Some of us associate the oddest, most humorous memories with certain foods. Pizza is one of those foods for me.
Example: May 28, 2004. AMC Theatres on Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco, California.
I remember it clearly. It was opening night of the blockbluster disaster flick, Day After Tomorrow. That evening, the silver screen audience was principally populated with residents from the nearby nursing home and the moviegoers were abuzz with excitement. Before the movie began, we excitedly watched the previews when I suddenly heard my beau whisper loudly into my ear.
"What is that smell?"
I faintly detected an oniony odor wafting in my direction.
Upon looking up, about two to three rows ahead, I saw a feisty gray-haired woman with her head buried in an open Styrofoam take-out container. I surreptitiously craned my neck upward and peered over her shoulder to view the contents of the container. I was amused to see that her container was heaped to the brim with a mottled orange ball of stringy chow mein noodles and sweet and sour chicken that was so radioactively red, it looked like the molten tip of a branding iron. Awe-struck and secretly jealous, I chuckled softly and feigned exasperation. "She has some guts," I muttered to my beau.
I then heard a rustling commotion and using my peripheral vision, I spotted a cluster of eager seniors huddled over a popped-open lid of a large cardboard Costco pizza box. Not to be outdone, they had snuck a whole pizza into a movie theater! Now those folks had guts to the N-th degree! In my heart, I immediately bowed in deference to them. If any human was worth worshiping, it was these cheapsters! I vowed to myself that one day, I would sneak an entire pizza box into a packed theater. And let me tell you, that day, will be the pinnacle of my achievement as a human being!
The moral of the story, is that one should have no shame when it comes to eating pizza. One of my favorite places for "shameless pizza eating" in the City of San Francisco, is Pizzeria Delfina. They serve pies there that are guaranteed to leave even the hardiest, most-resilient of adults in a garlic-induced stupor.
Pizzeria Delfina specializes in authentic Italian pizza: the kind with blistered, charred, and crackly edges and a supple interior. The kind with melted blobs of mozzarella and crushed tomatoes reeking of freshness. The kind that will make you wanna bring a whole pie into a movie theater! The pies of note at Pizzeria Delfina, are the classic Margherita and two, off-the-menu specials: (1) the Purgatorio and (2) the Gricia.
The Purgatorio is a traditional pie slathered with a spicy, tingly hot tomato sauce base which the chefs spike with red pepper flakes and layer with Romano cheese. The shavings of Romano will melt away on your tongue like salty flakes of snow and provide the perfect counterbalance to the entire pizza pie. However, the best part of the pizza is not the cheese, but the oozing and gooey sunny-side eggs, that spill forth on the pizza face.
The Gricia is made with guanciale (apparently, pig jowl) and panna cheese. This pizza is decorated with wispy tendrils of spring scallions and topped with a puddle of warm cream poured directly within the concentric circle of crust. The entire pie is sprinkled with crushed black peppercorns, which provide a spicy contrast to the creamy pie.
And hey, I would be willing to risk shame and ostracization in a movie theater for these fellas'! (I am an exhibitionist, what can I say.)
After being inspired by Single Guy Chef and the Foodhoe and their visit to Mission Street Food, I decided to test out the San Francisco hype and pay a visit to Mission Street Food for myself. And I just happened to visit on the same night as the San Francisco Chronicle, so if you want a legitimate piece of journalistic writing, hop to their site. But if you are willing to put up with my regular 'tude, then stay right here.
If you haven't already heard, Mission Street Food is a conceptually radical dining experience. Mission Street Food's head chef/owner/culinary mastermind Anthony Myint's aim is to serve high-end cuisine in an unpretentious and unconventional atmosphere at affordable prices. The food, by all means, represents the best of upscale dining. There's fresh produce and meat, and exotic and locally available ingredients prepared by trained or culinary school-educated chefs... But the ambiance is another story entirely. At Mission Street Food, be prepared to brave (1) sticky tables with utensil-scratched glass tabletops; (2) foamy elementary school ceiling tiles with large open gashes and yellow water stains visible even with the extraordinarily dim lighting; and (3) a seedy, graffiti-scrawled, and crime-infested street.
Previously, Myint was a line chef at the respected Bar Tartine restaurant in San Francisco, but he allegedly gave up that well-sought-after gig to work on this pet Mission Street Food project full-time. In Chef Myint's own words, he wants to appeal to the "indie" food community through Mission Street Food. To this end, every Thursday and Saturday, he serves up haute cuisine at a Chinese dive, Lung Shan restaurant, which is otherwise deserted in the evenings. When he initiated this idea into motion, he rented out a taco truck and doled out gourmet cuisine there. Every Thursday and Saturday evening, Lung Shan transforms into a bustling eatery, where you can get an incredible underground restaurant experience. For many, this is a particularly appealing place because you can bypass the self-righteous and arrogant servers and are spared of their feigned courtesies (namely, those servers at One Market and Roy's). Furthermore, you can revel in the satisfaction of knowing that Mission Street Food is backed up by Myint's Bar Tartine pedigree.
