I just made mustard.

By "just," I guess I mean that 2 days ago, I put mustard seeds in water and vinegar, and today I put it in the blender. Apparently this recipe tastes pretty rough for the first couple of days, so time will tell how it is on sandwiches and in salad dressing, potato salad, etc. But the initial sampling tasted...well, like mustard!

I know, I know. Mustard is cheap. And since I live near a Trader Joe's, it's easy to find one without my pet-peeve American food ingredient, high-fructose corn syrup.

However, this is the kind of thing that happens after 4 months of unemployment. Partially, it's the thrill of pinching pennies, since saving money is the only way I'm currently adding anything to the household bottom line. (Yes, we can well afford mustard, but these sorts of projects lessen my guilt about not bringing home a paycheck.) The other part of these projects is that they fill my time. It's better than playing Wii and picking my nose all day, right?

Some days, I think this is awesome, in my Berkeley way. I'm learning where food really comes from, and everything is better from scratch, and blah blah blah.

Some days, like this one, I think, "Gladys, girl, I love you, but OH! GET A LIFE!"

The Ice Of Boston - The Dismem...

(Am I still glad I'm not in my third year of teaching? Am I very grateful to be in a financial position where I can wait a little longer for a good job to come along instead of having to sub? Yes, and yes. My life is really very excellent and I'm not complaining.)

Your Berkeley moments of Zen

1) Apparently there is such a thing as tofu blintzes. On the other hand, this:



2) Walking down to South Berkeley to check out a shop, one of our mentally ill citizens saw me coming, screamed at me so loud I could hear it over the music in my headphones, and kept screaming at me after I'd passed. It went something like, "YOUR ASS IS SO PALE...BITCH! PALE-ASS BITCH! YOUR BITCH ASS IS SO PAAAALE!" Huh. I haven't been called white since I was a teacher. I can't say I'd missed it.

Adding injury to insult, this is what I found when I got to the shop I'd wanted to visit:


3) The guy in line in front of me at the grocery store today, wearing overalls with no shirt, put his gym bag on the belt along with his groceries. When the cashier opened the bag to put the groceries in, a cat jumped out. I continue to enjoy living somewhere I'm considered normal by local community standards, but I feel sorry for that cat.

Don't rain on my parade. Or, more accurately, my picnic

It seems like the minute I moved to Berkeley -- which has a neighborhood people actually call "The Gourmet Ghetto" with a straight face -- the foodie backlash began. Details Magazine has declared "you photograph your food" one of the 63 ways to know you're a "pretentious tool." (Make your own retort using the words "Details Magazine" and "tool.") New York Observer has decided foodies should be called "foodiots." Phhbbbt. I think we should start reclaiming the word "foodiot" right now. I actually kind of like it. "Foodie" implies a level of refinement and, er, pretentious tool-dom that has never worked for me. Wanna be an American foodiot! Yeah!

I'm just wondering who it hurts if I cook something I'm proud of and take a picture. It's like A Day Without Cats, or those people who spend sooo much energy scoffing at Rock Band.

Now that most of us know we will never make money off the Internet, don't these people know technology is for fun? Or porn, if you're into showtunes. Or FOOD! C'mon, people. The economy sucks and cooking from scratch then taking pictures of it is a cheap hobby. Give an unemployed gal a break.

Still think I'm pretentious? Enjoy this picture of me tapping beer out of a dog's ass:

Thanks to all who played along with the "name that fruit" challenge from this post. Though all six of you (wow, six people still read this thing?) had the same suggestion, it turns out they are NOT lychees. I went back to the park, retrieved a couple, cut them open at home, and saw this:

Further quality time with Google revealed that it's a strawberry tree, aka arbutus unedo. Supposedly they are edible, though not delicious, and are most commonly used to make Portuguese hooch called Medronho. I'll try one in November when they're fully ripe. In better fruit news, I have a plum tree in my yard that my upstairs neighbor says fruits like mad in the spring. I'll have to graduate from pickling to full-fledged canning by then.

Echo Park danger dog
Originally uploaded by Jen and Rick

Now, if THIS had been the hot dog they gave me at the so-called Teacher Appreciation Lunch, I wouldn't have been offended. Because everything is better wrapped in bacon.

There are some decent people in the world, and occasionally even good timing

I woke up this morning and realized I had nothing for lunch. I made a giant pot of beans over the weekend, but forgot to make more rice last night. The only thing lunch-able was a box of Trader Joe's instant noodles, and I'm sorry to say that's what I had for dinner last night (hey, with sambal olek and homemade marinated Thai chiles, it was pretty damn good).

Half the drive to work, I was pondering how to handle the food situation. Eat school lunch? (UGH). Go hungry? Run out for Mexican take-out after early dismissal at 1:34 and hope it doesn't make me late for today's lame professional development?

Right at the beginning of period 1, there's a knock on the door. It's a TA from down the hall. He works with the severely developmentally disabled kids, bless him. I met him at a training in October and we talked a lot about food. It's something many people can get behind when you don't want to talk about the work you have in common.

He says, "You know how I promised you some homemade enchiladas way back when?" Yes, he did this, but I took it as the politeness of the moment, a nod to the white girl's enthusiasm for real Mexican food. Then he presented me with a giant plastic container of enchiladas, and cup of homemade sauce.

How freakin' awesome is that? I totally owe him some homebrew.

Never doubt the power of the Internet to deliver depressing news from total strangers.

Someone commented on this photo on Flickr to say the restaurant in it was going to be demolished.

Sadly, it's true. "Ben's De Luxe Delicatessen and Restaurant" (aka "Ben's") in Montreal closed in 2006 and will be torn down. I went there (I think) twice when I lived in Boston and used to go up to Montreal every summer for the beer festival. Too bad. I bet they're going to put some crappy chain in its place.

Some other (and often better) photos here.

I've now seen this at least three times, so I shall jump on the bandwagon. It beats yet another report on my school prep, right? There are a few things on here I feel like I must have eaten at some point, but I can't be sure. Much of it makes a heck of a to-do list.
*************************
The Omnivore's Hundred

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk (does goat cheese count?)
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu (I am close to crossing this out, only because it's supposed to be not that great for something that could kill you if prepared improperly)
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

Oh well, at least I'm more than halfway through it...

I went to the Japanese supermarket Mitsuwa and happened to purchase a kit to make fish cake soup. Mmm, fish cake. I didn't fully read the ingredients in the store, which is kind of unusual for me. However, when I was preparing to cook it, I did read the ingredients, and noticed this:




(Click on the image to see it with a note pointing out what's wrong with this picture)

Whoa! What? Waiter, there's Wikipedia in my soup! (Shut up, or everyone will want one.)

Turns out this isn't an isolated incident. In December 2007, BoingBoing.net (which scrolls WAY too fast for me to read on a regular basis when I'm working for a living) posted about a Beijing restaurant with "Stir fried wikipedia" and "Steam eggs with wikipedia" on the menu. Apparently, in this context, it's a type of fungus.

The comments on that post linked to a photo of a menu featuring "BBQ wikipedia", which turned out to be squid. A restaurant in Taiwan said "wikipedia" when they meant "cheesecake".

A BoingBoing commenter offered this
"I think i may have found a plausible explanation: Google "[some chinese characters that don't reproduce well on screen]". Scroll down a bit, and what word jumps out at you? The first search result* to have any English words in its title is "??- Wikipedia". It's easy to imagine a non-English speaker seeing this and mistaking it for a translation!

