In Pictures: Flying Over San Francisco

Before I left San Francisco, a friend of mine (who is also a licensed pilot) promised to show me the beauty of San Francisco in a way I had never seen before.

By air.

And it was breathtaking.

Since I've been posting the remainder of my San Francisco photos, I thought it would be nice to share some photos of my "day of flight."

Oh yes, and as for food, my friend and I stopped by for a simple lunch of turkey sandwiches on rye in Columbia, California.

We ended our trip in Oakland, California, at the best-barbecue-joint in the East Bay, Everett and Jones, where we filled our empty stomachs with a variety of barbecued meats including (1) hot sausage links, (2) toothsome and tender brisket, and (3) sticky barbecued ribs. Unfortunately, my camera ran out of space after taking a picture of our sides, which included warm potato salad, sweet and sticky yams, and slow-cooked collard greens.

Flying over San Francisco was an experience-of-a-lifetime. I hope this post gave you a glimpse into the beauty of the Bay Area.

Boulevard of Fulfilled Dreams

From the moment I first set foot in San Francisco, "the" restaurant I wanted to visit was Boulevard. Even when I was offered an extravagant all-expenses-paid birthday supper at Gary Danko, my unrequited lust and dedication never wavered from Boulevard.

Because my San Francisco friends are discerning individuals and because I tend to indiscreetly drop inappropriate hints, my friends brought me a farewell lunch-to-remember-for-ages at Boulevard.

After arriving at the famed restaurant, I recall my hands trembling and sweating profusely when I was seated. I remember drawing in a sharp breath and sitting upright in eager anticipation when I opened the menu. (If you are a food blogger, you will understand that dining at certain restaurants may be more nerve-racking then going on a first date.) "Will the food be up to your standards or offensive? Will it have bad breath? Err. . . I mean, will it emit noxious odors, or a stomach-growl-inducing aroma?"

In date-speak, let us just say I got lucky that afternoon.

For my main course, I ordered the oven-roasted pork tenderloin. According to the menu, the pork tenderloin came with (1) a "melted mountain of gorgonzola butter," (2) soft polenta with pine nuts, (3) grilled mission figs cooked in a fig vincotto, and (4) a frisee and curly cress salad. When the dish arrived onto our table, I delayed for a moment before realizing that the "melted mountain of gorgonzola butter," was actually a puddle of dark au jus careening across the plate. I disappointedly thought, "substantial puddle of gorgonzola butter would have been a more apt description."

Nevertheless, with one bite, the beast within me was appeased. The figs were tender, voluptuous, and enlivened by the fig vincotto liqueur. While there was no mountain of butter discernable with my naked eye, there was a copious mound of polenta present at my disposal. Every forkful of the pillowy and pudding-like polenta contained the muted whisper of gorgonzola and a pleasant crunch from the toasted pine nuts. Finally, the unblemished pork tenderloin was succulent and flavorful.

My companions dined on pan-roasted local petrale sole with summer beans and king trumpet mushrooms sautéed in beurre noisette, and

Wood oven roasted Creekstone farms angus bavette bathed in beef au jus with baked fingerling potatoes blanketed in creme fraiche, smoked bacon, and chives, sautéed erbette chard.

To close our meal, my companions and I shared three desserts, including a warm chocolate budino cake with chocolate sauce, fresh cherries, and vanilla cherry sorbet swirl ice cream. As the budino cake at Boulevard confirmed, anytime "warm" and "chocolate cake" are used in a sentence, the result will be euphoric. The intoxicating and bold cherry flavors of the ice cream perfectly complemented dense chocolate cake.

We also divvied up a vanilla crème bruleé. As all good crème bruleés are, the vanilla crème bruleé was silken and creamy, and channeled fresh springtime flavors with the addition of the sweet blueberries and tart blackberries.

Finally, we shared a dessert of caramelized angel food cake with blossom bluff peaches, ginger marscapone cream, and fresh peach sorbet. When the dessert arrived, I found myself being taken aback by the heavy scone-like appearance of the angel food cake, for I had envisioned a generic slice of the pale and airy cake drizzled with a simple syrup. Instead, Boulevard had taken classic dessert elements and concentrated peach flavors and repackaged them into a dessert you would expect to see in the pages of a Martha Stewart magazine. Although I enjoyed the peach biscuit, the artificial peach flavors reminded me a little too much of gummy Haribo peach rings that I consumed as a child.

As I finished my meal, and wiped my mouth, I looked down at my once-trembling hands. My hands were no longer shaking on the table. Instead, they were busy unzipping my tight pants so that my stomach could make room for more.

I'll Be Back to Bacco's

Since I’ve moved away from San Francisco, my lunchtime options have changed considerably. Gone are the places I oft-frequented. Gone are the bronzed roast chickens at Seller's Markets, the organic salads with golden beets and marinated hearts of palm at Mixt Greens, the royal chicken roulade at Lightening Foods. . . And gone is the majestic Ferry Building.