Mission Street Food features different chefs and foods every Thursday and Saturday. Thus, Chef Myint gives sous chefs and line chefs from big name restaurants the opportunity at an intense cooking and serving experience, while offering the public fine dining at ridiculously low prices. Best of all, the profits from the endeavor go to charities.
I'm not going to go in further detail about the restaurant itself, since I've already dedicated quite a bit of verbiage to it already. I'm now going to talk about what Mission Street Food stresses as most important. The food. The menu that evening was especially appealing.
First, my friends and I started with a creamy celery root soup made with melted leeks. The soup was imbued with the vitamin-like flavors of expensive saffron threads and decadent brown Strauss butter and was topped with (1) a verdant spoonful of stinging nettle-meyer lemon puree and (2) croutons made of Tartine's walnut and green garlic levain (sourdough) knoll. The intoxicating fragrance of the saffron floated like a sweet cloud over the pool of soup. With each bite, I gently reached my spoon to swirl the pool of green puree further into the recess of my bowl. The lemon was not overpowering and almost undetectable. There was a mild, dissipating sourness accompanied by a warming, soothing heartiness.
Next, my friends and I shared the brisket sandwich. The brisket from San Francisco's Broken Record bar was slathered heartily between a homemade buttery focaccia bun. The bread was fluffy and substantial and the best part of the sandwich, in my opinion. The sandwich came dressed with a sweet onion soubise (onions sauteed with cream), a surprisingly mild dollop of horseradish creme fraiche, and allegedly, a fennel pickle, which I didn't see or taste. Something in the sweet onion soubise made it surprisingly akin to the sweetness in shredded coleslaw. The tendrils of pulled brisket were saturated with cloying barbecue sauce, which I lovingly mopped up with a piece of the focaccia bun.
Onto my favorite item of the evening. Based on my whopping two pictures dedicated to Mission Street Food's signature flatbreads, you can rest assured that I wholeheartedly enjoyed them. The toothsome, crispy, greased flatbread was reminiscent of a chewy Native American fry bread, and loaded with a generous helping of softened king trumpet mushrooms, cubes of triple-fried potato, garlic confit (which I believe is garlic slow-cooked in fat), and sour cream seasoned with charred scallions. Unfortunately, I scarfed down these flatbread tacos a little too quickly to isolate the garlic and the scallion flavors and textures, but the explosive tang of the sour cream against the crisp and doughy bread was enough to captivate my full attention.
Another surprising favorite was the Bolinas goat stroganoff. The stroganoff came dressed with supple slices of wilted and braised fennel, juniper, and deep-fried chevre dumplings. All in all, I was quite pleased by my first "goat" experience. The overall flavor of the goat is almost indistinguishable from beef and unlike lamb, there is no gamey lamb aftertaste. However, there was a little "toughness" from the meat and a lack of supple juiciness. However, the luscious and lubricating fat rimming the pieces of goat meat moistened my tongue and helped the meat to slip in my mouth quite enjoyably. The stroganoff came with pockets of softened fennel, which had absorbed the savory stroganoff cream sauce; thick pappardelle-like pasta noodles; and beignets made of dough and chevre. When I read "chevre dumplings" on the menu, I expected deep-fried mozzarella stick-like chevre, filled with oozing chevre cheese. Instead, the battered dumplings were thick with a dough and did lack the potency of electrifying chevre flavor. "Perhaps the dough had absorbed the chevre," I pondered.
To close our evening, my friends and I shared a seis leches cake with clusters of huckleberries, leaves of marjoram, and a drizzling of sauterne wine. This was my first experience with huckleberries. I found them to be similar to "tougher" blueberries with a tighter, more tense, more resistant skin, which was not as delicate as a nectarine, but not as tough as an apple's skin. The potent aftertaste of the miniature blueberries honestly reminded me of the gamey flavor of lamb. Unlike other tres leches cakes that I have had in the past, the seis leches cake did not exude milk from its spongy cake crannies when I cut off a piece with my fork. The cake was moist, but not overly so. The jarring flavors of the marjoram sang in my mouth and the sweet white sauterne dessert wine added a deft finish and a slap to my flushed cheeks.