"This also works for #24's cheesecake [...] Probably explains the other cases as well, since Wikipedia often comes up near the top in a Google search for a single word or common phrase."

I know I couldn't do any better if I tried to translate a language that didn't even use the same characters as mine, but it's funny anyway.

For the edification of the three people who did not know what Steak-umms are:
The are frozen, processed strips of beef that one fries up like bacon. I thought they were a bygone schlocky food of the 80s, but it turns out they still exist. They have 10 grams of fat per strip. They are supposed to pay homage to Philly cheesesteaks, but somehow I doubt there's much resemblance. (No, I've never had a genuine Philly cheesesteak in Philly. And I lived/crashed in Philly for two whole weeks once, in 1995. I KNOW. I wasn't always a foodie.)
[video]

I recall Steak-umm night being a big deal when I was a kid in the 80s. Not as big a deal as a trip to McDonalds -- that was huge -- but a treat nonetheless. I ponder, once again, how processed, fatty foodstuffs used to be a rare indulgence in this country and are now breakfast, lunch, and dinner for most. PS, you're made of corn.
[video]

Random
[poll]

Adventures in food: Basil seed drink

I took a walk around town yesterday, partially to grab menus from places I plan to try this summer. One of them is a Burmese hole-in-the-wall so small I was surprised it even had a menu for me. (What's Burmese food? It looks similar to Indian. I'll find out later.)

The Burmese place also had a small pan-Asian grocery section including a case of refrigerated drinks. I was thirsty, so I decided I'd pick one up as well as a menu. I quickly found a few drinks without high fructose corn syrup, and chose the oddest one, basil seed. $1.25, which isn't bad -- that's what a Mexican soda will cost you in the 'hood, though in a bottle, not a can.

I took a few sips and liked it. Sure, it tasted to a certain extent like your spice rack, but it worked fine for a summer day. What I didn't realize was that I was drinking the liquid off the top, only to get a mouthful of the seeds themselves later. Not just the seeds, but the seeds encased in some nasty mucous. I spat it out all over Sepulveda Boulevard, because I have good manners like that. I looked into the can and could see that it looked like this. Sorry, I'm an adventurous eater, but my Western palate does not like to drink basil snot.

Apparently I should have saved it and added dry ice to make a faux lava lamp, like these dorks did:

Big lunchtime union meeting today, potluck. On the way out, I spied a food I'd never seen before, in a container labeled "PUTO WITH CHEESE." I quickly brought it to the attention of my English teacher buddy and we had a good laugh. Click here if you're unfamiliar with Spanish-language street slang. Or picture a snack named, say, "Little bitch con queso." I'm just saying.

Also good: "Puto color big."


As a side note, a teacher nearby asked what was funny and then needed the joke explained to her. Doesn't she ever listen to what her students say to each other? That was one of the first Spanish words I learned.

As another side note, putos are fairly tasty. Shut up.

I decided to reward myself for another week of public-sector suffering with some restaurant food for dinner.

Simpang Asia is a little pan-Asian market that, a couple years ago, turned into a little-er pan-Asian market with a small restaurant attached. I went once for soup and enjoyed it. Its existence has kind of slipped my mind since then, except when I occasionally run there for some missing ingredient when I'm cooking (the local Mexican market is good, too, but they're just not gonna have chili oil.)

WHY HAVE I NOT BEEN EATING HERE CONSTANTLY SINCE I GOT STEADY INCOME AGAIN?

It's a couple bucks more expensive than my $5 Asian food adventures in Thai Town, but it's also just a few blocks away. One of the specials tonight, "Nasi Mantep," [I googled it and got nothing useful] was a banana-leaf-wrapped food bomb of rice, curry (?) chicken, collard greens (?!), green chile, hard boiled egg, and I think some meat with anchovy paste. The description mentioned anchovies, and I didn't see any, but that was definitely some salty meat. This stuff was so good I didn't even reach for the tray of condiments -- and if you've been out for crazy food with me, you know I'm down to try all the sauces.

Hi. I live down the block from an awesome, affordable, Indo-fuckin'-nesian restaurant. I can put up with LA for a little longer.

Happy new year!

I've been back from Hawaii for a few days, throwing myself back into the splendor that is my own bed, my needy cat, entertainment of my own choosing, and all the crazy food available in this town. I discovered a new (to me) kind of Korean soup...it's got parts of the cow you don't even want to know about...

Hawaii was better than usual because of our two days on the big island, staying in Hilo (cute 'lil town, not much nightlife to speak of but nice and mellow compared to the flash of Honolulu) and spending one day in Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park. Incomplete (so far) pictures are here. If you ever go to Hawaii, I recommend this for everyone. There are drive-up sites involving very little physical exertion so there's really no excuse not to go check this stuff out if you're in the state anyway. If you're based in Oahu or Maui, Go airlines has cheap fares. End of public service announcement.

"I'm tired again, I've tried again, and now my heart is full" **

This will be my last mention of work until 2008, unless I manage a post tomorrow during lunch or directly after school. For the rest of the calendar year, I am not going to talk about that place, think about that place, or do anything for that place. "I need a break" doesn't begin to cover it.

Veteran teachers keep telling us newbies that if we made it this far at Crazy-Ass High, we can make it at any school anywhere. I want to believe it. Even this week, there were times I didn't think I could handle being in that room for the rest of the week without a very public nervous breakdown. And even now, I'm not convinced tomorrow will be hassle-free even though all we're doing is watching the last 45 minutes of Stand and Deliver.
[video]
I am exhausted from being in a constant state of high alert and hypervigilance, making sure no crimes are committed and no incidents occur. I am physically exhausted from lack of sleep, lack of exercise, and poor nutrition. The only reason I've only gained 5 pounds this semester is that I'm on my feet all day...and I suspect the constant hypervigilance burns calories.

Anyway, the all-staff thank-you lunch was good. This community has its issues but it knows how to feed a person. Hot wings, bbq chicken, hot links, jambalaya, and that's just what I crammed onto MY plate. Also, a teacher supplied coffee that she brought back from a trip to Ethiopia. GodDAMN. That made up for the "coffee" I had at Spaceland last night that was pretty much $2 coffee-flavored water.

Afterward, I got to talking with an English teacher and it was food for thought. She's fairly positive in general but she had a new take on several things that have been bothering me that might (or might not) have been more than sunshine and rainbows shining out her butt.
1) She thinks the kids play the race card on me frequently not because they really think I'm prejudiced but because, despite my exterior calm about it, they can tell it really bothers me and teenagers love to push your buttons. I will have to work on that, though I do find it extremely insulting so it won't be easy
2) Even now, despite my constant state of alert, I am getting burgled occasionally. This week, someone took the flash drive out of the back of my computer. It was free, and it was just backups so I didn't lose anything, but it's still irritating. Still, I can see why a poor kid might feel like they "need" a flash drive more than I do. My bad for not downloading the files I needed and putting the thing away. What's been making me even crazier is that I also need to lock up completely inconsequential items as soon as my day switches from geometry to algebra. "They'll steal anything that's not nailed down, even if it has no resale value OR practical use," I explain. The English teacher asked for an example. I replied that I had to keep the whiteboard marker in my pocket, and that even my whiteboard eraser had disappeared once. "I know they've got issues, so maybe stealing fills some sort of emotional hole for them," I added by way of suggestion. She said, "And maybe they want something of YOURS." Hmm. I guess I'd rather they be stalking me than thinking I'm a chump.