But I can't complain. Now, in New Orleans, I can eat at a place that sells lunchtime martinis for only $0.25.

And thus illustrates the number one reason why I love New Orleans.

Bacco (the $0.25 cent martini place which I am referring to) is owned by the illustrious Brennan family, a restaurateuring presence in New Orleans. When a San Francisco friend came to visit last month, we decided to visit this $0.25 martini place, and were in for an incredible surprise.

When we were seated, our server described the specials and the signature items. However, the part that caught my ear was her explanation of how of the Zagat editors indicated that the lobster ravioli was better than heaven on earth.

"'Lady, you had me at 'lobster ravioli,'" I told her, with the look of enamor in my eyes.

My friend and I started with a truffled egg, which as the menu describes as, "[a] flash fried soft boiled egg served on bruschetta with truffled gorgonzola cream sauce and baby arugula."

As we divided the dish, my friend and I marveled at (1) the symmetry of the egg and (2) how the egg white had solidified, leaving nil a trace of any slippery uncooked white, while preserving the gorgeously runny yolk. Every flavor asserted its presence independently and every element was elevated beyond an artform. The toasted bruschetta retained its crunch while simultaneously sponging the sunny yolk that had exuded and oozed forth from the flash fried egg. The crisp, breaded skin of the egg provided a welcome contrast to the gelatinous and springy egg white, and the tangy cheese flavors from the gorgonzola had permeated into the dish and left a green marbleized vein across the ivory sauce. Finally, the thin truffle slices possessed a light, gritty texture and robust woody, nutty, and earthy flavors. As my friend and I took turns cleaning off the plate, we expressed our concern that the main course could not possibly live up to the truffled egg. Thankfully, these concerns went unrealized.

For my main course, I ordered the housemade lobster ravioli which was stuffed with Maine lobster and gulf shrimp and served with caviar and champagne butter sauce. The ravioli pasta sheets were firmly sealed together with the crosswise imprint of a pasta roller and the raviolis were generously filled with lobster and the native gulf shrimp. Gargantuan chunks of supple lobster flesh and tense little beads of caviar danced upon the ravioli and into my mouth. Best of all, the raviolis were served in an elegant and rich champagne butter sauce that consisted of the purest and sweetest form of liquefied butter known to man. Yes. It was better than heaven on earth.

My friend ordered the roasted chicken and stracci, which was described by the menu as "[h]ousemade pasta rags tossed with roasted chicken morsels, fresh spinach and basil in a light tomato sauce and garnished with parmigiano-reggiano cheese." The humble pasta rags were best al dente pasta I have ever eaten in my life, and I don't throw around the word "best" lightly. The pasta possessed a firm resistance and the delicate chewiness that had never been as well-executed in any other pasta dish I have had. Furthermore, the rich tomato sauce was filled with warming herbal flavors and the comforting (and not overpowering) aroma of cheese. I felt like I could pour the rest of the sauce into a mug and sip on it in front of a cabin fireplace with mittens and my earmuffs on.

Finally, as a conclusion to a fabulous, awe-inspiring meal, we ended our meal with Mr. Ralph's ice cream sandwich which was made of spongy chocolate gingerbread stuffed with a dulce de leche ice cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and served with chocolate and caramel sauce. It was fine dessert, but I find that personally, I tend to shy away from dishes that combine flavors like cinnamon and ginger with cream. The ice cream was firm and frosty, and the dessert was presented well.

As my friend and I finished our meal, we talked and laughed until we had tears in our eyes. Although the majority of my tears were due to my joy at seeing my wonderful friend, I think our tears were in part due to the amazing meal at Bacco.

Tapas Dancing at Andalu

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.

I Feel (Rhymes with Gritty)

I've been a dispirited, passionless eater lately. I haven't been cooking. I haven't been eating out much. You know what I've been doing?

Working days, nights, and weekends. My office deals with all-bureaucracy-resulting-from-Hurricane-Katrina, so I think you can guess the amount of work that we dealing with on a daily basis. Yes. That much.

Never in a thousand years would I have thought I could forsake the food (food blogs and the internet in general) to the extent that I have since I moved to New Orleans.

But I hope to post and comment once in a while (it is looking like once every other month right now), and show some signs of blogging life.

But, I should let you see what you want to see. . . Food pictures!

Although I said that I haven't been eating out much, one place that I've enjoyed on several occasions (because it is within walking distance to my workplace) is Mother's. The restaurant is always bustling and boisterous, and during breakfast and lunch, you will have to wait in a significant line before ordering from a crinkled and oil-stained paper menu.