Finally, my friends and I also shared Humphry Slocombe's "secret breakfast." The frosty orb of cream, bourbon, and sugared coated corn flakes came with a faint taste of sweet egg nog, and coated my mouth in sweet milky fat.
I wholeheartedly appreciated this Mission Street Food experience, and would definitely return again. And I hope you try it out soon. Check out their blog for more details on guest chefs for the week!
The day after my wedding in San Francisco (this past July), I wanted to end my wedding diet the right way. So my first stop for breakfast (before the flight back to New Orleans) was Tartine Bakery, where I have had many a delicious eclair and buttery pain au chocolat in the past. However, I wasn't in an eclair or croissant-y mood at that moment. When I entered Tartine Bakery, it was clear that the towering slice of devils food cake had my name written all over it. Therefore, I gladly obliged my urges and ordered the chocolate.
Tartine Bakery's devils food cake is made with ultra-rich, and ultra-decadent Valrhona dark chocolate and ample amounts of real butter. The thick, brownie-like cake layers are alternated with oozing caramel and solid chocolate ganache. The ganache is a meal in an of itself. It is thick like refrigerated peanut butter, and so chocolately, that it tastes more intensely bittersweet than a dark chocolate bar, swallowed up whole in one huge mouthful. Best of all, the exposed top and side surfaces of the cake are generously dusted with cocoa powder--yes, even more chocolate. One bite of the cake, and you will immediately realize this cake is truly a chocolate lover's fantasy come true.
Diet ruined? Mission accomplished.
There are two big things I miss about San Francisco: (1) my friends and (2) San Francisco's innovative and diverse ethnic cuisines. Thus, it is only fitting that now, as I am feeling just a tad homesick, that I share with you about these two loves of my life.
One of the last places that I dined at before I left the City of Fog was Andalu, a Spanish tapas restaurant in the Mission District. There, my friends and I shared a birthday dinner of cocktails, sangria, and small tapas plates, and we watched the sunset through the glass windows.
Talking about friends always gets me a bit teary-eyed. And reminiscing about food always gets me hungry. Given that I moved away from San Francisco three months ago, there unfortunately is a lot that I don’t remember about this meal at Andalu, so I hope the pictures do the talking.
The best tapas dish that I had evening at Andalu was the crispy mac and cheese with herb tomato vinaigrette. The mac and cheese had been shaped into finger food-sized nuggets, breaded, and deep-fried. Oddly enough, the "mac and cheese" tasted like a perfect mozzarella stick, with a warm, oozing, supple, and cheese-laden interior and a crispy and browned exterior. But it was infinitely more refined because the cheese flavors extended far beyond the simple tastes of cheddar cheese.
My second favorite tapas plate was the scallop and black truffle raviolis. The raviolis were made of delicate wonton skins containing a ground scallop and black truffle filling. The raviolis were accompanied with a refreshing micro green salad. The ravioli sauce was imbued with a sweet, buttery fragrance and the ravioli skins were smooth and silken to the bite.
I ordered burger sliders with basil aioli and shallot rings as my primary tapas plate. The burgers had a strange hint of sourness, but the savory grill-marked burger patties were bursting with juiciness and flavor and the crackly shallot rings were more flavorful than any onion ring I have had in my life. The heartiness of the tapas dish capitalized the familiar and comforting flavors of Americana, but somehow, the dish managed to seem very appropriate in a Spanish tapas setting.
The other items we shared that evening included:
Dungeness crab cakes with chipotle aioli, (the crab cakes were a little heavy on the breading and light on the crab, but very appropriately paired with the salmon-hued dollop of fiery aioli),
Romaine lettuce leaves daintily cupping mini-filets of miso-glazed black cod,
Ahi tartar tacos with a mango salsa made with chilies and fresh lime juice,
Grilled eggplant stuffed with ricotta, spinach, and pine nuts, served on a bed of caponata,
Roasted chicken breast on butternut squash risotto with porcini cognac cream, and fiddlehead ferns,
Dunkable donut holes served with a warm Castillian hot cocoa, whipped cream, and a generous dusting of powdered sugar,
A crispy-skinned lumpia (Filipino-style egg roll) filled with a ripe banana served "banana split-style" with dulce de leche ice cream, and chocolate and caramel sauce,
and chocolate brownies with fresh berries and confectioner’s sugar, and drizzled with chocolate syrup
I have a lot of pictures left over from my parting meals in San Francisco, and in reviewing and posting the pictures, I feel fortunate I was able to spend my last moments with wonderful friends and at restaurants like these.
One thing I will miss profoundly when I leave San Francisco, is "the San Francisco taqueria."