In a final bit of good news, one of my non-trouble students who moved away for a while on short/no notice has returned. He is a total dork and I have missed his gangster-balancing presence in period 6. He has been hanging out in my room during nutrition this week. Today, another student joined him towards the end. This kid never seems to string more than 2 words together, and it's not because he can't speak English. He answers questions with "yes," "no," head shakes, shrugs, and cryptic smiles. He's the one I said this about a few days ago:
A few days later, [the counselor] mentioned that the mother of another one of my students was in her office "telling me [so and so's] story for 40 minutes." I asked if it was really bad. The same woman who's told me so many disturbing stories about our kids just paused, shook her head, and said "REALLY bad." I can't even imagine.

Today, I thanked him for stopping by and coming to school for once. He smiled. I asked if he's sick a lot and that's why he's absent so much. He shook his head. I asked if had something to do at home, like take care of his little brother or something. He shook his head. No personal issues? Head shake. You just don't come to school if you don't feel like it? Cryptic smile. I told him it was too late in nutrition for today, but that after break he should come back and we could work on catching up on the work he's missed. He nodded, and the bell rang.

As the two boys left for period 3, I felt something odd that it took a while to put into words. It's something like: I can't be Jaime Escalante in this mess, but after I get some rest, maybe I can come back and be the best Ms. M I can be.

Bacon bacon bacon bacon! In the bag! What's it say?! I CAN'T READ!!!

I'm thankful my favorite beer store is open 9am-2pm every Thanksgiving. We know the proprietor from the homebrew club so we always get good tips on the latest interesting inventory. This time, he was putting a nip bottle in the dumpster when we arrived, and chatted with us in the store for a bit while drinking Bloody Mary out of a disposable fast-food coffee cup. HE was having a happy happy Thanksgiving for sure.

On the way out of the parking lot, we passed the ghetto shoe store, which was also open on Thanksgiving for some reason. There was a cart out front. "Are those bacon-wrapped hot dogs?" I exclaimed. Rick then pulled diagonally into the nearest parking spot and we leaped out of the car.
[video]


I've been meaning to get a danger dog with Rick for a while, but they're elusive in this part of town. I had one for lunch in East LA once and, dude. It's really too bad they're illegal because they're all kinds of tasty, if gas- and halitosis-inducing what with all the onions and jalepenos. The hot dog guy addressed *us* in Spanish, indicating he's fairly fresh over the border, but I was able to mostly hold my own.

We ate them sitting on a loading dock across the parking lot, with rubbish at our feet including gum wrappers, cigarette butts, aluminum pull tabs, and a razor blade.

I love this town.

Don't you hate it when you say "I'll do it when I get a day off" to so many things that your day off comes, and you realize you need a week? Oh well. Time to prioritize.

It's priority time in general. It's been two months now, and I think this was the craziest two months of my life. Crazier than moving to another country where I didn't speak the language, even. Some of my friends are endlessly fascinated by my tales of urban educational blight. But after 13 years, I can recognize the expression on Rick's face that means I'm obsessing. More importantly than annoying my husband, I am, as a friend put it last night, annoying MYSELF. That's bad.

[The endless edu-blogging will continue just because this mess is too crazy not to fully document, and if you don't like it, you know where the back button or space bar or whatever is located]

For the last two months, I have been broken enough that it limits the range of activities I feel I have the stamina for. My leisure time has been consumed by movies, TV, blogging, and micro-activities like playing a hand of online Scrabble now and then. There is more than that. I am not a couch potato by nature and now is not the time to become one. If I were to go on vacation tomorrow, I couldn't travel the way I like to travel because it would tire me out. Lately, I've been tired at the top of the TWO flights of stairs to my classroom. That's bad, too.



So, I've been trying to regain some balance. I don't want to be TeacherBot 3000. There used to be other things that were important to me, other things I did. So here's my public accountability -- I will not be All School All The Time.

1) I used to read books. I went to the library on Friday and got a couple.
2) I used to be in good shape (not buff, but at least fit), but I haven't been to the gym in two months. I'm going to be in a national park at the end of December and I need to be able to hike in it. Today, I took a walk.
3) In addition to my body, my apartment and my car are a mess. This won't change overnight, but I need to start. Rick is almost as busy as I am but has thusfar prevented us from living in total squalor; I need to help.
4) Despite being around Latino kids all day, I've somehow forgotten to keep up with my Spanish. I've chosen a new soap opera to Tivo and will start that this week.
5) I used to brew beer, not just drink it. Thanksgiving weekend? I also need to cook more. I did cook once last week, which is an improvement.
6) I need to get out more, but the out to eat project has jump-started that. See also #2 about hiking. I did go to a fun concert last week ($15) and have another show scheduled for next week ($0 radio promotion).
7) I used to see and talk to a wider range of people. When you're being crushed under the weight of a dysfunctional situation, it's hard to pick up the phone. Maybe for every 10 times I call students' parents/guardians, I have to call an actual friend...

All in all, I need to chill. I am no good to my students if I'm broken, and I'm also much less good if I'm embittered and resentful. If I take time away from working to take care of my body, I will have more energy to do my job more efficiently. Maybe if I do more things I enjoy, it will lessen the [headaches/nausea/insomnia/aches and pains/lack of appetite/anxiety/depression/apathy/pick one].

It's an important job, but IT'S JUST A JOB.

How do you stay balanced? I'm taking suggestions from anyone with a busy life and a disposition towards overwork.

NaBloPoMo filler continues...don't touch that "unsubscribe" button!

Most people resolve to go out to eat less often. I, on the other hand, have resolved to go out to eat MORE often. I'm trying for once a week. I've been broke for so long that even $5 takeout seemed like an expense I couldn't justify, but the time has come. I will still be sticking to restaurants where entrees can be obtained for less than $10, except for special occasions, and takeout does count. Here are the first three weeks of the Out-To-Eat-Once-A-Week Project.

Week 1: Rick and I went to Yai, a Thai place on the outskirts of Thai Town. We were headed for a party not too far away so that was convenient. The Internets had told us that even their "mild" dishes are pretty hot unless you're Thai, so we started there. Well, I could have handled medium, but it's not like what we had was the least bit bland. It was also a lot of food and tasted fine with my hangover the next morning. I can't remember what we got, as it was 3 weeks ago, but I'll be back for more. This place would be good with a group.

Week 2: We were walking to a party 2 miles away and stopped for a burger at Hamburger Habit. The weird 50s vibe, funny-ish slogans on the wall, and cashier who gave me a Mexican lollypop would make Hamburger Habit the most character-ful thing in many cities, but since this is LA, I wouldn't go out of my way for it. I agree with this person that the chili fries were the best part. I'm still looking for the best burger in Los Angeles. The Father's Office burger, though delicious, doesn't count; that's a rare-steak sandwich on a bun. I mean a regular burger. Anyone?

Week 3: I almost missed the deadline, but a friend suggested India Sweets & Spices, which was on my list anyway. It's a grocery store with a cafeteria section selling kickass Indian fast food. I wasn't all that hungry, so I passed up the big-ass specials and got 12 ounces of paneer thinking I'd eat some for dinner and some for leftovers. It was so good I ate it all over the course of the night, even past when I was full. Ugh. But yum. Good to know there's Indian food up to my standards closer than Ambala Dhaba (or Artesia).

