c/strong>\u003c/em> recipes as there are families who make it. No two recipes I've seen are alike. This is one I happen to think is really good. Some people like to add pasta, some people prefer a bit of egg. And some people can get a thrill knitting sweaters and sitting still.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This soup can be made meatless by simply omitting one of the ingredients. If I have to tell you which one, you are a very bad vegetarian.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Serves 6\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Ingredients:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1/2 pound lamb. Not fancy cuts, just stew meat. Cut into 1 inch pieces. Throw in a few bones, too.\u003cbr>\n2 tablespoons olive oil\u003cbr>\n1 tablespoon butter\u003cbr>\n1/2 cup lentils. Not French lentils. Some Moroccans still take issue with the French.\u003cbr>\n3/4 cup tomato paste\u003cbr>\n1 bunch parsley stems, tied together like some sort of Morticia Addams bouquet.\u003cbr>\n1 bunch cilantro stems treated as the parsley has been treated, leaves reserved for garnish.\u003cbr>\n1 large onion, finely chopped\u003cbr>\n1 cinnamon stick, three to four inches in length\u003cbr>\n1 teaspoon smoked paprika\u003cbr>\n1/2 teaspoon powdered ginger\u003cbr>\nA pinch of saffron\u003cbr>\n1 cup (for this recipe) canned chickpeas, drained\u003cbr>\n1 tablespoon flour\u003cbr>\nThe juice of one lemon\u003cbr>\nWater\u003cbr>\nSalt and pepper to taste\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Preparation:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Heat oil and butter in a large Dutch oven. Add lamb bones and meat to brown nicely.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. Add onion and cook until translucent. Then add spices, tomato paste, lentils, parsley, and cilantro stems. Cover with 8 cups of water, stir, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, add the canned chickpeas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3. Make a slurry of flour with 1/2 cup of cold water and add to the soup, stirring well. Simmer for another 15 minutes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. When finished, remove lamb bones and the parsley and cilantro stems. Add as much salt and pepper as you deem necessary. Be generous with the salt, if you don't think it will kill you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. Ladle into warm bowls. Garnish with a scant fistful of cilantro leaves and wedges of lemon. Have at it with a loaf of very crusty bread and a spoon.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>6. Repeat as needed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now how do you feel? Has the tar from 20 years of passionate cigarette smoking suddenly found the urge to leave your body? Oh. Well, I hope your soul is satisfied. Or, if you lack one of those, then at least your stomach.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"disqusTitle": "Health Care Ordinance Infects Restaurant Industry",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R88xWCRR2uI/AAAAAAAAAQI/7C2f-Ke9d4k/s1600-h/servicecharge.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R88xWCRR2uI/AAAAAAAAAQI/7C2f-Ke9d4k/s320/servicecharge.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>San Francisco restaurants are suffering from what \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfgate/detail?blogid=26&entry_id=12576\">Michael Bauer at The San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/a> called \"another 1-2-3 punch to their already slim wallets.\" The first hit: a minimum wage increase to $9.36 per hour. The second: a sick leave law which states that employees receive one hour of paid sick leave for every 30 hours worked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then came the rabbit punch: \u003ca href=\"http://www.healthttp//www.healthysanfrancisco.org/employers/HCSO_Compliance.aspxhysanfrancisco.org/employers/HCSO_Compliance.aspx\">The Health Care Security Ordinance\u003c/a>, which mandates that businesses employing 20 or more employees to spend a minimum of $1.17 per employee per hour on health care. For businesses employing more than 100, that minimum increases to $1.76.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If one also factors in sharp increases in fuel costs, \u003ca href=\"http://www.csmonitor.com/2008/0227/p01s05-usec.html\">the doubling of wheat prices\u003c/a>, and a public hyperventilating over dismal economic forecasts, the San Francisco restaurant industry isn't looking forward to a rosy-hued 2008.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The cost of business, my friends, is rising like so much expensive dough. How, then, are our local eateries attempting to punch it down?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A few are taking it on the chin, while others are increasing their menu prices to help absorb the costs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And some are implementing an additional service charge, in the guise of either a percentage of the total bill, or a per person cover charge. \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfgate/detail?blogid=26&entry_id=23838\">With letters of explanation attached\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are those among us who appreciate the transparency of these explanatory letters, even applaud them. Others find this new trend offensive. I sense that composing such letters and adding these charges was a tough call for those who have added them-- one made under the strain of coming to terms with a well-meaning, but essentially flawed ordinance. The result has become unavoidably political.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Personally, I don't want my dinner to be any more political than it needs to be. I make enough of those choices in my daily life as it is. Even the choice of which restaurant I go to is often a political decision. Once I enter that restaurant, however, I'm done. I want someone to greet me warmly, I want to be fed and watered well, and I want to forget-- for an hour or two-- the problems I purposefully left outside the front door. I want to feel taken care of.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If I want a full explanation of what goes into a Tripe alla Fiorentina, I'll ask my server, thank you. The same goes for any price increases. I don't need an essentially whining, buck-passing letter of explanation slapped in my face. It is the diner's role to whine, not the restaurant's.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If these letter writers were indeed so \"proud to do business in a city that has chosen to test a landmark solution to this ongoing and serious national problem,\" these letters would not have been written in the first place. It is clear that the authors are distressed about the increased financial burden this new ordinance places on their shoulders. Of course, they are. But these letters just smack of insincerity. What's next? \"Dear Guests, we are excited to announce that our rent has just been raised! We are proud to live in a city of astronomical real estate values...\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I think not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/02/22/BAEKV6KF2.DTL\">For the time being\u003c/a>, the health care ordinance is, for better or for worse, part of the cost of doing business in this city. There are many other restaurants here that have chosen to deal with this hit gracefully. And, yes, I think that a discreet increase in menu prices is graceful. It allows customers to make their own choices. Actually, it allows customers to feel more akin to what they should be feeling like-- guests. It offers a choice. It allows them to feel a little more in control of the dining process. If a guest wishes to pay x amount of dollars for a steak, he will. If not, he will opt to pay y amount for something else. Regardless, he is paying for his seat one way or another. Adding an extra math equation in the form of a service charges is anything but guest-friendly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Great restaurants don't just fill the stomach, no matter how spectacular the food. They must satisfy an emotional need, as well.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Think of all the people who go out to dinner and then think for a moment about how these people have spent their day. Most likely, they have been working at their own jobs, seeing to the needs of others. How many people come into restaurants after hours of taking on the stress of their children, their bosses, or their customers? As a waiter and twenty-year veteran of the restaurant industry, I have to remind myself daily that it is my job to see that the people who walk into my place of work forget their troubles and get happy, even if it's just for the two hours they are under my watch. They've got problems of their own. They don't want to hear about mine. Or yours.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By writing these letters and adding this charges with little notes attached, restaurant owners are chipping away at the fragile-yet-necessary façade that a diner's needs are what matter most. By reading these letters, people of good conscience trade in a part of their much-needed role of the care-given, to that of care giver. It's a subtle shift, but it's important.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As diners, we know that we all have to pay in the end-- the check, I mean. But tacking on an extra percentage or per-person fee to the end of the bill will ultimately cost the restaurant industry far more than the money it hopes to recoup from the sting of this health care ordinance. Like goodwill.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The letters? To me, it's like reading the list of ingredients on the side of a pint of ice cream. I already know the basics of what goes into the mix, but do I want to know everything? Not always. Sometimes, I just want to treat myself to something that is going to make me feel good for a little while. If the machinery involved in the perfect churning of the cream is expensive to maintain, if the vanilla pods are of the best quality, I am quite willing to pay the reflected price for my indulgence. I don't want to read a god damned sob story about it on the side of the package.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What is most irritating to me is that these charges are being implemented by some of the busiest -- and most influential-- restaurants in the city. These chefs and owners have ridden mighty high in the good times. Now that the going has gotten tougher, they're still busy as hell but, rather than deal with their problems gracefully, these darling prime ballerine of the food press are bitching to the audience that their toe shoes are too tight.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If they want to play the Dying Swan, I suppose we should let them. However, to the best of my knowledge, no one ever paid Anna Pavlova to honk and squawk when she first performed it-- it is a role that is most effective when it is played in silence.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yes, this is a troubling time for the city's restaurants, but if these restaurateurs could stop their complaining and blame-gaming long enough to realize that their integrity is potentially at stake, they might hopefully get back to the business of doing business. If these already-successful places keep providing us with the food and service they're known and respected for, we'll keep supporting them. Should they need to raise prices to offset the costs of a harsh city ordinance, no one in their right mind is going to think they're greedy. I just want them quit their pandering, stick out their grease-encrusted chins, and remember that the show must go on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Because it will.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R88xWCRR2uI/AAAAAAAAAQI/7C2f-Ke9d4k/s1600-h/servicecharge.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R88xWCRR2uI/AAAAAAAAAQI/7C2f-Ke9d4k/s320/servicecharge.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>San Francisco restaurants are suffering from what \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfgate/detail?blogid=26&entry_id=12576\">Michael Bauer at The San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/a> called \"another 1-2-3 punch to their already slim wallets.\" The first hit: a minimum wage increase to $9.36 per hour. The second: a sick leave law which states that employees receive one hour of paid sick leave for every 30 hours worked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then came the rabbit punch: \u003ca href=\"http://www.healthttp//www.healthysanfrancisco.org/employers/HCSO_Compliance.aspxhysanfrancisco.org/employers/HCSO_Compliance.aspx\">The Health Care Security Ordinance\u003c/a>, which mandates that businesses employing 20 or more employees to spend a minimum of $1.17 per employee per hour on health care. For businesses employing more than 100, that minimum increases to $1.76.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If one also factors in sharp increases in fuel costs, \u003ca href=\"http://www.csmonitor.com/2008/0227/p01s05-usec.html\">the doubling of wheat prices\u003c/a>, and a public hyperventilating over dismal economic forecasts, the San Francisco restaurant industry isn't looking forward to a rosy-hued 2008.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The cost of business, my friends, is rising like so much expensive dough. How, then, are our local eateries attempting to punch it down?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A few are taking it on the chin, while others are increasing their menu prices to help absorb the costs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And some are implementing an additional service charge, in the guise of either a percentage of the total bill, or a per person cover charge. \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfgate/detail?blogid=26&entry_id=23838\">With letters of explanation attached\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are those among us who appreciate the transparency of these explanatory letters, even applaud them. Others find this new trend offensive. I sense that composing such letters and adding these charges was a tough call for those who have added them-- one made under the strain of coming to terms with a well-meaning, but essentially flawed ordinance. The result has become unavoidably political.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Personally, I don't want my dinner to be any more political than it needs to be. I make enough of those choices in my daily life as it is. Even the choice of which restaurant I go to is often a political decision. Once I enter that restaurant, however, I'm done. I want someone to greet me warmly, I want to be fed and watered well, and I want to forget-- for an hour or two-- the problems I purposefully left outside the front door. I want to feel taken care of.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If I want a full explanation of what goes into a Tripe alla Fiorentina, I'll ask my server, thank you. The same goes for any price increases. I don't need an essentially whining, buck-passing letter of explanation slapped in my face. It is the diner's role to whine, not the restaurant's.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If these letter writers were indeed so \"proud to do business in a city that has chosen to test a landmark solution to this ongoing and serious national problem,\" these letters would not have been written in the first place. It is clear that the authors are distressed about the increased financial burden this new ordinance places on their shoulders. Of course, they are. But these letters just smack of insincerity. What's next? \"Dear Guests, we are excited to announce that our rent has just been raised! We are proud to live in a city of astronomical real estate values...\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I think not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/02/22/BAEKV6KF2.DTL\">For the time being\u003c/a>, the health care ordinance is, for better or for worse, part of the cost of doing business in this city. There are many other restaurants here that have chosen to deal with this hit gracefully. And, yes, I think that a discreet increase in menu prices is graceful. It allows customers to make their own choices. Actually, it allows customers to feel more akin to what they should be feeling like-- guests. It offers a choice. It allows them to feel a little more in control of the dining process. If a guest wishes to pay x amount of dollars for a steak, he will. If not, he will opt to pay y amount for something else. Regardless, he is paying for his seat one way or another. Adding an extra math equation in the form of a service charges is anything but guest-friendly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Great restaurants don't just fill the stomach, no matter how spectacular the food. They must satisfy an emotional need, as well.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Think of all the people who go out to dinner and then think for a moment about how these people have spent their day. Most likely, they have been working at their own jobs, seeing to the needs of others. How many people come into restaurants after hours of taking on the stress of their children, their bosses, or their customers? As a waiter and twenty-year veteran of the restaurant industry, I have to remind myself daily that it is my job to see that the people who walk into my place of work forget their troubles and get happy, even if it's just for the two hours they are under my watch. They've got problems of their own. They don't want to hear about mine. Or yours.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By writing these letters and adding this charges with little notes attached, restaurant owners are chipping away at the fragile-yet-necessary façade that a diner's needs are what matter most. By reading these letters, people of good conscience trade in a part of their much-needed role of the care-given, to that of care giver. It's a subtle shift, but it's important.