Yesterday, Patrick and I got drunk.

More accurately, I got drunk. The reason for this event: Patrick lives in a flat below his friend out near the beach and it was this friend and flatmate’s birthday. So after a round of stirring taco meat and drinking a heavy pour of Jameson, we decided it would be a good idea to get dinner. 

At like 9:45 PM.

Thank goodness they live near Outerlands, which happens to be next to a Mexican restaurant and bar. After one Bohemia to tide us over during the 45 minute wait period (apparently normal for Outerlands), we were seated. Our waitress was really nice, the decor is very comforting, and the food was incredible.

I obviously did not have enough to drink, so I got an apple cider with lemon and ginger and bourbon. Originally, I just wanted the cider but our waitress asked if I wanted it spiked.

And I did, I really did.

Outerlands is also well-known for their house baked bread, made into toast, and served with an option of butter, soft-ripened cheese, or cheddar. We went with the soft-ripened (later a mistake) and very earthy Largo.

Also pictured is Patrick’s kale, carrot, and beet salad with mustard vinaigrette. It was tangy and crisp and very delicious.

I had roasted sunchokes on a bed of velvety fresh creamed spinach and whatever those beautiful little flowers were. It was starchy, crispy, and incredibly comforting. 

I should note that Patrick has been more or less pescatarian since we’ve met. He very, very rarely eats meat but will eat seafood. Since lent, however, he has given up seafood and that has caused a slight strain on our eating habits. I am, if you’ve noticed, a big meat-eater with a heavy love for seafood. Outerlands has great options though, like his roasted vegetable and kumquat dish of cannellini beans in a brothy bouillabaisse. I ate many of those beans.

Apropos to my love of seafood, I ordered the red trout with a confit cippolini and vichyssoise drizzled over nettles and escarole. My fish was cooked perfectly and I ate every last little bit. This would have been more than enough if I hadn’t seen the menu on the website previously and known they had beautiful desserts.

That glorious little mound is citrus panna cotta with a shortcake crumble, mandarins, and kaffir lime leaf. It was a little heavy on the cream (I suspect they use Strauss Creamery goods) but incredibly smooth and flavorful.

Finally, as we watched them wind the evening down and lay out large bowls of salads, boiled farm eggs still in the shell, and large dinner rolls for the staff meal, we managed to roll ourselves out the door. And I promptly spent the rest of the night bemoaning the fact that every single thing I ordered (including that creamy, creamy cheese) was heavy on the dairy and I am (annoyingly) selectively lactose intolerant. 

Here’s the lesson: you pay for everything you love, but it’s usually worth it.

And so, I say to you now, every day should start with wontons.

For the record, I can make these but it’s so much better when your mom makes them. Note that these are not those awful thick, doughy wontons you get at cheap Chinese places. These are shanghai-style wontons with a slippery thin shell and a gingery pork filling. Plus, they’re fun to fold.

Then you just slip them into a giant pot of boiling water, wait for them to float up to the top, and fill up some bowls with base sauce.

Then you end up with one of my favorite things to eat on earth. You have to stir them fast and eat them fast to soak up the sauce and keep the noodle shells from disintegrating.

But then there was lunch!

For those of you in the know, my dad owns a Japanese grill. This is his specialty:

Spicy marinated strips of chicken and beef on a bed of veggies with a side salad. The ginger dressing is made every day and has a great chunkier texture than the close-to-thousand-island dressing you get at some place. Plus, his white sauce (in the little container) is full of tasty mustard and aoili. My point is, if I’ve been eating this the majority of my life and I’m still glad to eat it when I come home, it’s probably good.

As we are having a Christmas party tomorrow at said restaurant, I made cookies:

Don’t judge me. My decorating tools were limited.

I also decided to make a tart, with a tasty caramel sauce. 

I always forget how fun it is to watch sugar boil by itself in a sauce pan.

And butter!

Look at that thing. It’s lovely. Sadly I don’t get to eat it until tomorrow. This recipe came from Smitten Kitchen, a cooking blog I’ve followed for many years. Beautiful photos and great recipes. 

But dinner was a treat. 

Mommy made a cajun boil.

Mussels, Alabama sausage, corn, and potatoes in a giant bowl. She made so much food that we had to put the crab in the bowl later.

You know what the biggest joy of eating snow crab—or any crab I suppose—with your hands is? Cracking it perfectly so that one single unbroken chunk of meat slides out of the shell. It’s so worth the effort.