Mmm, food.

Graphical representation of the rise of obesity in the United States since 1990

Any comment I could make sounds like a conspiracy theory about corporate agribusiness or a slam on mainstream American culture, so I'll let the info speak for itself. I will, however, say that I have been overweight myself in the past and I am in no way hating on any individual with a higher-than-healthy BMI.

I will also say: I hit the gym pretty consistently and eat pretty healthy and am still pudgier than I was in Germany, where I never exercised and consumed mass quantities of beer and rich food, yet still effortlessly lost about 15 pounds.

I have become a totally berserk foodie. Beyond the fact that most of my email exchanges with my friend who's spending the summer in Japan are about what he's eating over there and what I'm eating over here, there is the pig.

I was cajoled onto the "pig crew" for my homebrew club's big summer party. As you may imagine, people who bother to make their own beer get pretty snobby about the way things taste in general. The food at these parties is GOOD. And this year, they decided to revive the tradition of smoking a whole pig. This would require a few die-hards to man the smoker in shifts, from 6pm Friday until sometime Saturday.

I showed up for "pig crew" at almost midnight to find two club members slathering 24 chickens in dry rub. The pig was roasting away. Shortly after midnight, a good half-dozen people showed up to "help" (ie, drink). I yawned, and decided I should sleep then rather than pulling an all-nighter. Rick agreed, and we got set up with some crash space inside a friend's RV (a nice perk of befriending 60-year-olds). Rick set his cell phone alarm for 5.

I woke up at 4:30 to use the bathroom, which required entering the house because the RV toilet wasn't set up. I walked into the house and was smacked in the face with the smell of collard greens slow-cooking with hamhocks. Ohmygodyum. I went next door to the pig smoker expecting to find maybe one guy and a pot of coffee, and instead found 7 people and a lot of empty beer bottles. Within half an hour, they all went home or retired to the RV or the living room for a nap and Rick and I were alone with the pig (and the 4 briskets). So we'd missed the beer, but felt all macho tending the smoker by ourselves, making sure it hovered around 250 F. Too hot? Vent some water, or open the smoker. Too cool? Add fire. Lather, rinse, repeat.

By 8am, the big ol' pig was done and laid out on a table, and some other pig crew members had arisen to make sausage. We hung out and drank some coffee, but eventually overcame the inertia and slumped home for a shower and some food before heading off to the actual summer party to drink and eat some more for 10 hours.

The food at the party was delicious as always, but this time I got to point at a plate of succulent pulled pork and say, "I watched the pig at dawn!" Which you don't get to say every day.

Q. Why would you live in a place with the worst air quality in the country, terrible public transit and traffic, a third-world divide between rich and poor, and a high violent crime rate?

A. So you can go hiking in the mountains, then eat a $5 oyster sandwich with a lovely outdoor view of the Pacific Ocean. In January.

Note to self: even if you can't spare a whole weekend to go camping, you can always make time for a once-a-week hike. Don't be a chump.

End-of-year highlights:
* Went to Vegas: checked into the diviest hotel/casino in town at 1am while completely drunk (no, I wasn't driving), played nickel slots and bemoaned the gentrification of downtown (Starbucks?!), went through hell finding a buffet in the off-season, ran away quickly after a day to enjoy Nevada parks instead.
* Ate 1.5 pounds of meat in the Fatburger Triple King Challenge, two more kinds of marinated/pickled fish (note to self: get funding for Church of Ceviche), various delicious food I actually cooked from scratch, and Mexican-spiced grasshoppers. Mmm...
* Read books not for school (please read "Fun Home" by Alison Bechdel immediately), slept 10+ hours/night, functioned without a to-do list, hiked multiple times, enjoyed my existence for once, etc.
* Xmas dinner at Denny's. Don't ask.

Jen's Year-End Delicious/Gross Extravaganza

12/5: Having night school on one's husband's birthday is gross, but the beer I brought to the final exam/potluck was delicous. I think I converted at least a few future teachers to Better Beer(tm).

12/8: Night school on Friday is gross, as is the traffic when one is let out early. This night -- my last night of fake-ass grad school for the quarter -- should have been delicious but I was too tired to care much.

12/9: Mead Chick, the hostess with the mostess, threw a five-course dinner party for 14 in her one-bedroom apartment. Worship the ground she cooks on. Ceviche, carrot soup, celery salad, meat 'n' veggies, bananas in rum sauce, and tasty beverages. Since the theme was South American this was delicioso.

12/10: Crispin Glover presents animal torture, egregious racist iconography, and cerebral palsy porn. Gross. (Rick can tell you more). (Side note: I am not crazy. I have been thinking all week that there was a punk (or something) song back in the day that referenced Crispin Glover. A quick Google tells me it's the Warlock Pinchers doing "Where the hell is Crispin Glover?" in 1989. Where, indeed?)

12/12: FUCKING GROSS, I finally get my eyes examined. To appreciate this, you must understand my lifelong phobia regarding all things optical. I could barely look Rick in the face during the time he was experimenting with contact lenses. It's totally pathological. Yet, I'm in my 30s now and my distance vision has started to suck. So I was a big girl and got my eyes checked, and though I was totally unable to keep my eyes open for the drops (turns out you can put the drops in the corner of a shut eye and then blink 'em around), I only had to lie down once. (To my credit, I was trying to tough it out, until the optometrist noted that my lips were white). I let the other optometrist pick me out some driving/back-of-the-class glasses at the student rate, and then practically crapped my pants when they sat me down and told me I have one of the early warning signs for glaucoma. I have a referral to an opthamologist now. I think my lips are turning white again just thinking about it. If I really have an eye disease, I am going to need heavy sedation for the rest of my life.

12/14: My homebrew club's annual Xmas party, which as always was delicious. So much good food and beer, one needs an eating/drinking strategy, but after enough good beer, one's strategy flies out the window. I think was alright until the door prize give-away started, and people started winning and pouring heavyweight Belgian beers (I won a delicious Scaldis Noel myself). If glaucoma doesn't blind me, parties like this might do it someday. Yummy yummy. I did, however, witness a hit-and-run on a parked car in the alley, which was gross (someone caught the license plate of the offender and we left a note).

12/15: One of my professors forgot to hand in his grades on time (true story) but the other two gave me A's for another quarter of half-assery. I don't know whether this outcome is delicious, gross, or both.

There are some exotic foods I am just not ready to eat.

Blurry, ouchie torta

Blurry, ouchie torta
Originally uploaded by jmuehlbauer.

I've been forgetting about this for two months, but meet the sandwich that tried to kill me.

I like to think I'm pretty fly for a white guy (uh, girl) at this point, but it turns out that when someone from Jalisco asks you if you want it spicy, the answer just might be, for the first time in culinary history, "no." Alternately, I still have a bit of ramping up to do in my spice consumption before I can properly enjoy real Mexican food.

The business card sports a picture of a dragon in a sombrero spitting fire, which might have been a clue. It turns out a place in Mexico uses as its logo an anthropomorphic flame giving the thumbs-up.

The torta ahogada is essentially a pork sandwich on nice, crusty French-ish bread, covered with chile sauce. I thought maybe this place was just fucking with the white girl, but no, that's really what's done. I ate half of it, then had to stop, pour the excess sauce off and take it home while my mouth recovered for 15 miles. It wasn't until I googled the sandwich for ingredients that I noticed mine had beans in it -- it was so hot, you couldn't taste them.