Everyone has their opinion on what they believe is the best taqueria in San Francisco. One of my close friends says she will live and die eating at only Gordo's Taqueria. On the other hand, three of my other male friends swear by El Farolito Taqueria. The beau likes La Taqueria. Personally, I am a devoted groupie of Pancho Villa Taqueria (the one in the Mission District, and not the Financial District). I am not kidding when I say that with one bite of a burrito from Pancho Villa, you will experience euphoria and be transported to the celestial throne above.
Despite one's personal taqueria preferences, I believe that almost every taqueria in the Mission District of San Francisco has something unique to offer, be it juicy chunks of immaculately seasoned, char-grilled carne asada; authentic slow-cooked pinto beans; hand-pulled tendrils of pork shoulder, or even a motley mariachi band--every taqueria has a distinctive specialty to draw repeat customers. If you are a tourist or a San Francisco native, you should try as many San Francisco taquerias as you can before you decide on the one that best suits your fancy. Although you can take recommendations from others, listen to your own tastebuds first. 
Because of a recent death in the family and the demands of my move to New Orleans later this month, I won't be posting often until the end of this summer. But I want to take this time to THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart and share with you a moment that made me realize that the best part of being a food blogger is the people, my friends.
This last Sunday, I finally met five of my absolute-favorite-food bloggers for brunch in one of San Francisco's most culinarily savvy destinations, the Mission District. In addition to their taquerias, the Mission District is known for its many critically respected restaurants, markets, and food businesses including Delfina, Pizzeria Delfina, Bar Tartine, Tartine Bakery, Bi-Rite Market, and Bi-Rite Creamery. (Notice a "duplicative" trend here?) The great part about it is, that all of the above-mentioned business are all within walking distance of each other. We ultimately dined at Maverick in the Mission.
The bloggers in attendance at the brunch were those who I had come to admire greatly over the course of these two years. Best of all, Chubbypanda (from Orange County) wrote me and informed me that he would be attending a wedding in the Bay Area and that he would make a special trip out to meet me. The San Francisco food bloggers included: the Bunrabs, the Food Hoe, and the Single Guy Chef.
I arrived extra early. I was seated with my back to the door, so one-by-one, I caught the food bloggers enter the dining area curiously craning their necks to catch an initial glimpse of my face. I am sure they were thinking of the line in Forrest Gump, that meeting online friends face-to-face "is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get! ...Especially with Passionate Eater!"
Unfortunately, the CalTrain ran late and delayed the awaited arrival of Chubbypanda and his wife. But as soon as he arrived, the party began. The food bloggers were ebullient and lively and our laughter reverberated across the table. Everyone was riveted by the conversations led by Mr. Bunrab and Chubbypanda--honestly, they possess a wealth of knowledge beyond comprehension! Also, I couldn't stop staring in amazement at how beautiful all of the food bloggers were. I remember thinking to myself, "Shoot, if this is always going to be the case, I need to meet more food bloggers!"
Several of the food bloggers brought me wonderful and thoughtful gifts, including gourmet specialty salt, huge packages of roasted coffee beans, and a stunning box full of colorful manju. The sweet bean paste within the manju cakes was thick, smooth, and full-flavored. It was the best manju I have ever had.
Although I won't get into great detail about the food that afternoon, I will say that food bloggers make the best company EVER, and they would make any food taste good.
I ordered the Texan migas, or scrambled eggs with made with crispy strips of deep-fried tortilla. The migas were served with a neighboring pile of firm black beans. The beans themselves weren't sandy, mushy, or overcooked, but they were a little bit more al dente than I would have liked. . . And because I love scrambled eggs, pico de gallo salsa, and guacamole so much, I do wish the portions were a tad larger.
The beau ordered the cornmeal pancakes with the chicken and apple sausage. Initially, I disappointed with his selection because I was afraid that the coarse, individually-textured grains of cornmeal would violate the "required" soft and spongy interior of pancakes. But the pleasantly sweet pancakes were so fluffy, moist, and cakey, that syrup was unnecessary.
I also snapped photos of the two brunch dishes of the food bloggers sitting next to me. Chubbypanda ordered eggs benedict with fried cubes of breakfast potatoes and andouille sausage,
And the Single Guy Chef ordered poached eggs over duck confit hash, which was made with oyster mushrooms and potatoes, in a mushroom cream sauce.
My blurry photos pale in comparison with the other food bloggers, so check out their posts now!
After we finished our brunch, no one wanted the afternoon to end, so we strolled over to the nearby Bi-Rite Creamery and Tartine Bakery to grab a late-afternoon snack. Unfortunately, the beau had to make an urgent stop at the restroom, and since there were no available public restrooms in the immediate vicinity, the food bloggers graciously waited in Bi-Rite Market as he used the facilities in Pizzeria Delfina.