And so, that was my eat-fest for this day.

More holiday eating Cui-style to come.

It’s another Christmas season and you know what that means.

Family time in Alabama*. 

But what does that mean?

Cooking with Mumsy.

I was hungry this early afternoon, so before my mom went to work, I told her I wanted to make some Chinese broccoli for lunch with the leftover broiled beef.

She then told me she didn’t trust me with her kitchen so she made it herself.

So while she did that, I cut up some tofu for a stir-fry. She also decided to take over. Culinary trust issues.

The extra firm tofu is stir-fried with oil that has a chili paste that contains fermented beans, some green onion, and some sugar to balance the high salt content of the beans.

I was too hungry to take a picture of the Chinese broccoli, but it’s flash-boiled with a tiny bit of salt and then put in a low-rimmed bowl with some oyster sauce drizzled on top. It’s tasty.

I ate this rather early in the day, however, and got hungry while we were shopping for the ingredients to make gingerbread cookies. That is when I started demanding fried chicken, as I am wont to do.

Let me take a second to remind you that this is the deep South. I expect, and rightly so I believe, that friend chicken and french fries should be available anywhere and at anytime.

Luckily, Zaxby’s was (more or less) on the way home. I have never had their chicken before, but it was pretty good. Not KFC good, but at least better than family-oriented chains like TGI Friday’s.

Unfortunately, that’s basically all I’ve got in the way of food blogging. My parents have been pretty busy since I’ve come home so much earlier than usual. Rest assured that in the coming days, there will be cookies and a party and hot pot and a cajun broil and wontons. God, wontons.

In the meantime, here are some cool old photos of my parents in college in China:

*I am reasonably disgruntled about the lack of snow this year and the previous year. It is actually warmer here than in SF. I better still get my sugarplum dreams.

I used to think I understood seasons. Then I moved to San Francisco.

Yesterday was bright and warm, especially walking through the Mission and even in shorts and a tank top. This is early November, by the way.

I was on an outing to meet my friend, Nicole, whom I haven’t seen in ages as she has just begun a new job as an RN for Planned Parenthood. That’s right, I know fancy adults.

What started out as a desire to play Settlers of Catan in Dolores turned into a lunch date at Wise Sons Jewish Deli (because none of our other friends like us).

Wise Sons is pretty small and the reviews will make you believe that you will wait in line forever and never get a table.

We had no wait and got a table right away. Just another lesson to teach you that Yelp can’t be trusted, as it is mainly populated by idiots.

I had smoked trout on sourdough rye with a side of potato salad. Unsurprisingly, I like when things are prepared in traditional fashions like pickling, smoking, and preserving. It was an excellent sandwich.

Nicole had a beautiful, monstrous reuben. The thing is, we got so excited about our food that I only realized I should blog it about halfway through eating. Rookie move.

I was so eager to get back to my meal that I took this blurry photo of Nicole enjoying hers.

And afterwards, while we walked around on a pie expedition, I completely forgot to take pictures of her banana cream pie and my pumpkin pie at Mission Pie. That sentence had a lot of pie in it. I wish my life had a lot of pie in it.

But all was not lost, because Patrick and I went to Southern Pacific. I love this place.

I had my birthday party outside on the patio, they have a fantastic alcohol selection (including their own brews), and the best damn pork sandwich on Earth.

The bahn mi has a slow roasted pork base, kohlrabi slaw, pickled jalapenos and cucumbers, cilantro, and black garlic aioli on a crisp baguette. They also make great fries; but more importantly, they make their own amazing ketchup.

Patrick had a veggie burger that he smothered in housemade mustard. He agreed that my sandwich was delicious.

After dinner, we headed over to the Homestead for my friend Alx’s birthday. In the dark, strange private back room, we celebrated her birth and her tasty raw cashew and raspberry cake.

Alx has a difficult diet for which to cook, as she is both vegan and soy-free. Her boyfriend John, pictured above with said cake, is gluten-intolerant. This has led to her cooking blog My Asshole Diet. 

Look at that: cross-referencing in food blogs. It’s like I’m going legitimate or something.

After a long hiatus of iphone-loss, I have recovered. All I have now is a slightly shitty digital camera and an increasing appetite for culinary adventures.

Also, a disdain for phrases like culinary adventures.