To summarize, this sandwich kicked my ass, and I need to go to Mexico soon.

So I was in San Francisco last weekend, for a trip I might as well dub "How the other half stuffs itself" for all the money I dropped on food and drink. I've decided I need to stop going to SF on weekends tied to specific activities (homebrew event, marathon, etc) because what I really like is walking and lounging around the city without having to BE somewhere, ever.

Ready for another travel story? I thought not.

Friday: Cows and kooks

By far the best time to drive from LA to SF is 5am. Seriously. Then rush hour happens while you're on the 5 in the middle of nothing but a bunch of stinky-ass cows.

We stopped at a gas station up north and the hilarity began. I went to the bathroom area and tried the door: locked. So it's one of those single-toilet ones. BUT I'm hearing talking in there. "[unintelligible] this won't even be a rest stop in 20 years [unintelligible] her decomposing corpse [unintelligible]..." I wonder at first if it's a psychopath talking to herself, but then I hear a second voice. Occasional water running, but no toilet noises. By now, there are two other women waiting behind me. "How inconsiderate," tsks the older one at the end. A skinny, 40-ish biker dude with long hair, a beard, and cane approaches the men's room and says, "I never understood how women go in those together. Do you take turns? Both sit at once, one on top of the other?" I replied that most of us go one at a time, so I wasn't sure. By this time, I had started knocking on the door. Eventually, the two women emerged. One was wearing a Batgirl t-shirt and pajama bottoms. The bathroom was finally free. I turned to the women behind me and said, "Want to come in with me?" She looked alarmed until I said, "Just kidding."

Friday: Walking, corporate, sausage, and beer

We arrived, drove to our friend's neighborhood (remembering why it's unwise to voluntarily drive in San Francisco), found parking, and decided to walk to our next place, said friend's place of employment. Took about an hour but was scenic - lots of hills. I had Rick take a cell phone picture of a sign that said "Park at 90 degree angle" so I can show my future geometry classes how math is used in real life. Yes, I am a dork.

We got to the office of Big Famous Media, read and digitally signed an NDA, and were signed in and given badges. More serious security than the time I was at NASA, dude. I'm glad to no longer be a journalist, because that would have been a whole different NDA, and my walk-through would have been accompanied by a PR person. As it is, we got a relaxed tour and our pal took us to the absurdly outfitted corporate cafeteria, full of fresh, prepared-in-front-of-you, organic delights at reasonable prices. It's ironic that you have to have a cushy corporate job to get good food cheap, but that's America. I had a delicious artichoke pizza and -- holy East coast obscurity! -- Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray soda.

We caught the bus back to where the car was to confirm that we didn't have a parking ticket, and dumped our stuff in the apartment. Then, since we'd been in San Francisco several hours without a beer (gasp!) we caught happy hour at Magnolia, followed by a nice walk to our dinner destination, Suppenküche, where saurkraut and bratwurst made me way too happy. If I lived in SF, I swear I'd be there several times a month.

The liter of German beer means my memory of the rest of the night is slightly fuzzier :) We put a somewhat sober SF resident in charge and wandered around for a while, stopping at...wait for it...Citizen Cake (I was too full of bier und wurst to partake) and browsing in a used bookstore. Some of our group left, others joined us, and we were introduced to yet another cool local bar. Lucky 13 is a little darker and louder than I usually like my bars, but it was very unpretentious and ungentrified (always a worry in SF), the beer selection was great, and I had a lot of fun. I also misinterpreted a sign that said "BATHROOM --->" and walked in on a guy using the urinal. Oopsie!

And taking public transit back to your bed after a night of alcohol abuse never, ever gets old. Damn you LA!

Saturday: As long as we call it "carbing up," everything will be fine

The day began inauspiciously when I shifted positions on the air mattress and my right leg landed in something wet. I rationalized for a moment: well, the desk is right there, maybe someone was drinking some water while using the computer and the cat knocked it over. It was the cat's fault alright, but the substance wasn't water. Hey, cat, do I pee on you in the middle of the night?

The day improved quickly when I ventured out to get coffee and fell over an independent coffee house not two blocks fromt the apartment. We eventually got our act together and formed a party of four at the farmer's market, where I didn't buy anything because I didn't want to carry fruit around all day, but we had some good treats from the Japanese deli inside.

Rest of the afternoon: walking, Rogue ales, Italian-style ice cream served by Asians, free jazz, walking, fries and Belgian beers, extreme bloat.

Back at the apartment, welcoming our LA friend who'd just flown into Oakland (they lost his luggage - d'oh!), drinkin' wine, the air mattress seems to have dried out without any major cat pee stains...life is good. Dinner was a world of noodles, dipping sauce so good I ate it when there was nothing left to dip, and what I thought would be a small cup of sake that turned out to be a perilously full martini glass.

Sunday: Ow, quit it

Here's what you don't want to happen the morning of a half-marathon: you wake up at 4am, very thirsty because you drank a huge glass of sake the night before, with a horrible muscle pain in your shoulder, and already sore in the gluteous region from walking up and down hills for two days.

Despite all this, and running up and down hills so often I considered dropping out of the race as late as the final mile, and having to stop for a bathroom break(dammit!), I only took 4 minutes longer than I did on the flat, pleasant Long Beach half-marathon course last October. Still a crappy time for the SF marathon crowd, which is pretty hardcore compared to LA or Long Beach, but as I've been saying lately, "Not bad for a thirty-something schoolmarm."

Oh, and I have now run across the Golden Gate Bridge and back. That's cool.

We showered (awesome!), I napped (awesomer!), and we had some celebratory food and drinks, then packed up and got on the road eventually. We had to swing by a friend's place south of SF, and we wound up eating dinner at the incredibly cheap and delicious Silicon Valley Indian fast food institution Spice Hut. LA needs one of these. Actually, LA needs a dozen of these. Then we went back to the friend's house where she showed us the backyard lemon tree and gave us mutant lemons the size of a human head.

The drive home...well, don't get up at 4am, run 13 miles then try to drive after dark. We took 45-60 minute shifts and still had to spend some quality naptime in a gas station. But we made it home at 3am, and I was at work at 7:20 the next morning like a trooper.

Long Beach half marathon in October: Two and a half hours or bust!

So yeah, we went to Hawaii and got some new Japanese family. Rick can tell you about it. But if you actually enjoy my travel anecdotes, here are some more. If you don't, well, there's the back button or the scroll arrow or whatever.

Friday: Little beady eyes

[mostly food geekage, but a good toilet story in paragraph 3]

Any new relative of ours needs to learn, and as quickly as possible, that are are eccentric and not easily frightened. When Reiko brought out various kinds of Japanese rice snacky crackers, everyone else nervously declined, but we grabbed one of everything then busted out our book on Japanese food. This was apparently our ticket to the stash of natto in the fridge - fermented bean paste that Lonely Planet so accurately describes as smelling like gorgonzola left in the trunk of a car. It clung tenaciously to the chopsticks and tasted...well...I'm adventurous, but this one will be an acquired taste.