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As diners, we know that we all have to pay in the end-- the check, I mean. But tacking on an extra percentage or per-person fee to the end of the bill will ultimately cost the restaurant industry far more than the money it hopes to recoup from the sting of this health care ordinance. Like goodwill.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The letters? To me, it's like reading the list of ingredients on the side of a pint of ice cream. I already know the basics of what goes into the mix, but do I want to know everything? Not always. Sometimes, I just want to treat myself to something that is going to make me feel good for a little while. If the machinery involved in the perfect churning of the cream is expensive to maintain, if the vanilla pods are of the best quality, I am quite willing to pay the reflected price for my indulgence. I don't want to read a god damned sob story about it on the side of the package.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What is most irritating to me is that these charges are being implemented by some of the busiest -- and most influential-- restaurants in the city. These chefs and owners have ridden mighty high in the good times. Now that the going has gotten tougher, they're still busy as hell but, rather than deal with their problems gracefully, these darling prime ballerine of the food press are bitching to the audience that their toe shoes are too tight.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If they want to play the Dying Swan, I suppose we should let them. However, to the best of my knowledge, no one ever paid Anna Pavlova to honk and squawk when she first performed it-- it is a role that is most effective when it is played in silence.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yes, this is a troubling time for the city's restaurants, but if these restaurateurs could stop their complaining and blame-gaming long enough to realize that their integrity is potentially at stake, they might hopefully get back to the business of doing business. If these already-successful places keep providing us with the food and service they're known and respected for, we'll keep supporting them. Should they need to raise prices to offset the costs of a harsh city ordinance, no one in their right mind is going to think they're greedy. I just want them quit their pandering, stick out their grease-encrusted chins, and remember that the show must go on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Because it will.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"disqusTitle": "Fish on Fridays",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFdKEj0rI/AAAAAAAAAQA/-qh-MRrSHOo/s1600-h/sweatingfish.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFdKEj0rI/AAAAAAAAAQA/-qh-MRrSHOo/s320/sweatingfish.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Why is this fish sweating? He isn't. Fish can't sweat. They don't have sweat glands. But he does look rather distressed. Why does he look distressed? Because he was painted that way. He's not real.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If he did have the slightest understanding of human food ways, Fridays would be met with a great deal of anxiety indeed. There are more than \u003ca href=\"http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/4243727.stm\">one billion Catholics\u003c/a> around the world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And it's Lent.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>My family was not the greatest model of a Catholic household. Neither son was an alter boy, holy days of obligation were not obligatory, and an experiment with Catholic school was an unmitigated disaster for my sister, ending with her prompt placement in a public school after her habit-wearing instructress was not-so-quietly removed in a piece of protective (for others) outerwear. So the story goes. But somehow, we always managed to eat fish on Fridays.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To my own horror, this invariably meant a tuna fish sandwich in my lunchbox, the smell of which permeated the plastic and even the skin of the accompanying brownish banana. I loathed this part of Lent. But, of course, Lent is about privation and penance. Lent is also about alms-giving, but try as I might, no one-- not even the poorest of my classmates-- wanted my tuna sandwich.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The one, bright, fish-related candle upon my Lenten cake was the occasional Friday foray to Anthony's Fish and Chips, a dark, wood panelled establishment housed in a mini-mall that smelled, unsurprisingly, of grease-- both from the fryer and from the heads of the old men that always seemed to be loitering around the place. My mother or sister would send themselves down the road to pick up a bright pink box filled with monoliths of battered cod and hot, steamy fried potatoes. Fish and Chips. It was the only seafood we ever saw as kids, barring the occasional shrimp cocktail. I loved it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I had nearly forgotten how much I enjoyed fish and chips until it was suggested the other week that, while visiting friends in Redwood City, we all go have some for lunch.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We went to \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/als-fish-and-chips-redwood-city\">Al's Fish n' Chips\u003c/a> on Roosevelt Boulevard, located in an unassuming mini-mall not unlike those of my suburban youth. It led me to question whether or not there was some sort of zoning law specifically targeting such establishments.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We ordered several items, but the fish and chips ($7.95 for a two-piece order) really stood out in my mind. It was (and I don't use this word often) perfect. A crisp, flavorful batter coating that complimented rather than competed with the tender, steamy cod inside. The chips were nearly the same. A tad thinner than the usual chunky chips associated with the dish, but still thick enough to produce both exterior crunch and inner steam. Everything we consumed there was fresh and really very good (the black beans? Yes, do try). I nearly wet myself with joy. And I cursed myself for not having my camera with me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The following weekend, I rode up to Sausalito for a morning run to Heath Ceramics with my friend Mark. He suggested lunch at \u003ca href=\"http://www.331fish.com/\">Fish\u003c/a> nearby. There was no need to twist my arm. No guessing what we ordered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFRqEj0oI/AAAAAAAAAPo/5rKAypsRb4w/s1600-h/fishfnc.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFRqEj0oI/AAAAAAAAAPo/5rKAypsRb4w/s320/fishfnc.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was a bit shocked at the sticker price-- $21.00 for beer-battered fish (3 pieces) and chips. It was, however, extremely good. I just had to tell myself that I was sitting in a restaurant in Sausalito and not in a suburban mini-mall. Perhaps the proximity of a bait and tackle shop adds incalculably more to property value than, say, a Tan n' Nails.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFSKEj0pI/AAAAAAAAAPw/4CQGdn-2Dqw/s1600-h/picadillymural.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFSKEj0pI/AAAAAAAAAPw/4CQGdn-2Dqw/s320/picadillymural.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The final stop on my cod binge was a place in my neighborhood I've wandered by for years-- \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/piccadilly-fish-and-chips-san-francisco\">Piccadilly Fish n' Chips\u003c/a>. A fire knocked it out of commission a little while back but it has returned. I ordered the 2-piece fish and chips, of course, for $6.95. Since this is classic English takeaway, I did just that. What made me happiest was the fact that my order was wrapped in newspaper-- the SF Weekly. I stifled any impulse I had to engage in Cockney rhyming slang, since I was the only person in the place apart from the sweet woman making my fish who is, I believe, Korean. And I'm not a Cockney. I took away my take-away.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFcaEj0qI/AAAAAAAAAP4/AZwKjNDDVNI/s1600-h/picadillytakeaway.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFcaEj0qI/AAAAAAAAAP4/AZwKjNDDVNI/s320/picadillytakeaway.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I arrived home, I found that the fish and chips had continued to steam as they snuggled in the Pink Section-- exactly what is supposed to happen. To my joy, the fish was still crispy, but not beer-battered; more tempura in style-- delicate, brittle and pock-marked. It was good. I ignored the small packets of tartar sauce and made my own impromptu condiment of mayonnaise, chopped sweet pickles and cider vinegar (since I didn't have the traditional malt vinegar handy). It worked in the pinch. Disappointing, however, were the chips. Rather soggy and bland. Of course, I am partly to blame. I was the first person in Piccadilly's door at 11:00 am and these were the first batch of chips of the day. I should have known better. The fish (and the price point) will bring me back.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All this battered cod and fries over the past few days. I'm actually not sick of it. Could you, my reading public (yes, all three of you) tell me of other, great places to go for a Friday Night Fish Fry? I'm all ears. And all stomach.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And now for the history lesson.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A Brief History of Fish and Chips\u003cbr>The potato has been known to the English since the late 16th century-- about the time that old canard about Sir Walter Raleigh introducing it to a grateful nation started making its rounds. According to \u003ca href=\"http://www.straightdope.com/mailbag/mfrenchfry.html\">The Straight Dope\u003c/a>, the Irish refused to plant them, since potatoes were not mentioned in the Bible. They have since eaten their words. It was the French, naturally, who invented pommes frites, in the 1840's.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fish has, not surprisingly, been known to the English for a much longer time. They live on an island, after all. Frying the fish is believed to have become popular in England in the early mid-19th century, \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fish_and_chips\">even being mentioned in Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There is a bit of controversy as to where the inspired idea of combining fried fish with fried potatoes first occurred. A Mr. Lees opened a fish and chip shop in Mossley, Lancashire in 1863 while a Mr. Joseph Malin opened his London shoppe in 1860. Or 1865. No one is certain. \u003ca href=\"http://www.federationoffishfriers.co.uk/pages/did-you-know--81.htm\">The National Federation of Fish Friers\u003c/a> recognizes that both should share the Oscar. They ought to know, since an average of 300 million servings of fish and chips are served each year in Britain. That's six servings for every human.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fish has \u003ca href=\"http://www.331fish.com/\">a rather entertaining website\u003c/a>, its map is drawn on a napkin.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>350 Harbor Drive\u003cbr>Sausalito, CA 9465 (latitude and longitude also given)\u003cbr>415) 331-FISH\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Open seven days a week\u003cbr>11:30 am- 4:30 pm for lunch\u003cbr>5:30 pm- 8:30 pm for dinner\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/piccadilly-fish-and-chips-san-francisco\">Piccadilly Fish and Chips\u003c/a>\u003cbr>1345 Polk Street (at Pine)\u003cbr>San Francisco, CA 94109\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Open seven days a week\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Monday- Thursday 11 am - 11 pm\u003cbr>Friday 11 am - midnight\u003cbr>Saturday 11 am - 11 pm\u003cbr>Sunday 1 pm - 11 pm\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/als-fish-and-chips-redwood-city\">Al's Fish n' Chips\u003c/a>\u003cbr>2139 Roosevelt Avenue\u003cbr>Redwood City, CA 94061\u003cbr>650) 366-FISH\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Open seven days a week\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Monday - Thursday 11 am - 8 pm\u003cbr>Friday - 11 am - 8:30 pm\u003cbr>Saturday - 11 am - 8 pm\u003cbr>Sunday - 11 am - 7:30 pm\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>* Oh. A food person's fun(ish) fact about Lent. Marie-Antoine Carême's last name means \"Lent\", derived from the Latin quadragesima. Go now, and impress your friends.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"description": "Why is this fish sweating? He isn't. Fish can't sweat. They don't have sweat glands. But he does look rather distressed. Why does he look distressed? Because he was painted that way. He's not real. If he did have the slightest understanding of human food ways, Fridays would be met with a great deal of",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFdKEj0rI/AAAAAAAAAQA/-qh-MRrSHOo/s1600-h/sweatingfish.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFdKEj0rI/AAAAAAAAAQA/-qh-MRrSHOo/s320/sweatingfish.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Why is this fish sweating? He isn't. Fish can't sweat. They don't have sweat glands. But he does look rather distressed. Why does he look distressed? Because he was painted that way. He's not real.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If he did have the slightest understanding of human food ways, Fridays would be met with a great deal of anxiety indeed. There are more than \u003ca href=\"http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/4243727.stm\">one billion Catholics\u003c/a> around the world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And it's Lent.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>My family was not the greatest model of a Catholic household. Neither son was an alter boy, holy days of obligation were not obligatory, and an experiment with Catholic school was an unmitigated disaster for my sister, ending with her prompt placement in a public school after her habit-wearing instructress was not-so-quietly removed in a piece of protective (for others) outerwear. So the story goes. But somehow, we always managed to eat fish on Fridays.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To my own horror, this invariably meant a tuna fish sandwich in my lunchbox, the smell of which permeated the plastic and even the skin of the accompanying brownish banana. I loathed this part of Lent. But, of course, Lent is about privation and penance. Lent is also about alms-giving, but try as I might, no one-- not even the poorest of my classmates-- wanted my tuna sandwich.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The one, bright, fish-related candle upon my Lenten cake was the occasional Friday foray to Anthony's Fish and Chips, a dark, wood panelled establishment housed in a mini-mall that smelled, unsurprisingly, of grease-- both from the fryer and from the heads of the old men that always seemed to be loitering around the place. My mother or sister would send themselves down the road to pick up a bright pink box filled with monoliths of battered cod and hot, steamy fried potatoes. Fish and Chips. It was the only seafood we ever saw as kids, barring the occasional shrimp cocktail. I loved it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I had nearly forgotten how much I enjoyed fish and chips until it was suggested the other week that, while visiting friends in Redwood City, we all go have some for lunch.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We went to \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/als-fish-and-chips-redwood-city\">Al's Fish n' Chips\u003c/a> on Roosevelt Boulevard, located in an unassuming mini-mall not unlike those of my suburban youth. It led me to question whether or not there was some sort of zoning law specifically targeting such establishments.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We ordered several items, but the fish and chips ($7.95 for a two-piece order) really stood out in my mind. It was (and I don't use this word often) perfect. A crisp, flavorful batter coating that complimented rather than competed with the tender, steamy cod inside. The chips were nearly the same. A tad thinner than the usual chunky chips associated with the dish, but still thick enough to produce both exterior crunch and inner steam. Everything we consumed there was fresh and really very good (the black beans? Yes, do try). I nearly wet myself with joy. And I cursed myself for not having my camera with me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The following weekend, I rode up to Sausalito for a morning run to Heath Ceramics with my friend Mark. He suggested lunch at \u003ca href=\"http://www.331fish.com/\">Fish\u003c/a> nearby. There was no need to twist my arm. No guessing what we ordered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFRqEj0oI/AAAAAAAAAPo/5rKAypsRb4w/s1600-h/fishfnc.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFRqEj0oI/AAAAAAAAAPo/5rKAypsRb4w/s320/fishfnc.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was a bit shocked at the sticker price-- $21.00 for beer-battered fish (3 pieces) and chips. It was, however, extremely good. I just had to tell myself that I was sitting in a restaurant in Sausalito and not in a suburban mini-mall. Perhaps the proximity of a bait and tackle shop adds incalculably more to property value than, say, a Tan n' Nails.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFSKEj0pI/AAAAAAAAAPw/4CQGdn-2Dqw/s1600-h/picadillymural.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFSKEj0pI/AAAAAAAAAPw/4CQGdn-2Dqw/s320/picadillymural.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The final stop on my cod binge was a place in my neighborhood I've wandered by for years-- \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/piccadilly-fish-and-chips-san-francisco\">Piccadilly Fish n' Chips\u003c/a>. A fire knocked it out of commission a little while back but it has returned. I ordered the 2-piece fish and chips, of course, for $6.95. Since this is classic English takeaway, I did just that. What made me happiest was the fact that my order was wrapped in newspaper-- the SF Weekly. I stifled any impulse I had to engage in Cockney rhyming slang, since I was the only person in the place apart from the sweet woman making my fish who is, I believe, Korean. And I'm not a Cockney. I took away my take-away.