Today was Erik(Emily’s husband)’s birthday. Also, the Giants won. Two good things for which to eat and drink.

We met up as a group at Khan Toke Thai House, in the Richmond on Geary. It is great. Imagine old-world hospitality, where the waiters are dressed in traditional uniforms and you sit in private rooms with low tables and inset floor openings with incredibly comfortable cushions. You have to take off your shoes. Bourdain says it and I agree: food tastes better when you’re barefoot. 

To start, they have the most delicious Thai iced tea I’ve had in a long while. The ambiance is great, the service is impeccable, and the serving ware is elegant.

Seriously, look at that spread. Katya had lamb curry, Cassandra had duck curry, I had pad thai, Erik and Kyle (I think?) had beef curry, Emily had chicken, and we all shared some spicy pork fried rice*. What can I say? It was fast, perfectly cooked, tender, well-seasoned, and pretty.

*That little brown box contains my present for Erik, a lemon cream hand pie from Sweet Woodruff. I covered the box in stickers of fat kittens, stars, licking smiley faces, and a Windows file icon bleeding out from a large wound onto a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone. I like stickers.

Emily’s roasted skewers of Hunter’s Chicken was especially impressive. You can tell by her expression that she was impressed. You can also tell by my taking of this photograph that I was impressed.

They apparently have a very fine garden, which I would like to check out at some later date when I don’t feel like I’m going to literally roll out the door.

Afterwards, we went to Emily and Erik’s apartment to play a particularly frustrating game of Phase 10…for some people. More importantly, Emily made chocolate birthday cupcakes from the Magnolia Bakery in NY’s cookbook.

That is some Martha Stewart-style edible love in a removable paper cup, right there that is.

Of course, I had to have milk.

The lovely couple, however, has a lovely stock of alcohol. So I made myself what was essentially a bastardized white russian born of liberal amounts of Bulleit bourbon, a splash of Frangelico, and enough milk to keep me from making a mess of myself.

It was mildly successful. 

Last week, a few of my favorite ladies and I took our friend Michelle out for a classy-ass bachelorette-type thing. We chose Terroir as our first meeting place, a lovely wine bar in SoMA, which was great for me because they have my favorite label on Earth: Gatti Piero.

Sadly, they were out of the beautiful and incredibly delicious sparkling red Brachetto they make, but they did have a bottle of the moscato, which was very nearly as good.

Needless to say, that bottle disappeared fast. It was a rousing fun night with some really lovely ladies, and even some penis straws. But hunger called, so three of the ladies and I gathered up to go down the street to Citizen’s Band.

They can be seen here, watching as Jenny explains the awkward bathroom situation in which restaurant go-ers must wade through a throbbing mob of clubbers next door in order to relieve themselves.

But that’s not what’s important.

This is. This is my massive stone fruit salad with manchego cheese and spicy prosciutto-like ham underneath.

I also had a super hot plate of caramelized cauliflower, because why not?

This is Suzy’s delightful burger with fried egg, as in the only way you should ever eat a burger. 

Anastassia’s perfectly rare and super tasty burger with onions, the only other thing you should do if eggs aren’t available.

And that monstrosity is Jenny’s macaroni and cheese with ham. I had that the first time I ate at CB and it is beyond good. I’m talking monumentally good, like they should built a statue to commemorate its existence. It is a block of the creamiest mac and cheese baked under three onion rings and sprinkled with yet more cheese and ham. 

So that was a good set up for more drinking (and I should mention that they have a bakery in-house with the best butter I’ve ever had) and the ensuing wedding love-fest happening tomorrow afternoon. Love love love. Cheese cheese cheese.

Bonus post:

Last night, Emily and I went to Kabuki Sundance Theaters to watch Moonrise Kingdom. It was every bit as cute as you think. The best parts about going to the Kabuki are that you can pick your seats ahead of time, order food, and get alcohol to bring into the movie.

Like kettle chips with housemade salsa and onion dip, with a Pyramid.

But more importantly, we had frozen yogurt at Fraiche in Pac Heights a few blocks up before the movie.

I have to tell you…this is frozen yogurt on another level.

They make greek-style yogurt daily, which they also freeze, and pastries. Their toppings bar is phenomenal.

Emily had their chocolate, which she described as still slightly tart, with sprinkles and fresh strawberries.