Later, we went for Japanese barbecue, and the first few items on the menu were heart, liver, and gizzard. Score! Not that I want gizzard for dinner, but knowing it's available guarantees this ain't gonna be TGI Friday's. Among the oddities I consumed dim sum-style were quail eggs, fried oyster (god help me, why must I cultivate expensive tastes at this tight-belted stage of my life?) and whole heads-and-shells shrimp. "I'm not gonna eat their beady little eyeballs," Rick's dad protested, before popping one into his mouth a scant few minutes later. The sake was expensive so I asked what "shochu" was, if it was like sake, and Reiko said it wasn't as strong, which sounded safe. They served it with various fruit juices. I read the next day that shochu is grain alcohol, until recently only used as medical disinfectant, and the drink of choice for Japanese lushes. Either Reiko doesn't drink enough to know this, or she was trying to kill us. (I'm counting on the former)

Another highlight of dinner was when Rick's cousin Terry returned from the ladies' room and announced that it had a Japanese toilet "with front and back rinse! Refreshing!" I lept up to investigate, and soon had snuck Rick's dad in to take pictures. Not just rinse, but it warms the seat for you. Whoa.

Afterwards, Rick and I returned to Magoo's, a nearby beer bar full of locals and cheap mugs. At one point, I ordered four beers in a row they didn't have. A plastic cup over the empty taps, people...live it and love it.

When returned to our one-star hotel that night, our whole hall reeked of ganja.


Saturday: Hawaii wants to kill me

Our hotel continued to impress us Saturday morning, when running the shower backed up brown, poo-looking water into our sink.

But first, I went for a jog. Jogging in Hawaii isn't the I-just-smoked-a-pack-of-Camels experience that exercising outdoors in LA can be. The surreal moment came when, running along Waikiki Beach, I spotted a line of women in grass skirts and a sign that said "Charity Walk Checkpoint." As I ran through, they all clapped and cheered for me. I guess if I was actually part of the charity walk, I'd have been making excellent time. I also ran past the Honolulu Zoo, listening to high-volume feral meowing noises and various tortured squawks. Creepy.

Finally, I neared the hotel again, and ran past a fire scene across the street and down a building from our hotel. The street was blocked off, but not the sidewalk - no one said anything to me, and besides, I didn't know where I was going, and things did seem under control. Only later did I find out that the street was closed because the bar that was on fire was next to a gun shop, and they'd worried that the ammo might all explode. Thanks for the warning, Oahu FD!

Saturday continued: Snack bar for drunks

We had lazy-ass day, napping both on and off the beach and even watching a movie on the laptop. We did venture out to Brew Moon, which we remembered from Boston as a decent beer chain. It turned out to be on the second floor of a surf store...like *inside* the surf store, like a little alcoholic food court. I had a pale and a schwarzbier and we called Beer Buddy Robert, who teased me. "You're going to a wedding? Does that mean you're going to wear a dress?" He got Rick back on the phone and threatened to build jeninadress.com. Only if you come through on your promise to post pictures of yourself in a dress, too, Robt ol' buddy.

The quote of the afternoon, overheard at the surf shop, was "Dude, I was so stoked to finally have a nice board, but all my friends gave me shit because it was a northern California label."

Dinner was at an absurd yet delicious hotel buffet, where I ate enough seafood to almost make myself sick. Appropriately? Ironically? -- there was a giant tank of fish big enough for a scuba diver to swim in...and one did, holding up signs wishing various people happy birthday. Now that's a job description.

Sunday: Hawaii tries to kill me again

Yesterday, our sink looked like someone poo'ed in it. Today, it looks like someone died in it. Awesome.

The morning of the wedding, and I have time for a jog because I'm not much of a girl and am not getting my hair done or putting on makeup or any of that. (Hey, I'm inadress.com, what else do you want?) I decide to jog up to Leonard's, home of famous fried donuts with custard in 'em, and am out for less than 15 minutes before I trip and fall. I'm afraid to see what I look like, but find only my right forearm bloody and my hand and knee remarkably fine. Like an idiot, I get up and KEEP RUNNING TOWARDS THE DONUTS, and it's not until I'm in the place, standing in line smelling like a hog with a bloody arm, that I feel a little certifiable.

Reiko and Cate were actually running early, despite the girly grooming, so I wound up cutting it a bit close after all. I got my dress on and my hair dried, but when they pulled up, I was standing on the curb bandaging my scabby arm.

Sunday: Wedding bells...or at least Don Ho

When we pulled up to the beach where the wedding was, we parked next to a what was left of a rusty truck, with its doors and seats pulled off.

"What's *that*?" fretted Cate.

"I think it's someone's house," I replied.

No, seriously. When Rick's dad went to scout the wedding site, it lacked the VW buses and tent sites of today. But the homeless were harmless, as they usually are.

There was only a wee bit of pre-ceremony family tension, during which Yoshio and I, in a wordless and mutual decision to stay the hell out of it, wandered off and he showed me some yoga. JeninadressdoingyogawithJapanesestepbrotherinlaw.com!

All snark aside, it was a beautiful ceremony.

Afterwards, the minister took a few group shots. "On three, say the name of your favorite food...sushi!" Next time, he said, "Now say the name of your second favorite food...kimchee!"

The reception was a mellow lunch, possibly the only wedding party where I'll get to eat loco moco (you don't want to know) and the only odd moment came when Rick's aunt, appropos of nothing, asked,

"So Jen, what'll you do if you find yourself pregnant? Shoot yourself?"

I guess word is out throughout the extended family that I'm not much of the nurturing type.

Afterwards, we convened in the parking lot to make plans. Rick's dad accidentally referred to "the hotel" as "the YMCA," which led to both Yoshio and I doing the Village People hand gestures, which led to dancing in the parking lot while Rick's dad played along and sang the rest of the chorus. I see bad disco is an international language.

Sunday: Grinding with Iraq vets (no, not ME)

Rick's dad, wild 60-year-old that he is, wanted to cap off his wedding day with a trip to a nightclub. So off we went to Zanzabar...words fail me (but the website is telling.) Notably, we ordered our second drink right after the state alcohol board swept the place inspecting the *bartender's* ID, so she poured us a safe and legal one-ounce drink and then whispered that it was on the house. Also priceless was Yoshio teaching Cate dance moves.

The music was crappy 80s of the C&C Music Factory variety, and soon there was more dry-humping than dancing going on, then the club announced how happy it was to welcome all these vets back home from Iraq. Then we noticed how many of the male patrons had shaved heads, and felt bad for making fun of their NC-17 "dancing," albeit way out of their earshot.

We went with Cate for one last drink at Moose McGillycuddy's (another telling website), where we got in free because we'd just missed the weekly bikini contest. Uh. Darn? They did have some genius party drinks, though, so I stole a (paper) drink menu.

Monday: Oof

I ate so much at the Hilton buffet that I didn't want dinner until 2am that night. For once, it didn't matter that the Bankrupt Skies no longer serves free meals.

The end.

Note to self:

You do not each much fast food. Your body is not used to fast food. So even if it's a Taco Bell across the street from a predominantly Mexican college, in a predominantly Mexican neighborhood, and it's full of Mexican patrons and staffed by Mexicans, and you're ordering something for the love of god *recommended* by Mexicans, IT IS STILL FUCKING TACO BELL. IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, STAY FAR, FAR AWAY!

Then blame your gas on the cat.