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFcaEj0qI/AAAAAAAAAP4/AZwKjNDDVNI/s1600-h/picadillytakeaway.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R8cFcaEj0qI/AAAAAAAAAP4/AZwKjNDDVNI/s320/picadillytakeaway.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I arrived home, I found that the fish and chips had continued to steam as they snuggled in the Pink Section-- exactly what is supposed to happen. To my joy, the fish was still crispy, but not beer-battered; more tempura in style-- delicate, brittle and pock-marked. It was good. I ignored the small packets of tartar sauce and made my own impromptu condiment of mayonnaise, chopped sweet pickles and cider vinegar (since I didn't have the traditional malt vinegar handy). It worked in the pinch. Disappointing, however, were the chips. Rather soggy and bland. Of course, I am partly to blame. I was the first person in Piccadilly's door at 11:00 am and these were the first batch of chips of the day. I should have known better. The fish (and the price point) will bring me back.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All this battered cod and fries over the past few days. I'm actually not sick of it. Could you, my reading public (yes, all three of you) tell me of other, great places to go for a Friday Night Fish Fry? I'm all ears. And all stomach.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And now for the history lesson.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A Brief History of Fish and Chips\u003cbr>The potato has been known to the English since the late 16th century-- about the time that old canard about Sir Walter Raleigh introducing it to a grateful nation started making its rounds. According to \u003ca href=\"http://www.straightdope.com/mailbag/mfrenchfry.html\">The Straight Dope\u003c/a>, the Irish refused to plant them, since potatoes were not mentioned in the Bible. They have since eaten their words. It was the French, naturally, who invented pommes frites, in the 1840's.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fish has, not surprisingly, been known to the English for a much longer time. They live on an island, after all. Frying the fish is believed to have become popular in England in the early mid-19th century, \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fish_and_chips\">even being mentioned in Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There is a bit of controversy as to where the inspired idea of combining fried fish with fried potatoes first occurred. A Mr. Lees opened a fish and chip shop in Mossley, Lancashire in 1863 while a Mr. Joseph Malin opened his London shoppe in 1860. Or 1865. No one is certain. \u003ca href=\"http://www.federationoffishfriers.co.uk/pages/did-you-know--81.htm\">The National Federation of Fish Friers\u003c/a> recognizes that both should share the Oscar. They ought to know, since an average of 300 million servings of fish and chips are served each year in Britain. That's six servings for every human.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fish has \u003ca href=\"http://www.331fish.com/\">a rather entertaining website\u003c/a>, its map is drawn on a napkin.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>350 Harbor Drive\u003cbr>Sausalito, CA 9465 (latitude and longitude also given)\u003cbr>415) 331-FISH\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Open seven days a week\u003cbr>11:30 am- 4:30 pm for lunch\u003cbr>5:30 pm- 8:30 pm for dinner\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/piccadilly-fish-and-chips-san-francisco\">Piccadilly Fish and Chips\u003c/a>\u003cbr>1345 Polk Street (at Pine)\u003cbr>San Francisco, CA 94109\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Open seven days a week\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Monday- Thursday 11 am - 11 pm\u003cbr>Friday 11 am - midnight\u003cbr>Saturday 11 am - 11 pm\u003cbr>Sunday 1 pm - 11 pm\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/als-fish-and-chips-redwood-city\">Al's Fish n' Chips\u003c/a>\u003cbr>2139 Roosevelt Avenue\u003cbr>Redwood City, CA 94061\u003cbr>650) 366-FISH\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Open seven days a week\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Monday - Thursday 11 am - 8 pm\u003cbr>Friday - 11 am - 8:30 pm\u003cbr>Saturday - 11 am - 8 pm\u003cbr>Sunday - 11 am - 7:30 pm\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>* Oh. A food person's fun(ish) fact about Lent. Marie-Antoine Carême's last name means \"Lent\", derived from the Latin quadragesima. Go now, and impress your friends.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R74ZN6Ej0mI/AAAAAAAAAPY/lBoWrH1F_IM/s1600-h/IMGmeyerlemons.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R74ZN6Ej0mI/AAAAAAAAAPY/lBoWrH1F_IM/s320/IMGmeyerlemons.JPG\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At some point in his motivational speaking career, Dale Carnegie uttered the famous, if misguided words:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"When fate hands you a lemon, make lemonade.\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The fault is not so much in the sentiment-- making lemonade out of lemons is, naturally, a rather positive, productive activity. What bothers me is the underlying belief that there is something inherently unpleasant about this citrus fruit. Carnegie was not alone in his thinking. Used car salesmen have given the lemon a bad name over the years, associating them as they do with automobiles that are slick and shiny on the outside, but of dubious dependability under the hood, which is all rather pot vs. kettle when one stops long enough to think about it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All I know is this-- Carnegie's family certainly didn't hail from a sunny, Mediterranean clime, or he would never have said it. He might instead have related his comment to the Germans or the idea of an eight-hour work day. When fate hands you a German... you can fill in the rest.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of course, Carnegie was telling his audience that, when fate hands you something unpleasant, make the best of it. When fate hands me that kind of lemon, I would more than likely stare at it for a moment and say something like, \"I don't think that lemon is mine,\" and walk away.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When fate or, more often than not, the supermarket checker hands me an actual lemon, I am more likely to own it. When fate hands me Meyer lemons, I get happy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I am not about to delve into the history and genetics of the Meyer lemon today. Others have done it well enough that I do not have to. I suggest you let our own Amy Sherman tell you about them. \u003ca href=\"http://cookingwithamy.blogspot.com/2006/02/all-about-meyer-lemons.html\">Read her blog post on Meyer lemons.\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you want a few ideas as to what you can do with Meyer lemons, read another Amy's (Scattergood) fun list \u003ca href=\"http://www.latimes.com/features/food/la-fo-meyerlemons16jan16,1,7792191.story?page=1&ctrack=1&cset=true\">\"100 things to do with a Meyer lemon\"\u003c/a> from the Los Angeles Times online to get some great ideas. Some are oddly practical, like playing fetch with them in order to freshen canine breath. If you can come up with other uses, please let me know. No one has mentioned the Meyer lemon as an \u003ca href=\"http://www.smartskincare.com/tips/skincare_exfol_20050824.html\">elbow-softener\u003c/a>. Perhaps there are few people who still care for supple joints as I do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And if you really, really want to know everything you could possibly want to know about the lemon, its history, and its uses, by all means go out and buy yourself a copy of \u003ca href=\"http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0802136516/kqedorg-20\">\u003cstrong>Much Depends on Dinner\u003c/strong>\u003c/a> by Margaret Visser. It's quite a fascinating read.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Look, I just like lemons. Perhaps it's my Sicilian heritage and the fact that my ancestors actually earned their bread and marmellata exporting the little yellow fruits. Which leads me to wonder that, had Dale Carnegie been born, say, Dale Carneghi, he might have said, \"When fate hands you a lemon, make limoncello.\" But he wasn't and he didn't, so I am stuck with making lemonade for the purposes of today's post.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It strikes me as a cruel twist of fate that a fruit which makes such a great summer thirst-quencher should reach its peak in the dead of winter, but that isn't going to stop me from making it. One still needs to stave off scurvy, even in the chilly months. What better way to pretend that winter isn't happening than to wear gingham, put some zinc oxide on your nose and pour yourself a tall glass of lemonade? It is denial perfected. After all, I believe it was Mr. Carnegie who also said, \"Happiness doesn't depend on any external conditions, it is governed by our mental attitude.\" I am not going to argue with him about that. With that as my new credo, I shall chose to pretend it isn't raining outside, my complexion isn't pasty, and I haven't gained 10 pounds. Instead, you'll find me inhabiting my inner world, where it's perpetually sunny, and I am always tan and thin. Thanks for the motivation, Dale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Meyer Lemonade\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R74ZOKEj0nI/AAAAAAAAAPg/bskwfl6VjII/s1600-h/lemonade.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R74ZOKEj0nI/AAAAAAAAAPg/bskwfl6VjII/s320/lemonade.JPG\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Meyer lemons are ideal for making lemonade. Lacking confidence in their own identity (half lemon, half mandarin), they share space well with others. Three flavors that blend well (in lemonade) with the fruit are mint, cucumber, and coriander. Yes, coriander. Don't ask me how I know. I have chosen mint today because it is pretty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ingredients:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 cup freshly squeezed Meyer lemon juice-- about 5 to 6 lemons, depending upon size and juiciness. You can actually squeeze them the night before-- the juice won't separate like orange juice does.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 cup simple syrup. Mint is added to mine here. I'm not telling you how to make simple syrup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3 to 4 cups cold, clean water.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mint sprigs and (very) thinly sliced Meyer lemons for garnish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ice cubes, if you're into them. I find they keep the garnish from floating to the top.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Preparation:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Take all the ingredients and dump them into a big enough pitcher. Stir and serve.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Or, if you want to be very French about it and serve it comme un vrai citron pressé...\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Place lemon juice and syrup in the antique apothecary beakers you found for next to nothing at the marché aux puces in Dijon last autumn. Place on a tray with chilled, bottled Volvic, one pastis glass and spoon per person, and a pack of Gauloises Blondes. Let your guests prepare their own concoctions, according to personal taste.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Note: If you opt for cucumber lemonade, slice up a cucumber thinly, add to the water and refrigerate for 24 hours. For coriander? I haven't quite figured that one out. I'll let you know when I do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Serves 4 to 6.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R74ZN6Ej0mI/AAAAAAAAAPY/lBoWrH1F_IM/s1600-h/IMGmeyerlemons.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R74ZN6Ej0mI/AAAAAAAAAPY/lBoWrH1F_IM/s320/IMGmeyerlemons.JPG\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At some point in his motivational speaking career, Dale Carnegie uttered the famous, if misguided words:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"When fate hands you a lemon, make lemonade.\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The fault is not so much in the sentiment-- making lemonade out of lemons is, naturally, a rather positive, productive activity. What bothers me is the underlying belief that there is something inherently unpleasant about this citrus fruit. Carnegie was not alone in his thinking. Used car salesmen have given the lemon a bad name over the years, associating them as they do with automobiles that are slick and shiny on the outside, but of dubious dependability under the hood, which is all rather pot vs. kettle when one stops long enough to think about it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All I know is this-- Carnegie's family certainly didn't hail from a sunny, Mediterranean clime, or he would never have said it. He might instead have related his comment to the Germans or the idea of an eight-hour work day. When fate hands you a German... you can fill in the rest.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of course, Carnegie was telling his audience that, when fate hands you something unpleasant, make the best of it. When fate hands me that kind of lemon, I would more than likely stare at it for a moment and say something like, \"I don't think that lemon is mine,\" and walk away.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When fate or, more often than not, the supermarket checker hands me an actual lemon, I am more likely to own it. When fate hands me Meyer lemons, I get happy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I am not about to delve into the history and genetics of the Meyer lemon today. Others have done it well enough that I do not have to. I suggest you let our own Amy Sherman tell you about them. \u003ca href=\"http://cookingwithamy.blogspot.com/2006/02/all-about-meyer-lemons.html\">Read her blog post on Meyer lemons.\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you want a few ideas as to what you can do with Meyer lemons, read another Amy's (Scattergood) fun list \u003ca href=\"http://www.latimes.com/features/food/la-fo-meyerlemons16jan16,1,7792191.story?page=1&ctrack=1&cset=true\">\"100 things to do with a Meyer lemon\"\u003c/a> from the Los Angeles Times online to get some great ideas. Some are oddly practical, like playing fetch with them in order to freshen canine breath. If you can come up with other uses, please let me know. No one has mentioned the Meyer lemon as an \u003ca href=\"http://www.smartskincare.com/tips/skincare_exfol_20050824.html\">elbow-softener\u003c/a>. Perhaps there are few people who still care for supple joints as I do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And if you really, really want to know everything you could possibly want to know about the lemon, its history, and its uses, by all means go out and buy yourself a copy of \u003ca href=\"http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0802136516/kqedorg-20\">\u003cstrong>Much Depends on Dinner\u003c/strong>\u003c/a> by Margaret Visser. It's quite a fascinating read.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Look, I just like lemons. Perhaps it's my Sicilian heritage and the fact that my ancestors actually earned their bread and marmellata exporting the little yellow fruits. Which leads me to wonder that, had Dale Carnegie been born, say, Dale Carneghi, he might have said, \"When fate hands you a lemon, make limoncello.\" But he wasn't and he didn't, so I am stuck with making lemonade for the purposes of today's post.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It strikes me as a cruel twist of fate that a fruit which makes such a great summer thirst-quencher should reach its peak in the dead of winter, but that isn't going to stop me from making it. One still needs to stave off scurvy, even in the chilly months. What better way to pretend that winter isn't happening than to wear gingham, put some zinc oxide on your nose and pour yourself a tall glass of lemonade? It is denial perfected. After all, I believe it was Mr. Carnegie who also said, \"Happiness doesn't depend on any external conditions, it is governed by our mental attitude.\" I am not going to argue with him about that. With that as my new credo, I shall chose to pretend it isn't raining outside, my complexion isn't pasty, and I haven't gained 10 pounds. Instead, you'll find me inhabiting my inner world, where it's perpetually sunny, and I am always tan and thin. Thanks for the motivation, Dale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Meyer Lemonade\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R74ZOKEj0nI/AAAAAAAAAPg/bskwfl6VjII/s1600-h/lemonade.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R74ZOKEj0nI/AAAAAAAAAPg/bskwfl6VjII/s320/lemonade.JPG\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Meyer lemons are ideal for making lemonade. Lacking confidence in their own identity (half lemon, half mandarin), they share space well with others. Three flavors that blend well (in lemonade) with the fruit are mint, cucumber, and coriander. Yes, coriander. Don't ask me how I know. I have chosen mint today because it is pretty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ingredients:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 cup freshly squeezed Meyer lemon juice-- about 5 to 6 lemons, depending upon size and juiciness. You can actually squeeze them the night before-- the juice won't separate like orange juice does.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 cup simple syrup. Mint is added to mine here. I'm not telling you how to make simple syrup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3 to 4 cups cold, clean water.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mint sprigs and (very) thinly sliced Meyer lemons for garnish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ice cubes, if you're into them. I find they keep the garnish from floating to the top.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Preparation:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Take all the ingredients and dump them into a big enough pitcher. Stir and serve.