I had the soy with wildflower honey and a Middle Eastern fruit compote. At this point I realized they had an apple crumble sitting next to all the toppings, and when I asked, the most glorious thing came true: I put apple pie on top of my yogurt.

The most glorious topping of all.

Also there were lots of photos of cows standing in fields and older business men in suits hanging out.

So, you know…Fraiche. 

I’ve already mentioned Hog and Rocks here, but I’m about to bring you to that porcine and shellfishtic world once more.

Because yesterday was my birthday.

Let me preface this by telling you that my birthday is almost always a lackluster, disappointing event that most often devolves into a solitary cry-fest on my part.

But not this year.

Still, it seemed as though almost everyone cancelled my weekend brunch plans at Hog and Rocks and only one friend was going to come.

I waited for my dear friend Jenny at the bar, right as the restaurant opened at 11. As I shared commiserating birthday stories with the bartender and hostess, suddenly…this was plopped down in front of me by a handsome waiter:

That is a fresh out of the oven sticky bun with a slick caramel glaze and amazing pecan crisp top. I was promptly told “happy birthday from all of us here”. 

And this is only the beginning of the fun.

Once Jenny arrived, we decided to stay at the bar and chatted with the bartender some more as we both had glasses of prosecco. As we were talking, two shot glasses of a mysterious and incredibly tasty kahlua-based mystery were dropped in front of us. The bartender again wished me a happy birthday, and when I asked if we were supposed to sip them or slam them back, he simply smiled at me and replied, “I think you know what to do with them”.

Eventually, my friend Caroline arrived and we ordered some food.

We had three of each variety on the menu, from California and Washington, as well as one from Canada. The Kumo were my favorite, really sweet and frankly adorable in their little cups. The pickled onion sauce they give you is amazing, by the way.

That is Jenny’s farmer scrabble.

Caroline taking a photo of her chicken and biscuits with sunny-side up eggs.

My hangtown fry, which is essentially a light egg omelet with frisée, radishes, pickles, and fried oysters on top.

Incredible.

We had a great time, especially when the bartender brought over another round of shots because “she wasn’t here for the first round” and I had a paloma tequila cocktail that looked like pink punch, while we all watched the track and field Olympic preliminaries.

Then, magic happened. We got our checks and not only were all my drinks free, they added a 10% discount to our entire bill. 

Hog and Rocks, if you weren’t my favorite restaurant before, you certainly are now.

In this edition, you get two posts for the price of one!

Lately, it’s been hard to fine time to eat. Graduation is coming up and it seems that I am snowballing into more and more assignments.

But last weekend, the sun came out.

I gathered up some friends and headed out towards Dolores, filled with Burners and drum circles and naked gay men.

We ate at Pizzeria Delfina, attached to its fancier sister restaurant.

Clearly, very excited.

Alicia had a calzone with nettles, cheese, and pine nuts.

Amazing, yes…if you like nettles (which I do not so much). If you don’t know, nettles are little stingy weed-plants which taste a little like lemony mustard greens.

Emily got an amazing looking Neapolitan pizza and an Anchor Steam, which are made here. This is a big deal as she is not a beer fan.

I started off with some tripe, prepared really well. Not squeaky at all, perfect consistency, clean taste. It came with sea salt and hot pepper oil, but it was a little bland.

I also had littleneck clams, which were good but they put a whole lot of fatty pork pieces in there. I mean, I love pork, but every once in a while I’d get a mouthful of extremely salty pork flavor instead of clam. 

This was the real winner. They called it a baba rum. I don’t know if that’s just how they say it in Italy or if it’s supposed to be switched around because the cream was inside, but I know rum soaked cakes with cream as a rum baba. This one was puffed and flaky with little currants inside and a strawberry sauce. 

And it all would have been delicious things and wine and sunshine…if I hadn’t left my thesis there post-haze. 

Got it back, but there’s a lesson for you: never abandon your $40 stack of papers with 2 years of intellectual work behind just because you had a glass of wine.

__________________________________________________

Earlier on, for….something….oh, right. Open Studios Day! SFAI’s grad campus had a big studio event that lasted much of the day. Why is this important for the sake of this post? 

It’s not really.

But afterwards, we all went out for drinks! Unfortunately, cheese and wine don’t make a meal. Thus, a few of us went across the street from the lower mission bar (El Rio) to get BBQ at Baby Blues.