Good news:
1. Jury duty's superfluous 90 minute lunch has already given me ample opportunity to enjoy the Cathedral of our Lady of the Angels, the Japanese American National Museum, little Tokyo, Chinatown, a bahn mi joint that finally gave it to me spicy even though I'm not Asian, and what the LA Weekly food critic swears is the best pho in town. I picture the LA Weekly food critic as a middle-aged, balding man with a gut and a disproportionately attractive wife. He has not yet steered me wrong.
2. In other serindipitous downtowny goodness (as much as downtown LA has any goodness), we went on an awesome walking tour of the old movie theaters on Broadway on Saturday. Hosted by the LA Conservancy, some of it was conducted by pointing at buildings we couldn't enter, but we also got to get inside a bunch of them. Most surreal moment: walking into a tacky electronics store (you know, the kind where the goods feel stolen even if they're not) through a back door that led us to the former theater, with the seats ripped out and now strewn with stereo boxes. Also, the former vaudeville performer at the Orpheum (which still has a working 1920s theater organ) regaling us with stories of Lucille Ball and the Orpheum's ghosts.
3. Then we had lunch at Cole's PE Buffet, serving up heart-stopping cafeteria fare since 1908 - and we didn't even have to dodge any crackheads to get there, unusual for that block. Cole's serves its sandwiches heavy on the au jus, its potato salad heavy on the mayo, and its mac 'n' cheese heavy on the butter. Probably all of it is full of lard. It was goddamn delicious.
4. The bus is giving me a chance to catch up on reading. Death of a Salesman and Cannery Row kick ass. I'm about to resurrect the beer blog solely to post a Cannery Row quote.
5. This is genius, even if the website is a bit broken.

While searching for information on how big the party was at the fall of the Berlin Wall (so I can teach the Wende to some cute 'lil 13-year-old 'hood rats -- don't ask), I serindipitously discovered a link to Weird-Food.com. Wahoo! Just in time for the Gilroy Garlic Festival, which I'll be attending on Saturday. Garlic frogs' legs, here I come! I never did eat frog while in France.

I don't know when I became such an adventurous eater, but I take it as a compliment that my sister-in-law told me I should go on Fear Factor.

American favorites listed as culturally-specific Weird Foods include iceberg lettuce, peanut butter, oysters, lobster, American cheese including Cheez-Wiz, spam, what passes for beer in America, iced tea, Jell-o, chewing gum, and marshmallows.

So as not to spoil the appetites of sensitive readers, I'll leave you to explore the rest of the site on your own if you wish. A few of the entries made even me go a little wobbly in the stomach, and I didn't even give the site a thorough reading. Rick, you'll be happy to know gefilte fish is listed as a European Jewish oddity and that the Yiddish word for it is "yuch."

Like Rick said, we're going to frickin' Italy. I can't even afford the plane ticket but I don't give a good goddamn. EuropeEuropeEurope! I haven't left North America since I moved out of Germany in 2002, so this is long overdue, as cool as the domestic travel has been.

Sardinians, for what it's worth, eat some really screwed up food.
* Baby animals (suckling pigs, baby goat)
* Gross body parts (heart, diaphragm, etc.)
* Gross body parts of baby animals (calf's testicles, sliced, battered, and lightly fried)

Other standouts are horse, donkey, and a certain type of cheese about which I must quote Lonely Planet Sardinia in its entirety:
"Want a nice cream cheese in Sardinia? Ask around for formaggio marcio or casu marzu, literally 'rotten cheese.' You won't find it in shops but farmers have a tried and true method for making it. They take a block of cheese, make a hole in it and insert a drop of oil to attract the cheese fly (Piophila casei). The fly leaves behind its larvae (a less polite word would be maggots) that happily start chomping away at the cheese. As they squirm around, they turn the cheese nice and creamy! Hmm!"

And if the sky and water are as blue and clean as they look in photos, I'll eat maggots or anything else you want me to. Just get me there.

Weekend road trip, continued

We woke up at 10am in Fremont, having slept some very good sleep. Jen fed us toast, jam, and coffee then we followed her to the nearest gas station. Then we headed out of town to Milpitas, just north of San Jose, for take-out Vietnamese food.

Da Koa Sandwiches is in a strip mall in what seems like a fairly dull neighborhood. Just like in LA, it's all about knowing where to look (and how far to drive). We got sandwiches to go ($1.75!) and some plates for dinner ($2.50!) and were pleased that we'd avoid road food all day. As we paid, an old Asian man looked in disbelief at our purchases and said something incomprehensible to us. Jen answered, "They eat everything!" What he'd said was "You eat fish sauce?" It was in English, I just couldn't hear him.

It's East of Eden, alright

We decided to go down the slower, more scenic 101 for a while before crossing over to the faster, duller I-5. I told Rick I'd accept crossing the mountains that connect the two highways if we could stop in Salinas, John Steinbeck's hometown. I mostly know it as the town that's eliminating its libraries, which I've railed about before. (They're at least fighting it now.) It's supposed to be a poor town, but as we drove through the "Salinas next 6 exits" sprawl looking for a sign to downtown, we saw nothing but rather upscale looking shopping/entertainment complexes.

When we entered downtown, Rick quickly observed that Salinas must be one of those towns that has destroyed its city center in favor of superstores on the outskirts and out of town. Signs everywhere touted downtown's "redevelopment;" this may be too little too late. They are, at least, putting in a movie theater. Once a town loses its movie theater, that's the fast track to being a sucky town.

I'd imagined maybe a statue of Steinbeck and a converted house with a tiny museum, but found the state-of-the-art Steinbeck Center, which supposedly takes several hours to see. Yikes. Instead, we ate our Vietnamese sandwiches (they didn't give us any hot peppers -- we'll have someone Asian order for us next time) and decided to have a pint at the brewpub, Monterey Coast Brewing, conveniently located near the Steinbeck Center. It didn't have anything adventurous on tap or on the menu, but it was a cozy little place with brick walls and hanging at the bar felt comfortable. After seeing so much new, slapdash, tan, soulless California architecture all weekend, I appreciate anyone putting out the effort to lay some bricks. The prices were not low, but not absurd, and the beer was quite solid. In short, if we lived there, we'd be happy to make it our local.

After visiting the gentrified, shiny new part of Pasadena they've got the nerve to call "Old Town," it was at least something to see an actual OLD TOWN called oldtown. I hope it continues to become a pleasant place to spend a few hours without pricing out the 16% of the population that lives below the poverty line, because all the surrounding towns are froofy, and I don't know where else in the area a poor person could go. Oh, and GET THE FUCKING LIBRARIES BACK!

Okay, time to go home...

I made it through the mountain pass without vomiting, and then we were back on the 5. Not much to report, except that the Tule Elk State Reserve was woefully elk-free. We could see a few way off in the distance, but there wasn't even a ranger on duty -- perhaps s/he knew something we didn't. Oh well.

The Vietnamese dinners were delicious.

The end.

Shut up, Beavis!

I had another Asian food adventure, this time with a rockin' $2 sub from a Vietnamese storefront in Chinatown, and I didn't notice until after I'd ordered that the place was called:

MY DUNG SANDWICH SHOP.

I'm sure it sounds better in Vietnamese.

A new Asian food adventure

The last time I went to an Asian market and picked up some really random groceries, I wound up ingesting horse piss.

No preserved duck eggs this time, but here's my latest haul:

Experiment #1: A rather disturbingly bright yellow drink made of "cane" (that's "sugar" to the rest of us, I assume) and something called imperatae. When asked what it tasted like, I was forced to reply, "I have no idea." That's why they pay me the big bucks. Anyway, it didn't taste good. I later learned that this is because it's medicine. For, among other things, urinary infections. Stick to cranberry juice.