We eventually made it to Bi-Rite Creamery. Despite the gloomy weather outside, we all ordered multiple scoops of their decadent ice cream. I ordered one scoop of caramel ice cream with fleur de sel and one scoop of chai tea latte ice cream. Both icy orbs were creamy, melt-in-your mouth deliciousness. I couldn't taste the fleur de sel at all--the salt enhanced the already full-bodied flavors of the cream and caramel. 
After we polished off our ice cream, we entertained the idea of grabbing chocolate eclairs at Tartine Bakery. We waited in their line for a few minutes, but because most of us had already unbuckled our pants, we decided against our food blogger instincts and call it a day.
Thank you so much, to all of you who came to wish me good-bye at brunch! Also, I want to send a heartfelt "thank you" to my precious friends who read and comment on my site. I couldn't even begin to explain how much every comment, every visit, and every person means to me. I am so honored by your friendship. I am also deeply touched by the outpouring of support and kindness from everyone regarding my move away from San Francisco.
My tear ducts will continue to work over time this month, that is for sure!
After being inspired by the "Single Guy Chef's" recent visit, I decided to pay a visit to the famed Tartine Bakery, located in the artsy-fartsy and culinarily gifted Mission District of San Francisco.
The usual line snaking out the door of Tartine moved relatively quickly because I randomly struck up a conversation with a customer behind me. The customer informed me that Tartine Bakery was "dubbed the best bakery in the United States by the New York Times" and I would be in for a "real" treat. He proceeded to launch into an arousing speech about Tartine's pastries--his glowing speech was worthy of a standing ovation.
As I listened to his mouthwatering descriptions of Tartine's legendary pain au chocolat, my appetite increased like a grizzly bear's and I hungrily clasped onto the menu with my sweaty hands until my knuckles were white. I remember responding, "Gulp. For lack of a better response, that sounds reeeeal good sir."
Meanwhile, I slowly ascended forward in the queue.
Before I knew it, I was at the front of the line and directly facing the worker standing behind the glass counter. I furiously and studiously scoured the menu with a furrowed brow. There were a plethora of decadent dessert options: cake interlayered with ganache, passion fruit bavarian cake, flourless chocolate mousse cake, and open-faced croque monsieur sandwiches. The longer I looked at the menu, the more blurred my vision became. With Tartine's mouthwatering selection, I knew that there was no way I was gonna make my mind up in time for the cashier. The waiter behind the polished and spotless glass display case inquisitively raised his eyebrows at me. Again. And again. And again.
He exasperatedly inquired with a forced smile, "Are you ready yet Miss?"
I could tell that his patience was running thin, as was the patience of all the customers waiting behind me.
"Just give me a few more seconds. I guess I'll have a single order of a . . . Frangipane tart. And . . .No wait . . . Or no. . . Add a chocolate eclair to my order. No, take it off. Or you can add it back on. What the hay, put it on my order."
My hasty decision felt so rushed and uninformed.
Soon after I paid the cashier, I opened the thin cardboard boxes holding my desserts and plopped by derriere onto the sidewalk.
First up was the chocolate eclair. With the gooey, chocolate covered eclair firmly implanted between my opposing fingers, I opened my mouth wide for the taste. One bite and I found myself standing at the pearly gates with Saint Andrew, Saint Peter, and Saint Augustus.
It was perfection.
My teeth instantaneously broke the thin and airy crust covering the vanilla custard. The custard was thick, velvety, goopy, and luscious. One taste and I felt as though I was transported to the soda counters of the 1950s and was eating chilled spoonfuls "real" vanilla ice cream made fresh from the creamery. Upon closer inspection of the eclair, I spotted visible black specks of vanilla bean interspersed in the custard pudding. Furthermore, the chilled chocolate coating had formed delicate beads of condensation and looked like a glistening and bejeweled chocolate robe. Yum. That stuff is real vanilla and chocolate, yo.
Next, I cut into the berry tart.
The open slice revealed tenuous layers of crisp and buttery pastry crust that had baked until each paper-thin pastry level was perfectly golden brown. The seasonal blackberries that decorated the top of the tart had melted into the crust and had concentrated their sugary flavors during the baking process. The flaky crust had also absorbed the almond and cream filling but acted as a perfect retaining wall in compartmentalizing the unique flavors in different regions of the tart. Finally, the slivers of toasted almonds added the perfect crunch and almond flavor to the dessert.
After I polished off the items I had purchased, I looked over my shoulder at the steadily growing line. Although my stomach was more than satiated, I thoughtfully wondered: "Should I go back to the line and wait for seconds?"
Oh what the hay. . .