I’m always very skeptical of barbecue when it isn’t located in the South. I get especially nervous when they don’t indicate what kind of barbecue it is: Texas, Tennessee, Carolina, Kentucky. These things matter, you know? 

That’s usually why I try new places based on their sides and sauces before their meat. But first:

Simone had some pulled pork and briskey, with beans…I think? I think I recall that she didn’t care for the beans, but the pork I grabbed off her plate was pretty nice.

Ross and Nicole had essentially the same thing as Simone, in sandwich and mac and cheese variation. They can be seen here in the midst of a troubling discussion of a wilderness fantasy that Ross has in which he disappears in the woods, possibly to get eaten by a bear.

Now for the sauces. They were interesting. They went from tallest to shortest in terms of heat. The biggest one was delicious, a sweet sauce that tasted great on my mashed potatoes. What I thought was the hottest turned out to be one up from that, and was quite spicy with a habanero pepper taste. I did not try the spiciest one, unfortunately. Either way, all house made and really nice.

So. Sides. The mashed potatoes were great, the collard greens and stewed tomatoes were amazing. The mac and cheese was alright, and I never tried the cornbread because it was too much for me at that point. Don’t let this picture fool you, those are big portions.

All in all, a cool place (they had pies too) that I want to go back to.

Side note:

At El Rio, you’ll usually find this guy making taco-like things on fry bread.

He does it on donation, with a suggested $3. He is great. And he makes them sweet with local honey and powdered sugar too.

All in all, good times.

It’s been a rainy son-of-a-bitch lately.

So this past Thursday night, when it was mercifully clear, Ryan and I hopped on his scooter and somehow made it down to the Mission despite his hermitiness (note: this does not mean he is a hermaphrodite, but rather that he is a hermit).

We went to Kiji Sushi, partially because I had never been there and mostly because we had a coupon. Scoutmob. Do it.

Kiji is the kind of trendy, dark sushi bar with fancy lighting and a red/black color scheme we have all known and loved.

I mean, I loved it.

We sat at the bar, which is probably why the sushi chef nearest us handed over these little plates of delicious salads.

Hooray!

Also, I was having that euphemistically prevalent time of the month (I know, shit just got real) and I needed soup. Shitaake miso soup, for instance…with a teeny lid.

As we weren’t too terribly hungry, we decided to split the sashimi combo, with a side of sushi rice. It was pretty glorious.

Three pieces each of salmon, tuna, yellowtail, mackerel, and hokkigai, which are surf clams and in season right now.

Pretty much sums it up:

Our bill, post-coupon, came out to a glorious $18. 

Remembering that I was in the lower Mission, I realized that I had still not ever been to Mission Pie. This is a problem for me. My love of pie has such renown that it may be the only part of me that lives on once I’m dead and gone.

Because PIE. Cobbler. Tarts. Tatins. I don’t care what you call them, how rustic or deconstructed they are, or whether savory or sweet…pie is one of the world’s most perfect foods.

Seriously. Pie.

I felt a little bad because we came in right at closing time, so I had to make the snap decision of pie-choosing among a list of lemon creams and cherry-huckleberries and pecans to this beautiful monster:

A pear frangiapane tart with a glass of soy milk.

We followed this adventure up with, I believe, 3 episodes of Twin Peaks.

Ah, life.

In the last rainy week, my dear friend Julia experienced her anniversary of birth.

So, umbrella in hand, I met her in the upper Fillmore area (is that actually a name? I just call it that). 

We first went to Crossroads so that I could, as they say, sell my shit for money.

But that’s not why we’re here.

We are here because after a very brief jaunt around, we stumbled across the Woodhouse Fish Company, a restaurant I had never seen nor been inside. 

Julia can be seen here enjoying her tasty coffee and even more tasty Hartford clam chowder—a cute name for what’s essentially just a mix between Manhattan and New England-style clam chowders. Super good. I mean, really just like…umph.

Also there were oysters. Because oysters.

Seriously, oysters.

But like, really…oysters. Why am I making such a big deal out of them? You spend the last 10 years of your life living basically inland, where fresh oysters are an impossibility and then move to the Bay, where it seems like they are just everywhere, waiting for you to squeeze some lemon and go to town. Yummy little boogers.

We also ordered mussels, with some very nicely crisped frites. 

And because it was a birthday-day, we had to order both desserts on the menu: a sourdough bread pudding and a chocolate caramel mousse with sea salt. Both were excellent and rich.