Experiment #2: A mixed package of Vietnamese (?) dessert blobs, one white, one black, and two green. Two were dusted with coconut. All, so far, contain mung bean paste. Mmm. Mung bean. The ingredients list claims sweet rice in there somewhere, but I'm not sure where. Overall consensus: not enough mung bean, too much glutinous flour.

Total experiment cost: $1.98.

LA Woman!

I've now been in LA for a full year. I'm not blonde (any more than before), or tan, or writing a screenplay. I've only spotted one celebrity, and that was last July. That's not counting Kevin Bacon's band, which I caught two minutes of while in the club for a different act -- he sucks.

Some stereotypes are perhaps true. I've watched the sun set over the Pacific, listened to hippies and homeless drumming on Venice Beach, and seen dolphins leaping out of the water off the coast of Malibu.

Then again, I spend the third Thursday of every month in a homebrew supply store's parking lot drinking homebrewed beer from quarter kegs, unlabeled bottles, and the occasional repurposed 7-Up 2-liter.

I've danced in a kitchen in Hollywood, eaten midnight chicken dinner at LA's oldest (best?) blues bar, sang a karaoke version of "Lady Marmalade" with half a dozen drunk female scientists, and visited one of the only bars in California where people still smoke.

I've met people who've never seen snow.

I've downed a wonderfully authentic $1 cow tongue taco, and a wonderfully inauthentic $1.39 hamburger-and-American-cheese taco. I've eaten fried chicken and syrupy waffles on the same plate. It turns out there's a Filipino cafeteria in my neighborhood, and the first noodles I tried in Koreatown made me cry. I've gone out of my way for a burrito from the University of Southern California's part of South Central. But I have not yet had a burrito in East LA or Chinese food in Monterey Park, let alone Hawaiian grub in Gardena or a single plate of Indian food anywhere.

I've passed canapes to television executives and taught a 6th grader the alphabet.

I've given a eulogy at NASA's Jet Propulsion Lab, wearing an angry red clip-on visitors pass that said, "Escort Required."

I've been a "hair model" at Vidal Sassoon in Beverly Hills, which entailed a 3-hour haircut from a hesitant student while listening to horrible 80s music.

I have, much to my surprise, made some kickass friends.

I've finally seen the Watts Towers, the multi-story folk art monstrosities built over three decades by a 4'10'' Italian lunatic. But I haven't been to the La Brea Tar Pits, the Getty, or any museum, really, let alone the really weird ones.

I've scrambled up rocks at Joshua Tree, up sand dunes, and around a dead volcano, but have yet to properly explore the woods, canyons, and mountains within an hour of my door.

I haven't even been to all the microbreweries yet.

So, I'm not bored, and I'm not done. And, though it looked for a few months like I might be, I'm not defeated.

God help me, I love LA.

One year down, four or five to go. Bring it.

Jewish food spiel #1:
The entire time I lived in Boston, I searched in vain for a good reuben (and/or Kosher pastrami sandwich sans cheese). Nada. I did manage a pretty good one in Greenfield, NY, while being serenaded by a senior citizen dixieland jazz band, but it wasn't quite up to the standards of the Kosher deli near my parents' house. (Be warned: that last link opens up a tacky web page that plays the traditional Jewish party chestnut "Hava Nagila.")

Lo, LA and its many Jews have given me Izzy's.

We wound up at Izzy's at about 2am because it's open 24 hours. It was recommended to me by a blonde from Minnesota, and I ate with people who'd lapsed from various branches of Christianity. The booths were populated by club kids, not old people. It tours itself as "the Deli to the Stars" and is (over)priced accordingly. There are pictures of celebrities on the walls. But I'll be damned if this isn't they didn't get the pastrami reuben exactly right. The pickles were almost up to my high standards, too. And it had lots of pictures of New York City -- you got the feeling most of the ones featuring the World Trade Center had been there much earlier than September 12, 2001.

So it was the food of New Jersey, the late-night college comeraderie/stupidity of O'Rourkes Diner in Connecticut, and the wonderful people-watching after-club munchie vibe of the old Deli Haus (RIP) in Boston, all rolled into one. I felt like I was home, on at least those three levels -- two of which I can never again literally obtain -- and possibly the mystical fourth home level that is southern California.

LA taketh away, but LA giveth.

Jewish food spiel #2:
Must the supermarket insist on carrying Dr. Brown's soda in the "Ethnic" aisle? Yes, I must now go to the ethnic aisle, to purchase the traditional drink of my people! It's got a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge on it, it must be ethnic!

Then again, Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray Soda, like gefilte fish, is apparently one of those things that just don't taste right to you unless you grew up with it. More for me.

Actual ethnic food spiel:
On my first foray into LA's Koreatown, I tried the You & Me Restaurant because it fit all my criteria for eating in Asian neighborhoods (must be cheap, must be full of people of the correct nationality, must not have tablecloths, menu must be predominantly in a foreign language...) The "hot paste cold noodle" cleaned out my sinuses and nearly made me cry. I thought for sure my mouth was bleeding. That's good eatin'. It also came with some evil-smelling Korean mustard and an array of pickled delights I couldn't begin to identify.

Next stop: LA's Thai Town. I haven't had a really great Thai meal for at least a year. Bother!

I know I'm always on about how weird the US seems after my time in Germany. Being here for my first Thanksgiving since 1999, however, is pleasant.

In 2000, we stir-fried some turkey and then went to a pub and watched soccer. I'd paid way too much for a can of yams at the "American store" downtown and we ate them. Shortly thereafter, planning to meet an American friend in Amsterdam, she asked if we wanted anything. Yes! CRANBERRIES! She delivered, along with some maple syrup, and we had great cranberry sauce...in December :)

In 2001, we did nothing on Thanksgiving itself, because my expat club put its Thanksgiving dinner on Friday for some reason. It was overpriced, catered with only a vague degree of American accuracy, involved an auction and the fairly intrusive selling of raffle tickets, and began with a sanctimonious Christian prayer. Not exactly how we do Thanksgiving in my family. Don't get me started.

This year, instead of (mostly unsuccessfully) jumping through hoops to get the food I craved, I walked right into Star Market and the first thing I saw was yams. Cranberries, right there, two bags for $3. Cream of mushroom soup and French fried onions in a can! Yeah!

And it's snowing. Something else northern Germany couldn't do right, because it never got quite cold enough for substantial snow that stuck for more than a day.

Cranberries. Yams. No cold rain. No need to participate in clubs of people with whom I had very little in common, just because they spoke my native language. I wouldn't trade my 18 months in Germany for anything, but right now, I'm giving thanks that I'm back.

I like to try local food from cultures that aren't my own. You should see some of the weird pig dishes I ate in Germany. However, it took me almost a week to try one of the preserved duck eggs I picked up in Chinatown on Sunday. It was black, mostly eggy with a scary aftertaste, and half of one was enough. I'm giving the rest to the Taiwan-dwelling friends whose initial pidan excitement made me pick them up in the first place -- though I might try one more with the suggested vinegar/soy/rice wine/ginger sauce, which does sound rather tasty.

A previous discussion of the duck eggs led one of my friends to use the clever adjective "Peace Corps-adventurous," coming soon to a slang lexicon near you.