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Or, if you want to be very French about it and serve it comme un vrai citron pressé...\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. Place lemon juice and syrup in the antique apothecary beakers you found for next to nothing at the marché aux puces in Dijon last autumn. Place on a tray with chilled, bottled Volvic, one pastis glass and spoon per person, and a pack of Gauloises Blondes. Let your guests prepare their own concoctions, according to personal taste.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Note: If you opt for cucumber lemonade, slice up a cucumber thinly, add to the water and refrigerate for 24 hours. For coriander? I haven't quite figured that one out. I'll let you know when I do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Serves 4 to 6.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Dives I Love: Cordon Bleu",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7R7c6Ej0gI/AAAAAAAAAOo/1ADnAkf3HS4/s1600-h/cordonbleusign.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7R7c6Ej0gI/AAAAAAAAAOo/1ADnAkf3HS4/s320/cordonbleusign.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Typically, when I heard the phrase \"Cordon Bleu\", I used to think in purely French terms. Mustachioed men in perfect white chef coats tasting expensive-looking dishes with silver spoons pulled from little pockets in their sleeves. Or I'd think of the literal translation, which is, of course, \"blue ribbon\", which I might mentally attach to one of the chef's coats. Since I moved near Polk Gulch four years ago, the little Frenchmen in my head have been replaced by thoughts of five spice chicken. And I couldn't be happier about that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The restaurant isn't much to look at. In fact, there are those who are downright turned off by its distinct lack of physical charm, décor and, well, apparent hygiene. As far as I'm concerned, the unadventurous can keep their distance. It's not as though \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/cordon-bleu-vietnamese-restaurant-san-francisco\">Cordon Bleu\u003c/a> needs their business-- there's a line out the door every evening.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Why the line? Well, Cordon Bleu is tiny-- nine stools bolted around a formica counter, three small tables in the back, and next to no room in between. The real reason for the crowds, however, is the chicken, which they tout as... just read the sign:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W49aEj0jI/AAAAAAAAAPA/tX_X0HcPnn8/s1600-h/bestchicken.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W49aEj0jI/AAAAAAAAAPA/tX_X0HcPnn8/s320/bestchicken.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I've never been to Vietnam, so I wouldn't know. Considering the fact that the jungle fowl-- the ancient proto-chicken from which all others derive-- originated in Southeast Asia, the Vietnamese have been able to take their time perfecting chicken recipes. The one at Cordon Bleu is pretty damned good, but the best? I'll take their boast with a grain of salt. And a pinch of five spice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Chinese Five Spice, if you didn't know, is a combination of ground cinnamon (cassia), star anise, cloves, Sichuan pepper, and fennel. When rubbed on chicken, it gives Cordon Bleu the means to pay its rent.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7R7daEj0hI/AAAAAAAAAOw/ibIAVKbVQyQ/s1600-h/5spicechicken.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7R7daEj0hI/AAAAAAAAAOw/ibIAVKbVQyQ/s320/5spicechicken.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I visit the place, it's usually before or after seeing a film at the Lumière Theatre, depending upon the subject matter. I'd much rather fill myself here than with movie theatre fare. And possibly for less money than a coke, some popcorn and a candy bar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The food is-- I hesitate to use the word cheap-- inexpensive. I can stuff myself silly for $8.25 with the \"Number Five\", which I think is the most expensive thing on the menu.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W4-KEj0lI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/EoTW9Xmsttc/s1600-h/thenumber5.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W4-KEj0lI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/EoTW9Xmsttc/s320/thenumber5.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Number 5 consists of one piece of \"five spiced roast chicken\" which, apart from roasting, spent a good deal of time on the grill, one pork and glass noodle fried Imperial roll, one \"shish kebab\" (which is neither shish nor kebab. It's very thin slices of marinated steak. The only common ground it shares with kebab is that it is meat that spents a good amount of time over a hot grill), country salad (shredded cabbage), and \"meat sauce on rice\".\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Meat sauce on rice. Ground pork, peppers, onions, tomato. It's piled high on nearly every plate. I'm fond of its no nonsense name. And its flavor. It's no surprise to me why SF Weekly dubbed Cordon Bleu the \u003ca href=\"http://bestof.sfweekly.com/bestof/award.php?award=172751\">Best Dive Restaurant of 2006\u003c/a>. It's good food. And damned cheap.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W49qEj0kI/AAAAAAAAAPI/5vNFOpQba20/s1600-h/alldone.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W49qEj0kI/AAAAAAAAAPI/5vNFOpQba20/s320/alldone.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The next time you're in the neighborhood, whether it be to see an art film, catch a drag show, or pick up a hustler, stop by Cordon Bleu. That is, if you can get in.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cordon Bleu Vietnamses Restaurant\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1574 California Street (at Polk Street)\u003cbr>San Francisco, CA 94109-4708\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Phone: (415) 673-5637\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hours: Tuesday- Saturday 11:30 am- 2:30 pm, 5-10 pm.\u003cbr> Sunday 4-10 pm\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cash Only. No alcohol is served, so bring your own beer. Hell, bring some for the women behind the counter. The last time I was there they said they could sure use one.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7R7c6Ej0gI/AAAAAAAAAOo/1ADnAkf3HS4/s1600-h/cordonbleusign.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7R7c6Ej0gI/AAAAAAAAAOo/1ADnAkf3HS4/s320/cordonbleusign.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Typically, when I heard the phrase \"Cordon Bleu\", I used to think in purely French terms. Mustachioed men in perfect white chef coats tasting expensive-looking dishes with silver spoons pulled from little pockets in their sleeves. Or I'd think of the literal translation, which is, of course, \"blue ribbon\", which I might mentally attach to one of the chef's coats. Since I moved near Polk Gulch four years ago, the little Frenchmen in my head have been replaced by thoughts of five spice chicken. And I couldn't be happier about that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The restaurant isn't much to look at. In fact, there are those who are downright turned off by its distinct lack of physical charm, décor and, well, apparent hygiene. As far as I'm concerned, the unadventurous can keep their distance. It's not as though \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/cordon-bleu-vietnamese-restaurant-san-francisco\">Cordon Bleu\u003c/a> needs their business-- there's a line out the door every evening.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Why the line? Well, Cordon Bleu is tiny-- nine stools bolted around a formica counter, three small tables in the back, and next to no room in between. The real reason for the crowds, however, is the chicken, which they tout as... just read the sign:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W49aEj0jI/AAAAAAAAAPA/tX_X0HcPnn8/s1600-h/bestchicken.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W49aEj0jI/AAAAAAAAAPA/tX_X0HcPnn8/s320/bestchicken.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I've never been to Vietnam, so I wouldn't know. Considering the fact that the jungle fowl-- the ancient proto-chicken from which all others derive-- originated in Southeast Asia, the Vietnamese have been able to take their time perfecting chicken recipes. The one at Cordon Bleu is pretty damned good, but the best? I'll take their boast with a grain of salt. And a pinch of five spice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Chinese Five Spice, if you didn't know, is a combination of ground cinnamon (cassia), star anise, cloves, Sichuan pepper, and fennel. When rubbed on chicken, it gives Cordon Bleu the means to pay its rent.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7R7daEj0hI/AAAAAAAAAOw/ibIAVKbVQyQ/s1600-h/5spicechicken.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7R7daEj0hI/AAAAAAAAAOw/ibIAVKbVQyQ/s320/5spicechicken.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When I visit the place, it's usually before or after seeing a film at the Lumière Theatre, depending upon the subject matter. I'd much rather fill myself here than with movie theatre fare. And possibly for less money than a coke, some popcorn and a candy bar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The food is-- I hesitate to use the word cheap-- inexpensive. I can stuff myself silly for $8.25 with the \"Number Five\", which I think is the most expensive thing on the menu.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W4-KEj0lI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/EoTW9Xmsttc/s1600-h/thenumber5.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W4-KEj0lI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/EoTW9Xmsttc/s320/thenumber5.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Number 5 consists of one piece of \"five spiced roast chicken\" which, apart from roasting, spent a good deal of time on the grill, one pork and glass noodle fried Imperial roll, one \"shish kebab\" (which is neither shish nor kebab. It's very thin slices of marinated steak. The only common ground it shares with kebab is that it is meat that spents a good amount of time over a hot grill), country salad (shredded cabbage), and \"meat sauce on rice\".\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Meat sauce on rice. Ground pork, peppers, onions, tomato. It's piled high on nearly every plate. I'm fond of its no nonsense name. And its flavor. It's no surprise to me why SF Weekly dubbed Cordon Bleu the \u003ca href=\"http://bestof.sfweekly.com/bestof/award.php?award=172751\">Best Dive Restaurant of 2006\u003c/a>. It's good food. And damned cheap.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W49qEj0kI/AAAAAAAAAPI/5vNFOpQba20/s1600-h/alldone.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R7W49qEj0kI/AAAAAAAAAPI/5vNFOpQba20/s320/alldone.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The next time you're in the neighborhood, whether it be to see an art film, catch a drag show, or pick up a hustler, stop by Cordon Bleu. That is, if you can get in.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cordon Bleu Vietnamses Restaurant\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1574 California Street (at Polk Street)\u003cbr>San Francisco, CA 94109-4708\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Phone: (415) 673-5637\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hours: Tuesday- Saturday 11:30 am- 2:30 pm, 5-10 pm.\u003cbr> Sunday 4-10 pm\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cash Only. No alcohol is served, so bring your own beer. Hell, bring some for the women behind the counter. The last time I was there they said they could sure use one.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"disqusTitle": "Joys of Jell-O",
"title": "Joys of Jell-O",
"headTitle": "Bay Area Bites | KQED Food",
"content": "\u003cp>The title says it all. There is a world of joy in Jell-O-making.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x2X9Gew9I/AAAAAAAAAN4/aLqbok2wEjQ/s1600-h/joysofjell-o.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x2X9Gew9I/AAAAAAAAAN4/aLqbok2wEjQ/s320/joysofjell-o.jpg\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I picked up this treasure written in 1963 at a garage sale years ago. I had always meant to prepare the recipes from it but, invariably, I'd just dust it off every once in a while to giggle over the saturated color photos.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Flights of 1960's culinary fancy fill the pages. Dishes such as Hawaiian Eyeful, Fruited Perfection, and Under-the-Sea Salad Keep me reading. Fantasies, Medleys and no fewer than five Surprises populate the book. The most surprising being the fact that someone discovered what pleasure combining stewed tomatoes, vinegar and strawberry Jell-o can produce.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was fascinated by Jell-O's versatility-- a Twentieth Century aspic--especially, according to the company, how well it goes with seafood. The Sea Dream, in which a cucumber and vinegar-spiked lime Jell-O serves as the perfect pedestal for bay shrimp, was intriguing, as was the playfully named Ring-Around-the-Tuna (a \"beautiful jewel-like entree salad for your luncheon or buffet table\"). Luncheon. I wish more people said that word.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uZCtGew7I/AAAAAAAAANo/YCuLp4wD4fw/s1600-h/seadreamjello.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uZCtGew7I/AAAAAAAAANo/YCuLp4wD4fw/s320/seadreamjello.jpg\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uY19Gew6I/AAAAAAAAANg/LdyydndjPqs/s1600-h/ring-around-the-tuna.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uY19Gew6I/AAAAAAAAANg/LdyydndjPqs/s320/ring-around-the-tuna.jpg\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At some point during my latest perusal of this book, I realized that no one I know seems to make Jell-O anymore. Except my friend Karen. Granted, it still seems to be a mainstay of the Mid-western Junior League and the state of Utah, but the product isn't a part of my life as it was when I was a kid. And before you ask, I have never ever wrestled in a pool of it, no matter what anyone tells you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In my household, there was never any ceremony to its preparation. No sophisticated layering, the special molds collected dust behind my giant playchest of Hot Wheels. One just added the boiling water, poured it into custard cups and shoved them into the refrigerator. At my grandmother's house, it may have been prepared solely and grudgingly for the purpose of entertaining grandchildren. A woman who made pastas, soups, sauces, and desserts entirely from scratch must have held this product in contempt, judging by the cracks and semi-petrified state which developed from lack of interest and/or consumption at the back of her ice box. I never asked her about it, I'd simply take one and eat it anyway--letting the super-hardened bits melt on my tongue. Texture is important to children.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I've gone a very long time without eating Jell-O. What makes this product so immensely popular outside my circle? Is it the watching of its wiggle? The witnessing of its jiggle? Perhaps there are more people with throat infections out there than I had previously thought.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week, I decided to find out how much joy this gelatinous product could give me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought I would tackle one of the more savory, aspic-like dishes such as Vegetable Salad (pictured below, right) with cauliflower and pimiento.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uZENGew8I/AAAAAAAAANw/KPFLNxel5EM/s1600-h/vegetablejello.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uZENGew8I/AAAAAAAAANw/KPFLNxel5EM/s320/vegetablejello.jpg\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was much more difficult than I thought. Rather than the looking somewhat like one of Hedda Hopper's spring hats, which is what attracted me to the dish in the first place, mine took on a rather sinister appearance. Growing impatient for the thing to gel, I had great difficulty in getting the vegetables to suspend themselves attractively. Lots of air bubbles ensued and the result looked more like cauliflower drowning in an algal bloom. It even tasted of futile panic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x_jdGew_I/AAAAAAAAAOI/sOdMXCeWZmM/s1600-h/frenziedjel.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x_jdGew_I/AAAAAAAAAOI/sOdMXCeWZmM/s320/frenziedjel.JPG\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And it turned my fingernails green.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I sat down on my couch, empty Lime Jell-O box in hand, and took a look at the ingredients. Sugar topped the list, followed by gelatin, adipic acid (for tartness), less than 2% natural and artificial flavor, disodium phosphate and sodium citrate (control acidity), fumaric acid (for tartness), Yellow 5, Blue 1, BHA (Preservative).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Adipic acid? I looked it up. Granted, this is food grade adipic acid, but the realization that it's primary, non-food use is in the production of nylon and Polyurethane made me a little uneasy. At least fumaric acid is found naturally in lichen and Iceland moss. BHA? Butylated hydroxyanisole, which the National Institute of Health considers reasonably anticipated to be a human carcinogen. I threw my little disaster away.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And yet, I still wanted Jell-O. I opted for something Jell-O-esque instead. Like real gelatin. I grabbed a box of unflavored gelatin from the store shelf and read the ingredient list: gelatin. That's it. I decided to make my own, with a little suggestive help from a recipe on the side of the box. Why not add real fruit juice for tartness? Why not indeed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Making your own flavors gives you a lot more freedom to explore an exciting gelatinous world outside your door and inside your refrigerator. It doesn't really take any more time than the other stuff. And it wont give you cancer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In all, I was more disturbed by Jell-O than over-joyed by it. Don't misunderstand me. I love to be disturbed by food items. I enjoy the idea of Jell-o, and there will always be room for it's cookbooks on my shelves, just not in my refrigerator.