Mother's offers many classic New Orleans items, including po' boys, gumbo, jambalaya, and breakfast grits. And the atmosphere is also classic New Orleans. The servers wear a clean, red and white ensemble complete with an old-fashioned soda shop paper hat and an apron. Also, you order from behind a glass display case-counter (similar to Katz's Deli in New York or Tommy's Joynt in San Francisco).

My recommendations at Mother's include (1) the roast beef po' boy with gravy and debris (the chipped beef and drippings left in the roasting pan), (2) the warm and immaculately fluffy biscuits (literally, the best I have ever had), and (3) the thick, creamy, and buttery grits. The additional picture here is of the shrimp etouffee omelet, but it is a little sloppy and soupy, and the seafood is tough, so I wouldn't eagerly recommend it.

And I was told (and have confirmed) that the best way to eat grits is with eggs that are cooked sunny-side-up or over-easy. You just make a crater with the back of your spoon into the surface of the grits and use a fork to mash the egg yolk into grits.

A Completely Gratuitious Post on Nola Food

Only in New Orleans can you have shrimp boiled with butter and Zatarain's for breakfast, a muffaletta for lunch, and a po' boy for dinner. And remember, in New Orleans, you can never refer to "shrimp" as "prawns" and they should always be served with heads and tails.

If you've never had a muffaletta, allow me to explain this prodigious sandwich that calls New Orleans its birthplace. A muffaletta is sandwich that is loaded with a piquant and acerbic chopped "olive salad" that is almost comparable to a caponata + tapenade mix. The salad contains substantial hunks, bits, and pieces of marinated or pickled vegetables, including capers, pepperocinis, pimentos, anchovies, and olives. This is no puny sandwich. The crusty, dense, and chewy bread that encloses a muffaletta is twice the size of a dinner plate from Denny's. And every muffaletta is interlayered with slice-upon-slice of soft provolone cheese and salami flecked with peppercorns. Forget about Skittles, the muffaletta is the true rainbow of flavors. Gulliver would definitely find these things in Brobdingnag.

The only New Orleans sandwich that rivals or trumps the muffaletta, is the po' boy. Although people in New Orleans use the term "po' boy" to refer to almost every type of submarine sandwich, a po' boy most commonly refers to a sandwich stuffed with battered and deep-fried nuggets of oysters, catfish, and/or shrimp. Additional po' boy components include iceberg lettuce that is shredded so finely that it melts in your mouth, a few slices of dill pickle, and one lonesome slice of red tomato. (Remember, use minimal veggies here folks, minimal veggies.) All of a po' boy's ingredients are enclosed within a loaf of chewy French bread slathered with extravagant amounts of mayonnaise and mustard.

I hope this quick course on Nola food has encouraged you to visit! Ya'll come now, y'hear!

A Heart to Heart and Pictures of Tart to Tart

You've probably noticed by now.

I have not had the time to blog as much as I would like to.

It is excruciating for me to sit in my office during the weekends and dream about all of my food blogging friends and the food great blogs I could be looking at. But I am hopeful that even with a few posts and comments, that Passionate Eater can still act a window into the soul of New Orleans (and also San Francisco). I am going to try to keep my baby food blog chugging along, but sometimes, it might just be food pictures here and there.

As a way to say "I miss you," I want to post these mouthwatering pictures of one thing I miss greatly about San Francisco--its cozy bakeries, candy shoppes, and tapioca stores.

One of the more popular bakeries in San Francisco is situated near the University of California, San Francisco, and it is adorably called Tart to Tart. It is worth fighting medical school students armed with laptops and paper cups of coffee to sample a treat from this cavity-inducing and waist-expanding bakery.

Unfortunately, I have not tried everything I have wanted to at Tart to Tart, but I can draw your attention to some of the more visually-attractive desserts, and the ones that I have tried.

I am a fan of the "Strawberry Cream Slice." The crackly, croissant-like pastry is adorned with a graceful dusting of confectioner's sugar, and is loaded with strawberry halves and deep ripples of whipped cream, so thick that it holds its form. I hate to admit this, but after living in New Orleans, I do wish that this San Francisco bakery was a little more generous with the sugar.

I also recommend any and all chocolate cakes. The chocolate cake I have tried is rich, stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth-dense, and has an overabundance of whirly frosting decorations. Thus, it is everything a good chocolate cake should be.

And the pear tart adeptly balances the soothing flavors of butter and cinnamon. The sensual butteriness within the tart crust makes it clear to anyone consuming it that any and all of the health benefits from the pear have been completely negated.

The other items featured in this post essentially fall in the "I have not tried it yet" category, but I hope that these items move to the "I tasted it, and it was good" category soon.

Yes, I am a fan of cheesecake. And I yes, I like fruit that has been coated with a glistening sugar sheen.

Yes, I am also a fan of lemon meringue pie. Especially if it looks like that.

Mmm-hmm. I also like cheesy apricot tarts. Gimme please.

Alrighty, yes. Cherry chocolate cake with white frosting? You are my friend.