Side post:

Later that night I met up with Rebecca (whose face you know) for some drinks at the Owl Tree. Having been outside there many times, I was excited to actually go in. Really nice, dark, reasonably normal crowd other than the dude who asked us to “be nice” to his friends.

And owls.

But more importantly, you can never doubt the power of a fizzy pink drink to make things a little brighter.

Following a lengthy thesis and project-driven hiatus, I am back and ready to tell you about the things I eat.

Don’t for a second think that I didn’t enjoy far too much food for far too much money over the last few weeks…but do know that I was a mindless pleasure zombie bent on feasting, camera phone be damned.

That being said, yesterday was Purim, a very Jewish drinking holiday.

To celebrate, my friend Rebecca and I went to Homestead and had quite a few drinks. This, you may have noticed, is not the previously aforementioned x1000 Rebecca of most of these posts. Because I am no longer friends with her.

Just kidding, she was there too, but her only real contribution to the drinking/eating excitement of the night was a very strange drink called Coffee and Cigarettes. A concoction of various smokey whiskeys, bitters, smoked grapefruit, vermouth, and brandy in a deep martini glass…it tasted exactly like what it sounds like.

Where did she get it? At Slow Club, where I had tasty morsels:

Some cured ham, some pork rillette, whole grain mustard, cornichons, pickled onions, a creamy cheese, caperberries, and some olives.

Rebecca had an apple puree and celery root soup.

But most importantly, we had dessert.

A blood orange chiffon cake with Italian meringue and huckleberry coulis.

So with drinks sloshing in our bellies and coffee and a full moon, we somehow made it all home safely.

I’d like to thank the cake for that one.

Side note post:

Today, I attended an exhibition and memorial for George Kuchar, a very influential filmmaker and professor at SFAI. If you get a chance, you should definitely go check out the show in the Walter McBean Gallery. It is really beautiful. Then go watch a film or two.

For the sake of this blog, I need to tell you that when you go to student art shows..there is free food about 80% of the time. And when you go to really important art shows at schools for artists who really touch a lot of people…you get especially good free food.

The kind of food that gets catered by Whole foods and includes sandwiches with roast chicken or mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes or roast beef and goat cheese…although I gave that one to Julia. I may have covered this already, but I absolutely hate goat cheese. I know I shouldn’t. By all accounts, I should love it. But trust me, I have gone to Cowgirl Creamery so many times; and each time, I try a different goat cheese. Each time, I want to spit it out. Although not as much as I hate blue cheese, so who knows?

All I’m saying is, go to an art show or two for the free food and then stay for the art. Maybe learn something.

But get there early or you’ll end up with the kind of weird, white monochromatic dish that Mitsu had.

Yikes.

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.

Oh, to be young in a beautiful city full of art and food and dancing.

Wait…I am.

Last night, I attended the opening for my friend Jeffrey’s first solo show at Steven Wolf Gallery. Then I went to my other friend Jennie’s book release and art show at Mission: Comics and Art.

All of that is well and good, but more importantly…I was hungry.

I grabbed dear companions Karl and Alissa from the first show,

dragged them to the second show, and picked up Rebecca.

I promise we were all more excited than we look…because we went to Hog and Rocks!

So listen, Hog and Rocks is glorious. I have an instant love for any food items that are both a little ridiculous and sumptuous. Hog and Rocks is one of my favorite restaurants in the city, because it is a ham and oyster bar. 

Yep.

It’s usually busy but fast, so we had a short wait with drinks until we were seated outside. And what lovely drinks they were.

I can’t remember what Alissa had, but it was delicious. Karl got their daily special of a Meyer lemon margarita, and Rebecca and I both had roses. When I ordered, the bartender asked if I wanted it still or sparkling. I mean, really.

So why is this place amazing? Obvious points aside, they have fair prices for really unique dining options, great staff, great atmosphere, and a seriously delicious brunch menu on the weekends.

But dinner.

Pork cutlet with kale and an amazing smoked maple sauce.

Delicious fish and chips.

Cast iron chicken on a yam puree base with salsa verde and a pomegranate/fennel syrup.

Mussels with an octopus and chorizo broth.

Our Serrano ham platter with delightful flat bread, olives, and cheese. Also, Pacific Rim oysters from British Columbia and our very own California Pt. Reyes oysters.

You may consider this a magical dining experience.