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Tart Cherry Gelatin\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x_j9GexAI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/kJkg98QrDQs/s1600-h/cherryjel.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x_j9GexAI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/kJkg98QrDQs/s320/cherryjel.JPG\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You can use whatever juice you want in this, provided you avoid pineapple, kiwi, ginger, papaya, fig, or guava juice-- the enzymes in these will not allow the gelatin to set. I just chose a tart cherry juice because that's what my mood dictated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You may or may not wish to add sugar to the recipe. The sugar level of your juice-of-choice will tell you what you need. Just taste it first.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ingredients:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 packet (7 grams) of unflavored gelatin\u003cbr>\n2 cups tart cherry juice\u003cbr>\n1/4 cup sugar (or not)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Preparation:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. In a medium bowl, sprinkle gelatin over 1/2 cup cherry juice, letting stand for one minute.\u003cbr>\n2. Add 1 1/2 cups of boiling cherry juice, stirring until dissolved. Keep stirring for about five minutes.\u003cbr>\n3. Pour into vessels of your choice-- a two cup mold, dessert dishes, or wine glasses.\u003cbr>\n4. Chill for several hours or overnight until firm.\u003cbr>\n5. Garnish with whatever you feel like. I'm tired of telling you what to do. I chose a slightly sweetened whipped cream and toasted almonds. Judging by the photo, a lot of whipped cream.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Serves two.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"description": "The title says it all. There is a world of joy in Jell-O-making. I picked up this treasure written in 1963 at a garage sale years ago. I had always meant to prepare the recipes from it but, invariably, I'd just dust it off every once in a while to giggle over the saturated color",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The title says it all. There is a world of joy in Jell-O-making.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x2X9Gew9I/AAAAAAAAAN4/aLqbok2wEjQ/s1600-h/joysofjell-o.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x2X9Gew9I/AAAAAAAAAN4/aLqbok2wEjQ/s320/joysofjell-o.jpg\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I picked up this treasure written in 1963 at a garage sale years ago. I had always meant to prepare the recipes from it but, invariably, I'd just dust it off every once in a while to giggle over the saturated color photos.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Flights of 1960's culinary fancy fill the pages. Dishes such as Hawaiian Eyeful, Fruited Perfection, and Under-the-Sea Salad Keep me reading. Fantasies, Medleys and no fewer than five Surprises populate the book. The most surprising being the fact that someone discovered what pleasure combining stewed tomatoes, vinegar and strawberry Jell-o can produce.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was fascinated by Jell-O's versatility-- a Twentieth Century aspic--especially, according to the company, how well it goes with seafood. The Sea Dream, in which a cucumber and vinegar-spiked lime Jell-O serves as the perfect pedestal for bay shrimp, was intriguing, as was the playfully named Ring-Around-the-Tuna (a \"beautiful jewel-like entree salad for your luncheon or buffet table\"). Luncheon. I wish more people said that word.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uZCtGew7I/AAAAAAAAANo/YCuLp4wD4fw/s1600-h/seadreamjello.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uZCtGew7I/AAAAAAAAANo/YCuLp4wD4fw/s320/seadreamjello.jpg\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uY19Gew6I/AAAAAAAAANg/LdyydndjPqs/s1600-h/ring-around-the-tuna.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uY19Gew6I/AAAAAAAAANg/LdyydndjPqs/s320/ring-around-the-tuna.jpg\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At some point during my latest perusal of this book, I realized that no one I know seems to make Jell-O anymore. Except my friend Karen. Granted, it still seems to be a mainstay of the Mid-western Junior League and the state of Utah, but the product isn't a part of my life as it was when I was a kid. And before you ask, I have never ever wrestled in a pool of it, no matter what anyone tells you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In my household, there was never any ceremony to its preparation. No sophisticated layering, the special molds collected dust behind my giant playchest of Hot Wheels. One just added the boiling water, poured it into custard cups and shoved them into the refrigerator. At my grandmother's house, it may have been prepared solely and grudgingly for the purpose of entertaining grandchildren. A woman who made pastas, soups, sauces, and desserts entirely from scratch must have held this product in contempt, judging by the cracks and semi-petrified state which developed from lack of interest and/or consumption at the back of her ice box. I never asked her about it, I'd simply take one and eat it anyway--letting the super-hardened bits melt on my tongue. Texture is important to children.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I've gone a very long time without eating Jell-O. What makes this product so immensely popular outside my circle? Is it the watching of its wiggle? The witnessing of its jiggle? Perhaps there are more people with throat infections out there than I had previously thought.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week, I decided to find out how much joy this gelatinous product could give me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought I would tackle one of the more savory, aspic-like dishes such as Vegetable Salad (pictured below, right) with cauliflower and pimiento.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uZENGew8I/AAAAAAAAANw/KPFLNxel5EM/s1600-h/vegetablejello.jpg\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6uZENGew8I/AAAAAAAAANw/KPFLNxel5EM/s320/vegetablejello.jpg\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was much more difficult than I thought. Rather than the looking somewhat like one of Hedda Hopper's spring hats, which is what attracted me to the dish in the first place, mine took on a rather sinister appearance. Growing impatient for the thing to gel, I had great difficulty in getting the vegetables to suspend themselves attractively. Lots of air bubbles ensued and the result looked more like cauliflower drowning in an algal bloom. It even tasted of futile panic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x_jdGew_I/AAAAAAAAAOI/sOdMXCeWZmM/s1600-h/frenziedjel.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x_jdGew_I/AAAAAAAAAOI/sOdMXCeWZmM/s320/frenziedjel.JPG\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And it turned my fingernails green.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I sat down on my couch, empty Lime Jell-O box in hand, and took a look at the ingredients. Sugar topped the list, followed by gelatin, adipic acid (for tartness), less than 2% natural and artificial flavor, disodium phosphate and sodium citrate (control acidity), fumaric acid (for tartness), Yellow 5, Blue 1, BHA (Preservative).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Adipic acid? I looked it up. Granted, this is food grade adipic acid, but the realization that it's primary, non-food use is in the production of nylon and Polyurethane made me a little uneasy. At least fumaric acid is found naturally in lichen and Iceland moss. BHA? Butylated hydroxyanisole, which the National Institute of Health considers reasonably anticipated to be a human carcinogen. I threw my little disaster away.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And yet, I still wanted Jell-O. I opted for something Jell-O-esque instead. Like real gelatin. I grabbed a box of unflavored gelatin from the store shelf and read the ingredient list: gelatin. That's it. I decided to make my own, with a little suggestive help from a recipe on the side of the box. Why not add real fruit juice for tartness? Why not indeed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Making your own flavors gives you a lot more freedom to explore an exciting gelatinous world outside your door and inside your refrigerator. It doesn't really take any more time than the other stuff. And it wont give you cancer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In all, I was more disturbed by Jell-O than over-joyed by it. Don't misunderstand me. I love to be disturbed by food items. I enjoy the idea of Jell-o, and there will always be room for it's cookbooks on my shelves, just not in my refrigerator.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Tart Cherry Gelatin\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x_j9GexAI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/kJkg98QrDQs/s1600-h/cherryjel.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6x_j9GexAI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/kJkg98QrDQs/s320/cherryjel.JPG\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You can use whatever juice you want in this, provided you avoid pineapple, kiwi, ginger, papaya, fig, or guava juice-- the enzymes in these will not allow the gelatin to set. I just chose a tart cherry juice because that's what my mood dictated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You may or may not wish to add sugar to the recipe. The sugar level of your juice-of-choice will tell you what you need. Just taste it first.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ingredients:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 packet (7 grams) of unflavored gelatin\u003cbr>\n2 cups tart cherry juice\u003cbr>\n1/4 cup sugar (or not)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Preparation:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. In a medium bowl, sprinkle gelatin over 1/2 cup cherry juice, letting stand for one minute.\u003cbr>\n2. Add 1 1/2 cups of boiling cherry juice, stirring until dissolved. Keep stirring for about five minutes.\u003cbr>\n3. Pour into vessels of your choice-- a two cup mold, dessert dishes, or wine glasses.\u003cbr>\n4. Chill for several hours or overnight until firm.\u003cbr>\n5. Garnish with whatever you feel like. I'm tired of telling you what to do. I chose a slightly sweetened whipped cream and toasted almonds. Judging by the photo, a lot of whipped cream.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"disqusTitle": "Welsh Rabbit, Welsh Rarebit",
"title": "Welsh Rabbit, Welsh Rarebit",
"headTitle": "Bay Area Bites | KQED Food",
"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6IjcdGew0I/AAAAAAAAAMw/kcXayliYu04/s1600-h/bunny.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6IjcdGew0I/AAAAAAAAAMw/kcXayliYu04/s320/bunny.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Always searching for a happy, late-night snack, I recently turned my attention to Welsh Rarebit, primarily because I'd never had it before. I'm not Welsh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I'd heard tell of rarebit, garnering sufficient information to know that rabbit meat was not involved, yet not enough to understand that this was not some vegetarian variation on S. O. S. , also known as chipped beef on toast. I was certain of two things: 1) bread and cheese were involved and 2) the Welsh were not being flattered in the naming of this dish. I did a little research.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yes, it was cheese toast and, no, praise for Welsh culture was not intended. Though ostensibly an English dish (other British and European cultures have their own versions), the original name of the dish was Welsh Rabbit. In England, rabbit was considered poor man's meat so, in a rather clever, back-handed way, naming the dish \"Welsh Rabbit\" suggested that, not only were the Welsh poor, as they were, but too stupid and/or lazy to go out and capture their own prey, thus having to satisfy their hunger with bread and cheese. It's 18th Century insult food. But it's good, both as an insult and as a dish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sometime in the late 19th Century, some forward thinking, politically correct person or personess took pity upon the poor Welsh and softened the name by changing it to Welsh Rarebit, taking with it much of the bite. In a sense, making it blander than it need be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Personally, I think the Welsh are doing just fine. How can one not love a culture that has given the world Tom Jones, Dame Shirley Bassey, and countless vowel-shy place names that no one but an insider can pronounce? And I would argue that this dish is for the lazy. Lazy is a grilled cheese sandwich. Think of this as a grilled cheese sandwich that requires a bit more effort.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Welsh Rarebit with Apples\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6IkRtGew2I/AAAAAAAAANA/JCaSVdKS-Ac/s1600-h/applerarebit.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6IkRtGew2I/AAAAAAAAANA/JCaSVdKS-Ac/s320/applerarebit.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The rarebit recipe is taken directly from New York Times food columnist Mark Bittman, a.k.a The Minimalist. You can go directly to \u003ca href=\"http://video.on.nytimes.com/?fr_story=a2c5a91784a4173c49d259fd1d3595e4a69661e4\">a video of him preparing the dish here\u003c/a>, which is what made me want to make it in the first place. In fact, I spent so much time sitting at my desk, watching his videos I got very little done that day. I've always enjoyed reading him, but I am now an even bigger fan of his as a result of seeing him on camera.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are a great number of variations on the rarebit-like, cheese on toast theme. I have chosen to prepare Bittman's because, apart from being extremely simple to prepare, it has a little spicy kick. I added sliced apples because I like apples, which is reason enough.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ingredients:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the Rarebit:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2 tablespoons butter\u003cbr>1 tablespoon all-purpose flour\u003cbr>1 teaspoon dried mustard\u003cbr>a healthy pinch of cayenne pepper\u003cbr>1/2 bottle of good, dark English beer, like Guinness Stout\u003cbr>a few generous shakes of Worstershire sauce\u003cbr>1 pound excellent English cheddar, grated\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the Rest:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 loaf of good, hearty wheat or white bread. I do not recommend sliced sandwich bread. The results will depress you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 tart, sweet apple, sliced thinly. I used Pink Lady, because I like their flavor, they're available and I loved the \u003ca href=\"http://www.pinkladyamerica.com/\">pop duo\u003c/a> as a child. Granny Smith will do, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 bunch scallion, chopped\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Preparation:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. In a saucepan large enough to contain all of the ingredients, melt butter over medium low heat and add flour. Cook the mixture, stirring with a wooden spoon, until it is dirty blonde in color and smells faintly nutty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. Add mustard and cayenne pepper, then pour in the beer, stirring all the while.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3. Add Worstershire sauce (if you add the sauce before the beer, the sauce will burn, sending up blackish flecks as you stir, so I do not recommend it).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. Now add the cheese and keep stirring until your efforts result in a smooth cheese sauce.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6Ijd9Gew1I/AAAAAAAAAM4/iUO9QjCf1dU/s1600-h/cheesepot.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6Ijd9Gew1I/AAAAAAAAAM4/iUO9QjCf1dU/s320/cheesepot.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. Pour into a bowl, large ramekin, or containing vessel of your choice. The rarebit sauce will cool into a solid mass, looking just like a cheese spread, which is precisely what it is. The sauce will keep covered in your refrigerator for several days, which is precisely the idea-- it's ready for you at a moment's notice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>6. When the moment has notified you sufficiently, slice your crusty bread to its desired thickness, place on a sheet pan and put it under a broiler. If you place the bread slices under your broiler and you notice that no change has occurred to them in several minutes, make sure your broiler's heating element is turned on-- listen to the voice of experience. Toast the slices well on one side, remove the pan from the oven and turn the bread over, replacing them under the broiler and toasting them less thoroughly than you have the previous side-- this will be the upside to your rarebit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6Ik_tGew4I/AAAAAAAAANQ/rgclhdvuYUw/s1600-h/toast.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6Ik_tGew4I/AAAAAAAAANQ/rgclhdvuYUw/s320/toast.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>7. Spread a little of the now-solidified cheese onto your toast. This will adhere your apple slices to the bread. Arrange apple slices over the cheese.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>8. At this point, I like to warm up a bit of the sauce in my microwave on low, to make it softer, therefore easier, to spread over the apple slices. Cover the apples generously with the cheese. Place the hopefully well-constructed toasts under the broiler. Do not remove them until the cheese bubbles and browns. If you have a conventional, broiler-on-the-bottom oven and your kitchen floor is clean enough, I might suggest lying down on the floor with one hand propping up your head and the other clad in an oven mitt, leaving the door of the broiler open a bit in order to get a good view of the action. If you are prosperous enough to have two oven mitts, I would suggest wearing the second one on the hand that supports your head for added comfort.