I accidentally threw a spoon in with my bowl of soup for reheating in the microwave. My apartment smells like metal smoke. Thank God I realized where the smell was coming from before it was far too late.
The soup I made has butternut squash, rosemary, onions, kale, chives, chicken stock, cannellini beans, carrots, and basil/sun-dried tomato chicken sausage in it, in case you were wondering.
So I had sushi a few nights ago, on a mission to cheer up a dear friend (black eye un-involved).
She and I and Rebecca (of course) went to We Be Sushi in the Mission since we had a Scout Mob deal. We Be is….sort of strange. It has the menu aesthetics of a diner and the thick cuts of an Osaka neighborhood sushi shop.
Seriously, look at how thick that yellowtail is. Lindsay also had some tofu skins and a salmon/avocado roll. Rebecca’s was similar enough to make me not care.
I had my favorite sushi dish of all, chirashi.
Chirashi is basically just sushi rice piled with various cuts of sashimi on top. It is a glorious feast for the senses. I especially enjoyed my little pile of seaweed salad on top.
But don’t worry, cause we went all out.
Soups and salads and edamames and sakes.
Incredible little grilled shiitake mushrooms.
And mochi ice cream in green tea and the exciting, delicious black sesame seed.
The very next night, Julia and I went to Nopalito. Rebecca was there too. Yes, I know.
Nopalito is a really hip little Mexican restaurant owned by the people of the nearby restaurant Nopa in Lower Haight or as old people would call it, Nopa (North of the Panhandle). The Panhandle is a park, sorta. Anyway, I don’t care about any of that. The point is, it’s a good restaurant in which I have frequently dined and this time was no exception to its trajectory of goodness that inevitably reaches its final destination in my tummy.
There were tiny coffee services.
There was squid ceviche and a fish taco. And Rebecca’s ever present cleavage.
There was a pork belly quesadilla.
There were taquitos filled with sweet potato and topped with queso fresco happily enjoying their final moments on a bed of fresh guacamole.
There were steak fajitas.
There was almond milk horchata after I was a dick about not liking my weird fizzy hibiscus-valencia orange juice. OK, I wasn’t actually a dick about it…but I certainly felt like one when I admitted to my waiter that I hated it. Still, that horchata was damned good.
It can be summed up thusly:
Side note, we met up with some friends at El Rio in the Lower Mission (or La Lengua…whatever). We were then approached by a very chipper British chippy who asked if we wanted to buy her last two cupcakes for a dollar. Rebecca decided to buy them for us to share.
Not bad. Maple bacon cupcakes always intrigue me, though this one ended up being a little like eating cornbread that had some frosting on it.
Can’t win ‘em all.