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>9. Remove the toasts from the oven when they have reached the desired doneness, transfer to a serving plate and sprinkle with the scallions. If you eat them immediately, the cheese will very likely burn the roof of your mouth. The time it takes to walk to you refrigerator, grab a beer and pop it open is sufficient cooling time.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6IjcdGew0I/AAAAAAAAAMw/kcXayliYu04/s1600-h/bunny.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6IjcdGew0I/AAAAAAAAAMw/kcXayliYu04/s320/bunny.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Always searching for a happy, late-night snack, I recently turned my attention to Welsh Rarebit, primarily because I'd never had it before. I'm not Welsh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I'd heard tell of rarebit, garnering sufficient information to know that rabbit meat was not involved, yet not enough to understand that this was not some vegetarian variation on S. O. S. , also known as chipped beef on toast. I was certain of two things: 1) bread and cheese were involved and 2) the Welsh were not being flattered in the naming of this dish. I did a little research.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yes, it was cheese toast and, no, praise for Welsh culture was not intended. Though ostensibly an English dish (other British and European cultures have their own versions), the original name of the dish was Welsh Rabbit. In England, rabbit was considered poor man's meat so, in a rather clever, back-handed way, naming the dish \"Welsh Rabbit\" suggested that, not only were the Welsh poor, as they were, but too stupid and/or lazy to go out and capture their own prey, thus having to satisfy their hunger with bread and cheese. It's 18th Century insult food. But it's good, both as an insult and as a dish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sometime in the late 19th Century, some forward thinking, politically correct person or personess took pity upon the poor Welsh and softened the name by changing it to Welsh Rarebit, taking with it much of the bite. In a sense, making it blander than it need be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Personally, I think the Welsh are doing just fine. How can one not love a culture that has given the world Tom Jones, Dame Shirley Bassey, and countless vowel-shy place names that no one but an insider can pronounce? And I would argue that this dish is for the lazy. Lazy is a grilled cheese sandwich. Think of this as a grilled cheese sandwich that requires a bit more effort.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Welsh Rarebit with Apples\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6IkRtGew2I/AAAAAAAAANA/JCaSVdKS-Ac/s1600-h/applerarebit.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6IkRtGew2I/AAAAAAAAANA/JCaSVdKS-Ac/s320/applerarebit.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The rarebit recipe is taken directly from New York Times food columnist Mark Bittman, a.k.a The Minimalist. You can go directly to \u003ca href=\"http://video.on.nytimes.com/?fr_story=a2c5a91784a4173c49d259fd1d3595e4a69661e4\">a video of him preparing the dish here\u003c/a>, which is what made me want to make it in the first place. In fact, I spent so much time sitting at my desk, watching his videos I got very little done that day. I've always enjoyed reading him, but I am now an even bigger fan of his as a result of seeing him on camera.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are a great number of variations on the rarebit-like, cheese on toast theme. I have chosen to prepare Bittman's because, apart from being extremely simple to prepare, it has a little spicy kick. I added sliced apples because I like apples, which is reason enough.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ingredients:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the Rarebit:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2 tablespoons butter\u003cbr>1 tablespoon all-purpose flour\u003cbr>1 teaspoon dried mustard\u003cbr>a healthy pinch of cayenne pepper\u003cbr>1/2 bottle of good, dark English beer, like Guinness Stout\u003cbr>a few generous shakes of Worstershire sauce\u003cbr>1 pound excellent English cheddar, grated\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the Rest:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 loaf of good, hearty wheat or white bread. I do not recommend sliced sandwich bread. The results will depress you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 tart, sweet apple, sliced thinly. I used Pink Lady, because I like their flavor, they're available and I loved the \u003ca href=\"http://www.pinkladyamerica.com/\">pop duo\u003c/a> as a child. Granny Smith will do, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1 bunch scallion, chopped\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Preparation:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>1. In a saucepan large enough to contain all of the ingredients, melt butter over medium low heat and add flour. Cook the mixture, stirring with a wooden spoon, until it is dirty blonde in color and smells faintly nutty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2. Add mustard and cayenne pepper, then pour in the beer, stirring all the while.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>3. Add Worstershire sauce (if you add the sauce before the beer, the sauce will burn, sending up blackish flecks as you stir, so I do not recommend it).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>4. Now add the cheese and keep stirring until your efforts result in a smooth cheese sauce.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6Ijd9Gew1I/AAAAAAAAAM4/iUO9QjCf1dU/s1600-h/cheesepot.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6Ijd9Gew1I/AAAAAAAAAM4/iUO9QjCf1dU/s320/cheesepot.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>5. Pour into a bowl, large ramekin, or containing vessel of your choice. The rarebit sauce will cool into a solid mass, looking just like a cheese spread, which is precisely what it is. The sauce will keep covered in your refrigerator for several days, which is precisely the idea-- it's ready for you at a moment's notice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>6. When the moment has notified you sufficiently, slice your crusty bread to its desired thickness, place on a sheet pan and put it under a broiler. If you place the bread slices under your broiler and you notice that no change has occurred to them in several minutes, make sure your broiler's heating element is turned on-- listen to the voice of experience. Toast the slices well on one side, remove the pan from the oven and turn the bread over, replacing them under the broiler and toasting them less thoroughly than you have the previous side-- this will be the upside to your rarebit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6Ik_tGew4I/AAAAAAAAANQ/rgclhdvuYUw/s1600-h/toast.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R6Ik_tGew4I/AAAAAAAAANQ/rgclhdvuYUw/s320/toast.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>7. Spread a little of the now-solidified cheese onto your toast. This will adhere your apple slices to the bread. Arrange apple slices over the cheese.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>8. At this point, I like to warm up a bit of the sauce in my microwave on low, to make it softer, therefore easier, to spread over the apple slices. Cover the apples generously with the cheese. Place the hopefully well-constructed toasts under the broiler. Do not remove them until the cheese bubbles and browns. If you have a conventional, broiler-on-the-bottom oven and your kitchen floor is clean enough, I might suggest lying down on the floor with one hand propping up your head and the other clad in an oven mitt, leaving the door of the broiler open a bit in order to get a good view of the action. If you are prosperous enough to have two oven mitts, I would suggest wearing the second one on the hand that supports your head for added comfort.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>9. Remove the toasts from the oven when they have reached the desired doneness, transfer to a serving plate and sprinkle with the scallions. If you eat them immediately, the cheese will very likely burn the roof of your mouth. The time it takes to walk to you refrigerator, grab a beer and pop it open is sufficient cooling time.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"disqusTitle": "Russia House",
"title": "Russia House",
"headTitle": "Bay Area Bites | KQED Food",
"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8pFL2NDI/AAAAAAAAALo/a7zBKpMgOB0/s1600-h/russiahouse.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8pFL2NDI/AAAAAAAAALo/a7zBKpMgOB0/s320/russiahouse.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For years, I've driven by \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/russia-house-san-francisco#hrid:lZ_gu1FXZR1Fl8V6UZ-AVQ/query:russia%20house\">Russia House\u003c/a>-- it's large, red letters and neon-framed windows staring me down every time I head south on highway 101. I've wanted to go there for a long time, but just never got around to it. This week, I finally stared back.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Very little information could be gleaned from a Google search of the place and no one I know had ever been there. The most information I could find was a list of seven comments on \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/russia-house-san-francisco#hrid:lZ_gu1FXZR1Fl8V6UZ-AVQ/query:russia%20house\">Yelp.com\u003c/a>. The reviews were decidedly mixed. Rumors of all-you-can-eat (and drink) Russian food, dancing, and either a hostile welcome or no welcome at all were all I had to go on. To me, that sounded almost like a dare. I discussed the restaurant with a friend of mine who felt equally up to the challenge. In fact, she said she already had her Russian name picked out for the evening-- Katinka. While I googled her stage name (which I learned means \"pure\"), she made the reservation. We gathered a group of eight people together, figuring there was a certain safety in numbers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While I busied myself snapping photos of the Russia House sign upon arrival, the three dining companions I showed up with were confronted by a man of about sixty dressed in blue jeans and leather jacket standing near a sign that read \"Dress code strictly enforced.\" A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. He was anything but welcoming. After explaining that we had a reservation, we were allowed entry.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once past the Russian \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerberus\">\u003cstrong>Cerberus\u003c/strong>\u003c/a>, we stepped inside the zodiac-themed blue doors and walked upstairs to the dining room. The first thing I noticed were the enormous crystal chandeliers that seemed to be in some sort of battle with the neon of the bar for who could throw off the most light. It was extremely bright.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The second thing I noticed was a little girl, maybe seven years old, in some sort of ice dancing outfit. My friend Gary asked if that was the Russian Jonbenet. Several other children of varying ages were all dressed up and running about.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The third thing to capture my attention was the group of about thirty people standing about two banks of long, platter-filled tables. Some of them stared at us blankly. Others stared out the window, waiting for someone or perhaps something to happen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The fourth thing I noticed was that no one came to greet us. After about a minute of standing around trying not to look helpless or uncomfortable, my friend Lyle stopped a waiter who was rushing past us. We mentioned the name of our reservation. He pointed to a table for four and said we could sit there. When we explained that more were joining us, he pointed to a larger table next to the large party with all that shrimp cocktail. We sat. And then we sat some more.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What was I hoping to accomplish by being here? Was this a big mistake? Was the big, Russian dinner I've been promoting among my friends going to be a big, Russian failure? I wondered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5oKg9GewyI/AAAAAAAAAMg/e1Y4ZKSifdc/s1600-h/chernobylgirl.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5oKg9GewyI/AAAAAAAAAMg/e1Y4ZKSifdc/s320/chernobylgirl.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After a thorough examination of a wall mural we decided could only have been inspired by Russian fairy tales filtered through the mind of a Chernobyl survivor,we tired of sitting without benefit of food or drink. No one had approached us for minutes. Lyle pulled some money out of his wallet and beckoned a blond woman who was standing under the neon sign of the bar to come over. He asked for her name and how we might procure some service. While he did this, he handed her the money. She handed the money back, telling us that she was Elya, the owner. When I asked her if she wanted the name of our party for reservation purposes, she said, \"No, it's okay. I don't need that.\" At that point, I knew we needed some vodka. Fast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We made our vodka selection-- not expensive, considering we had to buy it by the bottle, but decent. 750 ml of Absolut for $60. When it was brought to the table, we asked if there was any real Russian vodka to be had. Elya replied, \"No, not yet. Soon.\" Lyle asked how long Russia House had been open. 20 years. Russian vodka must be harder to obtain than I had previously thought.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GlL2NII/AAAAAAAAAMQ/ujFLiD4jeLM/s1600-h/vodkabottle.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GlL2NII/AAAAAAAAAMQ/ujFLiD4jeLM/s320/vodkabottle.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We also asked about the menu. We had heard of an all you can eat and drink feast, but what we had in front of us was an a la carte menu. She told us, yes, she did that sometimes on Fridays. Fridays? I told her we understood the restaurant was only open to the public on Saturdays. She shrugged her shoulders and said that sometimes she felt like opening on Friday, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When she noted the empty seats around our table, I explained that we were still waiting for the rest of our party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"Your girlfriends?\" she asked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"Sort of,\" I replied.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"Are they Russian?\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"No. Not Russian.\" I thought of the fake Russian names they'd be using tonight.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"That's surprising,\" she said. \"Ninety-five percent of the American men who come here have Russian girlfriends or wives. So why have you come?\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought about how to answer that one, but settled on, \"To have fun!\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She smiled and got our waiter. I think at some point in that brief exchange, it was decided that we liked each other and the mood of the room shifted. The girls arrived, we settled into our first drink, and Lyle took charge of ordering appetizers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What came to the table were baskets of soft rye bread and butter, platters of beef tongue, smoked salmon, smoked sturgeon beef piroshke, and shrimp cocktail. Lots of shrimp cocktail.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z80lL2NFI/AAAAAAAAAL4/_fiHpeqPucw/s1600-h/shrimpcocktail.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z80lL2NFI/AAAAAAAAAL4/_fiHpeqPucw/s320/shrimpcocktail.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The beef tongue was good with a little mustard sauce and soft rye bread...\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8X1L2M-I/AAAAAAAAALA/5O_tM9OJCTY/s1600-h/beeftongue.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8X1L2M-I/AAAAAAAAALA/5O_tM9OJCTY/s320/beeftongue.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The beef piroshke was excellent. We were certain there was more that just meat in them. We briefly discussed which organs might have been included.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8o1L2NCI/AAAAAAAAALg/CSlWklAkvII/s1600-h/piroshke.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8o1L2NCI/AAAAAAAAALg/CSlWklAkvII/s320/piroshke.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The best dish, to the unanimous decision of the table, was the smoked sturgeon. Salty, faintly smoky and butter on the tongue, it needed nothing but perhaps a little vodka to keep it company on its way down my throat. We had two platters. They even threw in more shrimp cocktail.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GFL2NGI/AAAAAAAAAMA/JSAHmv8XbAA/s1600-h/sturgeon.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GFL2NGI/AAAAAAAAAMA/JSAHmv8XbAA/s320/sturgeon.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Our table livened up after some food, cold vodka, and soda water served in iced pitchers. I looked over at the birthday party next to us. I still didn't see anyone smiling. Just people milling about in fur stoles (women, naturally) and not touching their food. I thought they might be having a wake instead. Commenting on the brightness of the lights, my friend Gary looked to the birthday crowd and commented that he now understood why Russian women wore so much make up-- it was to hold up under those damned bright lights. He wondered where he could get a make up mirror with a Russian setting. I drank a little more vodka.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then, suddenly, everything changed. Everyone's attention turned to the bandstand. A woman who looked remarkably like Jan Wahl started singing. The lights, mercifully, were dimmed. Everyone started smiling and moved to the dance floor. Apparently, the party had begun.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>People danced, moved back to the tables to drink a little, and then danced some more. We watched from our table, since our main courses had arrived. Chicken Kiev, which seemed like a must-have since I frequently ate the Stouffer's version as a child, was a bit of a dry disappointment, and shashlik -- kebabs of fish and chicken, we found tastier. Lots of potatoes made their way to our table, as did some excellent pickled vegetables. The hands-down favorite was the watermelon. The eight of us were stuffed and ready now to give our full attention to what was about to happen on the dance floor.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5oTR9GewzI/AAAAAAAAAMo/ypwdjzzBzsM/s1600-h/russianjbr.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5oTR9GewzI/AAAAAAAAAMo/ypwdjzzBzsM/s320/russianjbr.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The little girl in what we thought was an ice dancing dress was partnered with a dancing boy. Everyone in the restaurant crowded around the dance floor. We were shown the proper way to swing dance, fox trot, and just about every other kind of trot. The dancers were cute and we laughed and clapped for them, but the Russians looked on humorless, as if this were something to be taken very seriously, which doesn't seem so surprising when one considers that Russia has produced some of the greatest dancers the world has ever seen. Think Nijinsky, Pavlova, and Baryshnikov. I felt as though I might be missing something important. I had another sip of my vodka.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A much older couple then took over, showing us hot Latin-inspired moves that loosened up the crowd a little. Decency (or simply poor photography skills) prevents me from showing you the 13 year-old girls costume, but I can show you an example of her excellent hand movement...\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GVL2NHI/AAAAAAAAAMI/MsgVP8YiPNA/s1600-h/teenmerengue.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GVL2NHI/AAAAAAAAAMI/MsgVP8YiPNA/s320/teenmerengue.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Having been shown how it's all done, we took to the dance floor ourselves, working off the shrimp cocktail and vodka. Everyone else in the room seemed to have the same idea.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z80VL2NEI/AAAAAAAAALw/wlnl7-T1Yno/s1600-h/Russiandance.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z80VL2NEI/AAAAAAAAALw/wlnl7-T1Yno/s320/Russiandance.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8hVL2NAI/AAAAAAAAALQ/E-ECMdalEec/s1600-h/dancingshoes.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8hVL2NAI/AAAAAAAAALQ/E-ECMdalEec/s320/dancingshoes.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Back at our table for a little resting and watering, I saw that the birthday club had finally sat down to their meal. For a minute or two at a time. Some ran off to dance, some came over to flirt with a couple of my friends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8YFL2M_I/AAAAAAAAALI/MkXXyXMswdA/s1600-h/birthdayfeast.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8YFL2M_I/AAAAAAAAALI/MkXXyXMswdA/s320/birthdayfeast.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought perhaps we'd gone about our dinner all wrong. We ate then danced. The Russians danced, then ate. Perhaps there was sense in that. Do we see dancing as a digestive activity while they see it as an appetite stimulant? I wondered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I also wondered what all the fuss regarding hostile service was about on Yelp. In my opinion, the people that walked away from the place weren't trying hard enough (Yes, I know-- they have a good point). I regarded the experience as a bit of travel adventure.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I'm certainly no sociologist, but given centuries of strong-armed governments, pogroms, and war, I don't think it strange that Russians might be a bit tight-knit, insular, and suspicious as a group. Once we got past the doorman and actually started talking to people, we found them warm and lively. It just takes a little while. To make more pat generalizations about the Russians, I think that any civilization that has made such incredible contributions to literature, music, and dance is worth the effort to get to know a little better. And those little matrioshka stacking dolls. Sigh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What started out as a rather uncertain evening ended up being a hell of a lot of fun. If you can see yourself making it past the doorman, I say put on your (fake) fur hat and your dancing boots and just go.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here's a sped-up video of the place. Stop at any frame to get a good look at the joint:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cembed width=\"320\" height=\"266\" src=\"http://www.blogger.com/img/videoplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvp.video.google.com%2Fvideodownload%3Fversion%3D0%26secureurl%3DqgAAAPEbdexZYqODP9Nt5kZfcH0YgDI2wYZ9jDB4_vw-BZzBZIgRTsZ-BpcUAtKx9uZMkwPaKzicmN3I9yEYWT84EY8aRcTXjstYsdnorFVlJS9LSsUNNS_eX4wUWV1KfLH-dqkMiWNCS30y2LDjkqfzjiq287MBimYGOYQszYy-cAqB4fNNBQ4f_ot3daKKqPwHK_Md6nkHJYCLRqkb2z6GCtO0CKHE1MaKt-1PNSsgsbP5%26sigh%3DFu9coQtF4g6w3b3uhYptOaaW_9A%26begin%3D0%26len%3D86400000%26docid%3D0&nogvlm=1&thumbnailUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvideo.google.com%2FThumbnailServer2%3Fapp%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D52f903b0dc9f0c98%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw320%26sigh%3Dko2FLvSsg52KlC7lnNrkUIA9wzM&messagesUrl=video.google.com%2FFlashUiStrings.xlb%3Fframe%3Dflashstrings%26hl%3Den\">\u003c/embed>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The \u003cstrong>Russia House\u003c/strong> is open to the public on Saturday nights. Please don't ask the hours, because I have no idea.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Russia House\u003c/strong> is located at 2011 Bayshore Boulevard in San Francisco, 94134\u003cbr>\u003ca href=\"http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&time=&date=&ttype=&q=Russia+House+2011+Bayshore+Boulevard+in+San+Francisco,+94134&ie=UTF8&ll=37.715518,-122.399883&spn=0.015243,0.015385&z=16&iwloc=A&om=0\">\u003cstrong>View Map\u003c/strong>\u003c/a>\u003cbr>Call 415-330-9991 for reservations. Be strong.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"description": "For years, I've driven by Russia House-- it's large, red letters and neon-framed windows staring me down every time I head south on highway 101. I've wanted to go there for a long time, but just never got around to it. This week, I finally stared back. Very little information could be gleaned from a",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8pFL2NDI/AAAAAAAAALo/a7zBKpMgOB0/s1600-h/russiahouse.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8pFL2NDI/AAAAAAAAALo/a7zBKpMgOB0/s320/russiahouse.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For years, I've driven by \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/russia-house-san-francisco#hrid:lZ_gu1FXZR1Fl8V6UZ-AVQ/query:russia%20house\">Russia House\u003c/a>-- it's large, red letters and neon-framed windows staring me down every time I head south on highway 101. I've wanted to go there for a long time, but just never got around to it. This week, I finally stared back.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Very little information could be gleaned from a Google search of the place and no one I know had ever been there. The most information I could find was a list of seven comments on \u003ca href=\"http://www.yelp.com/biz/russia-house-san-francisco#hrid:lZ_gu1FXZR1Fl8V6UZ-AVQ/query:russia%20house\">Yelp.com\u003c/a>. The reviews were decidedly mixed. Rumors of all-you-can-eat (and drink) Russian food, dancing, and either a hostile welcome or no welcome at all were all I had to go on. To me, that sounded almost like a dare. I discussed the restaurant with a friend of mine who felt equally up to the challenge. In fact, she said she already had her Russian name picked out for the evening-- Katinka. While I googled her stage name (which I learned means \"pure\"), she made the reservation. We gathered a group of eight people together, figuring there was a certain safety in numbers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While I busied myself snapping photos of the Russia House sign upon arrival, the three dining companions I showed up with were confronted by a man of about sixty dressed in blue jeans and leather jacket standing near a sign that read \"Dress code strictly enforced.\" A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. He was anything but welcoming. After explaining that we had a reservation, we were allowed entry.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once past the Russian \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerberus\">\u003cstrong>Cerberus\u003c/strong>\u003c/a>, we stepped inside the zodiac-themed blue doors and walked upstairs to the dining room. The first thing I noticed were the enormous crystal chandeliers that seemed to be in some sort of battle with the neon of the bar for who could throw off the most light. It was extremely bright.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The second thing I noticed was a little girl, maybe seven years old, in some sort of ice dancing outfit. My friend Gary asked if that was the Russian Jonbenet. Several other children of varying ages were all dressed up and running about.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The third thing to capture my attention was the group of about thirty people standing about two banks of long, platter-filled tables. Some of them stared at us blankly. Others stared out the window, waiting for someone or perhaps something to happen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The fourth thing I noticed was that no one came to greet us. After about a minute of standing around trying not to look helpless or uncomfortable, my friend Lyle stopped a waiter who was rushing past us. We mentioned the name of our reservation. He pointed to a table for four and said we could sit there. When we explained that more were joining us, he pointed to a larger table next to the large party with all that shrimp cocktail. We sat. And then we sat some more.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What was I hoping to accomplish by being here? Was this a big mistake? Was the big, Russian dinner I've been promoting among my friends going to be a big, Russian failure? I wondered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5oKg9GewyI/AAAAAAAAAMg/e1Y4ZKSifdc/s1600-h/chernobylgirl.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5oKg9GewyI/AAAAAAAAAMg/e1Y4ZKSifdc/s320/chernobylgirl.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After a thorough examination of a wall mural we decided could only have been inspired by Russian fairy tales filtered through the mind of a Chernobyl survivor,we tired of sitting without benefit of food or drink. No one had approached us for minutes. Lyle pulled some money out of his wallet and beckoned a blond woman who was standing under the neon sign of the bar to come over. He asked for her name and how we might procure some service. While he did this, he handed her the money. She handed the money back, telling us that she was Elya, the owner. When I asked her if she wanted the name of our party for reservation purposes, she said, \"No, it's okay. I don't need that.\" At that point, I knew we needed some vodka. Fast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We made our vodka selection-- not expensive, considering we had to buy it by the bottle, but decent. 750 ml of Absolut for $60. When it was brought to the table, we asked if there was any real Russian vodka to be had. Elya replied, \"No, not yet. Soon.\" Lyle asked how long Russia House had been open. 20 years. Russian vodka must be harder to obtain than I had previously thought.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GlL2NII/AAAAAAAAAMQ/ujFLiD4jeLM/s1600-h/vodkabottle.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GlL2NII/AAAAAAAAAMQ/ujFLiD4jeLM/s320/vodkabottle.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We also asked about the menu. We had heard of an all you can eat and drink feast, but what we had in front of us was an a la carte menu. She told us, yes, she did that sometimes on Fridays. Fridays? I told her we understood the restaurant was only open to the public on Saturdays. She shrugged her shoulders and said that sometimes she felt like opening on Friday, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When she noted the empty seats around our table, I explained that we were still waiting for the rest of our party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"Your girlfriends?\" she asked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"Sort of,\" I replied.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"Are they Russian?\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"No. Not Russian.\" I thought of the fake Russian names they'd be using tonight.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\"That's surprising,\" she said. \"Ninety-five percent of the American men who come here have Russian girlfriends or wives. So why have you come?\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought about how to answer that one, but settled on, \"To have fun!\"\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She smiled and got our waiter. I think at some point in that brief exchange, it was decided that we liked each other and the mood of the room shifted. The girls arrived, we settled into our first drink, and Lyle took charge of ordering appetizers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What came to the table were baskets of soft rye bread and butter, platters of beef tongue, smoked salmon, smoked sturgeon beef piroshke, and shrimp cocktail. Lots of shrimp cocktail.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z80lL2NFI/AAAAAAAAAL4/_fiHpeqPucw/s1600-h/shrimpcocktail.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z80lL2NFI/AAAAAAAAAL4/_fiHpeqPucw/s320/shrimpcocktail.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The beef tongue was good with a little mustard sauce and soft rye bread...\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8X1L2M-I/AAAAAAAAALA/5O_tM9OJCTY/s1600-h/beeftongue.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8X1L2M-I/AAAAAAAAALA/5O_tM9OJCTY/s320/beeftongue.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The beef piroshke was excellent. We were certain there was more that just meat in them. We briefly discussed which organs might have been included.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8o1L2NCI/AAAAAAAAALg/CSlWklAkvII/s1600-h/piroshke.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8o1L2NCI/AAAAAAAAALg/CSlWklAkvII/s320/piroshke.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The best dish, to the unanimous decision of the table, was the smoked sturgeon. Salty, faintly smoky and butter on the tongue, it needed nothing but perhaps a little vodka to keep it company on its way down my throat. We had two platters. They even threw in more shrimp cocktail.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GFL2NGI/AAAAAAAAAMA/JSAHmv8XbAA/s1600-h/sturgeon.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GFL2NGI/AAAAAAAAAMA/JSAHmv8XbAA/s320/sturgeon.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Our table livened up after some food, cold vodka, and soda water served in iced pitchers. I looked over at the birthday party next to us. I still didn't see anyone smiling. Just people milling about in fur stoles (women, naturally) and not touching their food. I thought they might be having a wake instead. Commenting on the brightness of the lights, my friend Gary looked to the birthday crowd and commented that he now understood why Russian women wore so much make up-- it was to hold up under those damned bright lights. He wondered where he could get a make up mirror with a Russian setting. I drank a little more vodka.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then, suddenly, everything changed. Everyone's attention turned to the bandstand. A woman who looked remarkably like Jan Wahl started singing. The lights, mercifully, were dimmed. Everyone started smiling and moved to the dance floor. Apparently, the party had begun.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>People danced, moved back to the tables to drink a little, and then danced some more. We watched from our table, since our main courses had arrived. Chicken Kiev, which seemed like a must-have since I frequently ate the Stouffer's version as a child, was a bit of a dry disappointment, and shashlik -- kebabs of fish and chicken, we found tastier. Lots of potatoes made their way to our table, as did some excellent pickled vegetables. The hands-down favorite was the watermelon. The eight of us were stuffed and ready now to give our full attention to what was about to happen on the dance floor.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5oTR9GewzI/AAAAAAAAAMo/ypwdjzzBzsM/s1600-h/russianjbr.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5oTR9GewzI/AAAAAAAAAMo/ypwdjzzBzsM/s320/russianjbr.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The little girl in what we thought was an ice dancing dress was partnered with a dancing boy. Everyone in the restaurant crowded around the dance floor. We were shown the proper way to swing dance, fox trot, and just about every other kind of trot. The dancers were cute and we laughed and clapped for them, but the Russians looked on humorless, as if this were something to be taken very seriously, which doesn't seem so surprising when one considers that Russia has produced some of the greatest dancers the world has ever seen. Think Nijinsky, Pavlova, and Baryshnikov. I felt as though I might be missing something important. I had another sip of my vodka.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A much older couple then took over, showing us hot Latin-inspired moves that loosened up the crowd a little. Decency (or simply poor photography skills) prevents me from showing you the 13 year-old girls costume, but I can show you an example of her excellent hand movement...\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GVL2NHI/AAAAAAAAAMI/MsgVP8YiPNA/s1600-h/teenmerengue.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z9GVL2NHI/AAAAAAAAAMI/MsgVP8YiPNA/s320/teenmerengue.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Having been shown how it's all done, we took to the dance floor ourselves, working off the shrimp cocktail and vodka. Everyone else in the room seemed to have the same idea.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z80VL2NEI/AAAAAAAAALw/wlnl7-T1Yno/s1600-h/Russiandance.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z80VL2NEI/AAAAAAAAALw/wlnl7-T1Yno/s320/Russiandance.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8hVL2NAI/AAAAAAAAALQ/E-ECMdalEec/s1600-h/dancingshoes.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8hVL2NAI/AAAAAAAAALQ/E-ECMdalEec/s320/dancingshoes.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Back at our table for a little resting and watering, I saw that the birthday club had finally sat down to their meal. For a minute or two at a time. Some ran off to dance, some came over to flirt with a couple of my friends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8YFL2M_I/AAAAAAAAALI/MkXXyXMswdA/s1600-h/birthdayfeast.JPG\">\u003cimg src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/wp-content/uploads/sites/24/blogger/_KZHoi9aEvuk/R5Z8YFL2M_I/AAAAAAAAALI/MkXXyXMswdA/s320/birthdayfeast.JPG\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\">\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought perhaps we'd gone about our dinner all wrong. We ate then danced. The Russians danced, then ate. Perhaps there was sense in that. Do we see dancing as a digestive activity while they see it as an appetite stimulant? I wondered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I also wondered what all the fuss regarding hostile service was about on Yelp. In my opinion, the people that walked away from the place weren't trying hard enough (Yes, I know-- they have a good point). I regarded the experience as a bit of travel adventure.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I'm certainly no sociologist, but given centuries of strong-armed governments, pogroms, and war, I don't think it strange that Russians might be a bit tight-knit, insular, and suspicious as a group. Once we got past the doorman and actually started talking to people, we found them warm and lively. It just takes a little while. To make more pat generalizations about the Russians, I think that any civilization that has made such incredible contributions to literature, music, and dance is worth the effort to get to know a little better. And those little matrioshka stacking dolls. Sigh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What started out as a rather uncertain evening ended up being a hell of a lot of fun. If you can see yourself making it past the doorman, I say put on your (fake) fur hat and your dancing boots and just go.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here's a sped-up video of the place. Stop at any frame to get a good look at the joint:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cembed width=\"320\" height=\"266\" src=\"http://www.blogger.com/img/videoplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvp.video.google.com%2Fvideodownload%3Fversion%3D0%26secureurl%3DqgAAAPEbdexZYqODP9Nt5kZfcH0YgDI2wYZ9jDB4_vw-BZzBZIgRTsZ-BpcUAtKx9uZMkwPaKzicmN3I9yEYWT84EY8aRcTXjstYsdnorFVlJS9LSsUNNS_eX4wUWV1KfLH-dqkMiWNCS30y2LDjkqfzjiq287MBimYGOYQszYy-cAqB4fNNBQ4f_ot3daKKqPwHK_Md6nkHJYCLRqkb2z6GCtO0CKHE1MaKt-1PNSsgsbP5%26sigh%3DFu9coQtF4g6w3b3uhYptOaaW_9A%26begin%3D0%26len%3D86400000%26docid%3D0&nogvlm=1&thumbnailUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvideo.google.com%2FThumbnailServer2%3Fapp%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D52f903b0dc9f0c98%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw320%26sigh%3Dko2FLvSsg52KlC7lnNrkUIA9wzM&messagesUrl=video.google.com%2FFlashUiStrings.xlb%3Fframe%3Dflashstrings%26hl%3Den\">\u003c/embed>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The \u003cstrong>Russia House\u003c/strong> is open to the public on Saturday nights. Please don't ask the hours, because I have no idea.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Russia House\u003c/strong> is located at 2011 Bayshore Boulevard in San Francisco, 94134\u003cbr>\u003ca href=\"http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&time=&date=&ttype=&q=Russia+House+2011+Bayshore+Boulevard+in+San+Francisco,+94134&ie=UTF8&ll=37.715518,-122.399883&spn=0.015243,0.015385&z=16&iwloc=A&om=0\">\u003cstrong>View Map\u003c/strong>\u003c/a>\u003cbr>Call 415-330-9991 for reservations. Be strong.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "American Suburb: The Podcast",
"tagline": "The flip side of gentrification, told through one town",
"info": "Gentrification is changing cities across America, forcing people from neighborhoods they have long called home. Call them the displaced. Now those priced out of the Bay Area are looking for a better life in an unlikely place. American Suburb follows this migration to one California town along the Delta, 45 miles from San Francisco. But is this once sleepy suburb ready for them?",
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"order": 19
},
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"rss": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/series/american-suburb-podcast/feed/podcast",
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}
},
"baycurious": {
"id": "baycurious",
"title": "Bay Curious",
"tagline": "Exploring the Bay Area, one question at a time",
"info": "KQED’s new podcast, Bay Curious, gets to the bottom of the mysteries — both profound and peculiar — that give the Bay Area its unique identity. And we’ll do it with your help! You ask the questions. You decide what Bay Curious investigates. And you join us on the journey to find the answers.",
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"order": 3
},
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}
},
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"info": "The day's top stories from BBC News compiled twice daily in the week, once at weekends.",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/BBC-World-Service-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"source": "BBC World Service"
},
"link": "/radio/program/bbc-world-service",
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"rss": "https://podcasts.files.bbci.co.uk/p02nq0gn.rss"
}
},
"californiareport": {
"id": "californiareport",
"title": "The California Report",
"tagline": "California, day by day",
"info": "KQED’s statewide radio news program providing daily coverage of issues, trends and public policy decisions.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-California-Report-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/californiareport",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 8
},
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}
},
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"title": "The California Report Magazine",
"tagline": "Your state, your stories",
"info": "Every week, The California Report Magazine takes you on a road trip for the ears: to visit the places and meet the people who make California unique. The in-depth storytelling podcast from the California Report.",
"airtime": "FRI 4:30pm-5pm, 6:30pm-7pm, 11pm-11:30pm",
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"order": 10
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM3NjkwNjk1OTAz",
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"rss": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/tag/tcrmag/feed/podcast"
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},
"city-arts": {
"id": "city-arts",
"title": "City Arts & Lectures",
"info": "A one-hour radio program to hear celebrated writers, artists and thinkers address contemporary ideas and values, often discussing the creative process. Please note: tapes or transcripts are not available",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/05/cityartsandlecture-300x300.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.cityarts.net/",
"airtime": "SUN 1pm-2pm, TUE 10pm, WED 1am",
"meta": {
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"source": "City Arts & Lectures"
},
"link": "https://www.cityarts.net",
"subscribe": {
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/City-Arts-and-Lectures-p692/",
"rss": "https://www.cityarts.net/feed/"
}
},
"closealltabs": {
"id": "closealltabs",
"title": "Close All Tabs",
"tagline": "Your irreverent guide to the trends redefining our world",
"info": "Close All Tabs breaks down how digital culture shapes our world through thoughtful insights and irreverent humor.",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/closealltabs",
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"order": 1
},
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"code-switch-life-kit": {
"id": "code-switch-life-kit",
"title": "Code Switch / Life Kit",
"info": "\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em>, which listeners will hear in the first part of the hour, has fearless and much-needed conversations about race. Hosted by journalists of color, the show tackles the subject of race head-on, exploring how it impacts every part of society — from politics and pop culture to history, sports and more.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em>, which will be in the second part of the hour, guides you through spaces and feelings no one prepares you for — from finances to mental health, from workplace microaggressions to imposter syndrome, from relationships to parenting. The show features experts with real world experience and shares their knowledge. Because everyone needs a little help being human.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510312/codeswitch\">\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/lifekit\">\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Code-Switch-Life-Kit-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
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},
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},
"commonwealth-club": {
"id": "commonwealth-club",
"title": "Commonwealth Club of California Podcast",
"info": "The Commonwealth Club of California is the nation's oldest and largest public affairs forum. As a non-partisan forum, The Club brings to the public airwaves diverse viewpoints on important topics. The Club's weekly radio broadcast - the oldest in the U.S., dating back to 1924 - is carried across the nation on public radio stations and is now podcasting. Our website archive features audio of our recent programs, as well as selected speeches from our long and distinguished history. This podcast feed is usually updated twice a week and is always un-edited.",
"airtime": "THU 10pm, FRI 1am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Commonwealth-Club-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.commonwealthclub.org/podcasts",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "Commonwealth Club of California"
},
"link": "/radio/program/commonwealth-club",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/commonwealth-club-of-california-podcast/id976334034?mt=2",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cDovL3d3dy5jb21tb253ZWFsdGhjbHViLm9yZy9hdWRpby9wb2RjYXN0L3dlZWtseS54bWw",
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}
},
"forum": {
"id": "forum",
"title": "Forum",
"tagline": "The conversation starts here",
"info": "KQED’s live call-in program discussing local, state, national and international issues, as well as in-depth interviews.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9am-11am, 10pm-11pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Forum-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Forum with Mina Kim and Alexis Madrigal",
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"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 9
},
"link": "/forum",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM5NTU3MzgxNjMz",
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},
"freakonomics-radio": {
"id": "freakonomics-radio",
"title": "Freakonomics Radio",
"info": "Freakonomics Radio is a one-hour award-winning podcast and public-radio project hosted by Stephen Dubner, with co-author Steve Levitt as a regular guest. It is produced in partnership with WNYC.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/freakonomicsRadio.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://freakonomics.com/",
"airtime": "SUN 1am-2am, SAT 3pm-4pm",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WNYC"
},
"link": "/radio/program/freakonomics-radio",
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"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/WNYC-Podcasts/Freakonomics-Radio-p272293/",
"rss": "https://feeds.feedburner.com/freakonomicsradio"
}
},
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"id": "fresh-air",
"title": "Fresh Air",
"info": "Hosted by Terry Gross, \u003cem>Fresh Air from WHYY\u003c/em> is the Peabody Award-winning weekday magazine of contemporary arts and issues. One of public radio's most popular programs, Fresh Air features intimate conversations with today's biggest luminaries.",
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"title": "Here & Now",
"info": "A live production of NPR and WBUR Boston, in collaboration with stations across the country, Here & Now reflects the fluid world of news as it's happening in the middle of the day, with timely, in-depth news, interviews and conversation. Hosted by Robin Young, Jeremy Hobson and Tonya Mosley.",
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},
"hidden-brain": {
"id": "hidden-brain",
"title": "Hidden Brain",
"info": "Shankar Vedantam uses science and storytelling to reveal the unconscious patterns that drive human behavior, shape our choices and direct our relationships.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/05/hiddenbrain.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/series/423302056/hidden-brain",
"airtime": "SUN 7pm-8pm",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "NPR"
},
"link": "/radio/program/hidden-brain",
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"how-i-built-this": {
"id": "how-i-built-this",
"title": "How I Built This with Guy Raz",
"info": "Guy Raz dives into the stories behind some of the world's best known companies. How I Built This weaves a narrative journey about innovators, entrepreneurs and idealists—and the movements they built.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/howIBuiltThis.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510313/how-i-built-this",
"airtime": "SUN 7:30pm-8pm",
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},
"link": "/radio/program/how-i-built-this",
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"hyphenacion": {
"id": "hyphenacion",
"title": "Hyphenación",
"tagline": "Where conversation and cultura meet",
"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/Hyphenacion_FinalAssets_PodcastTile.png",
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"order": 15
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},
"jerrybrown": {
"id": "jerrybrown",
"title": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown",
"tagline": "Lessons from a lifetime in politics",
"info": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown brings listeners the wisdom of the former Governor, Mayor, and presidential candidate. Scott Shafer interviewed Brown for more than 40 hours, covering the former governor's life and half-century in the political game – and Brown has some lessons he'd like to share. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-Political-Mind-of-Jerry-Brown-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
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"order": 18
},
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}
},
"latino-usa": {
"id": "latino-usa",
"title": "Latino USA",
"airtime": "MON 1am-2am, SUN 6pm-7pm",
"info": "Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture, is the only national, English-language radio program produced from a Latino perspective.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/latinoUsa.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://latinousa.org/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/latino-usa",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=79681317&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510016/podcast.xml"
}
},
"marketplace": {
"id": "marketplace",
"title": "Marketplace",
"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 4pm-4:30pm, MON-WED 6:30pm-7pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Marketplace-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.marketplace.org/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "American Public Media"
},
"link": "/radio/program/marketplace",
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"rss": "https://feeds.publicradio.org/public_feeds/marketplace-pm/rss/rss"
}
},
"masters-of-scale": {
"id": "masters-of-scale",
"title": "Masters of Scale",
"info": "Masters of Scale is an original podcast in which LinkedIn co-founder and Greylock Partner Reid Hoffman sets out to describe and prove theories that explain how great entrepreneurs take their companies from zero to a gazillion in ingenious fashion.",
"airtime": "Every other Wednesday June 12 through October 16 at 8pm (repeats Thursdays at 2am)",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Masters-of-Scale-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://mastersofscale.com/",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WaitWhat"
},
"link": "/radio/program/masters-of-scale",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "http://mastersofscale.app.link/",
"rss": "https://rss.art19.com/masters-of-scale"
}
},
"mindshift": {
"id": "mindshift",
"title": "MindShift",
"tagline": "A podcast about the future of learning and how we raise our kids",
"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Mindshift-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED MindShift: How We Will Learn",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/mindshift/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
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