Squeat Mungry

Thanks, Fist! Um, this guy has opened 13 restaurants in the last 9 years? How many of them are still in business?

Wow... just found out one of my absolute favorites, Limon, serves lunch on Saturday! If you want to try some simply smashing Peruvian/Nuevo Latino fare, see if you can book in here. (They don't seem to list at opentable.com, so I can't tell if they have tables available on Saturday.) Highly recommended by me. You can't go wrong. Squeat

A few more ideas: Greens is justly famous for its delicious vegetarian fare and is a great lunch spot, with a view of the marina and the Golden Gate Bridge. I've never been, but many people enjoy Farallon in Union Square for seafood. I've had good luck with the Garden Court in the Palace hotel. A gorgeous room with straight-ahead California/American food. Moose's is a fun San Francisco experience serving 'New American Cuisine'. I've had several excellent lunches here, but haven't been since Morgen Jacobson became chef. I checked each of these on opentable.com, and each has tables available on Saturday. Cheers, Squeat

Saturday lunch is one of the toughest calls there is, unfortunately. I'd second Zuni or Chez Panisse, and here are just a few other ideas: For typical American-style brunch you might consider Ella's, Mama's on Washington Square or Liberty Cafe. The other suggestion I'd make is that you consider dim sum. Both Yank Sing and Koi Palace have their supporters. I've had good meals at both, but unfortunately I don't know enough about dim sum to recommend one over the other. Finally, the Last Supper Club does an Italian-American style brunch which I've enjoyed, though I have not been there in quite some time. Hope this helps at least a bit. I'll keep trying to come up with more suggestions. Cheers, Squeat Edit to add: Another vote against Slanted Door -- don't waste your time.

Am I too late to the party? I want to read about the magical cheese steak, but the link returns "Not Found"!!

I think the nickel thing is interesting. I have a vague memory from childhood that we used to somehow come across these little disks of metal that were close enough in size to a nickel or quarter to fool a vending machine. We called them "slugs". I wonder if slug : nickel :: slug burger : 'real' hamburger?(I can't for the life of me remember how we came into possession of these things. Did we just find them lying around on the ground? Anybody else have any idea what I'm talking about?)

Of course the other big factor in play here (i.e., besides bartender burnout) -- and Cecchini addresses this in the book as well -- is the eye-candy quotient, especially at the cool kids' hangouts and 'scene' bars. Managers and owners know that people will buy more drinks if it translates into more face-time/flirt-time with the hottie behind the bar. And the hottie at those places knows that sales and tips will be in direct proportion to his/her ability to create allure and the illusion of mutual attraction.It's convenient that as one ages, and thus becomes less eligible for this particular game, the less interest one has in playing it. It's one reason why these days I mostly daydream about old hotel bars where professionalism is more important than 'flash', and this dynamic is less of a factor. And where you're much more likely to find what few older bartenders there are. Yeah. Not to get too sentimental about it, but yeah. It's kinda like that. Cheers, Squeat

I'm really sorry about that horrid woman!Well, here in San Francisco, the best tamales I know of are made by a woman who peddles them at various points in the Mission District. She is known as the (groan) 'tamale lady'! I like all kinds of tamales. I have had some especially good cheese and pepper tamales at the Friday Farmer's Market in Oakland's Old Town. The best I have ever had, though, were made by my friend's mom and a bunch of other friends in her kitchen in Santa Fe: a pork roast was gently simmered until tender enough to be pulled apart by hand, the masa was then mixed with the broth from the pork and some spices and we all sat around and made the tamales together and talked and laughed. They were then steamed low and slow for at least a couple of hours, and then eaten with a freshly-made salsa verde as soon as they could be handled. Yum! Cheers, Squeat

Oh dear. I seem to have given the wrong impression. "Given up on" was just my way of saying that I no longer even expect to hear "tamal". I was raised with "southern manners", and would never dream of correcting someone's pronunciation or grammar in public, much less go after anyone's liver! Moreover, I learned long ago (and keep relearning) that my knowledge is but a speck of dust in the vast void of my ignorance, and try not to preach in order to reduce the number of incidents, such as this one, in which I have to eat crow! My sincere thanks for the linguistic and etymological info! (Both are keen interests of mine as well, though you'd hardly know it.) I'm sure 'tamale' will continue to grate on my ears for a while, but now that I know it is my ears and not other people's vocabularies that need correction, I'll start working on it forthwith! Cheers, Squeat

Oh my God I can't believe the swill that is Gordon Biersch has been inflicted on the good citizens of our nation's capital! Even the smell of that stuff is enough to make one gag. And did you say sixteen other locations? How embarrassing! Speaking as a Californian, you have my deepest apologies. My only recommendation is to buy a six-pack of Anchor Steam and try to remember there are good things about California. Squeat

My grandmother on my father's side ("Granny"), used to make a "banana rum pudding", which was basically the vanilla wafer thing with rum, except she used cut up pound cake instead of the vanilla wafers.Also, there was usually no topping on this except, as Brooks describes, more bananas and pound cake. Squeat

I worked in two different bars (but only poured in one), and wound up doing quite a bit of catering work as well, which I still do occasionally. The first place (where I started out working the door and later became barback) was an extremely popular hipster/scene hangout on the 16th Street strip in San Francisco's way happening Mission District. (At the time I was working there, that is. A year later it was dead as a crypt, and still is. The owners can't even unload it. I'm not surprised at all. They are certifiably insane, and routinely scared off any talented bartenders they had. It was morbidly fascinating to watch this place crash and burn.)Anyway, the other doorman at that place (who incidentally looked enough like me that most people thought we were the same person, which resulted in some confusion for both of us before we actually met each other! ) left to barback at another bar, then eventually landed a bartending gig at yet another place, where he asked me to come and "do door" for him, as we had become good friends and knew we worked well together. He showed me the ropes and soon I was barbacking, then pouring at this new (to us) place, which we (with the help of a few others) had, in the course of a year or so, turned from a sleepy neighborhood dive into one of the most popular weekend spots around (the owner loved us -- we tripled his weekend take), while still maintaining a neighborhood bar "feel" and loyal regulars during the week. Kind of a tricky balancing act, but one we felt strongly about, and were proud of. I loved the life (still do), but like most bartenders I know, eventually began to feel it take its toll. For one thing, it's damn hard work physically, and we all age. (Plus, there is the constant exposure to all the booze and drugs and general partying, which can be more of a problem for some than others.) Eventually that and other factors (in 1999 I moved out of my years-long roommate situation, and was looking at astronomical pre-bust peak San Francisco rents) got me to thinking about how I would transition into the "Former Bartenders' Club", as it had come to be known amongst a bunch of us in and formerly in the trade, and get a steady income which would pay the rent and hopefully leave enough to eat and drink well, and maybe even take the occasional vacation. Besides, my friend had moved to Philly to be with his new bride and, while I enjoyed the other people I worked with, the 'click' just wasn't there, and we didn't seem to function quite so smoothly (and profitably) as a team as my friend and I had. So I taught myself computer programming. (Remember, at that time, no one foresaw that the dotcom bubble would ever burst.) And that's still how I'm making my money these days (though not nearly as much as at first), supplemented as I say with the occasional bartending gig with some catering friends. All of which is a (very) long-winded way to say that much of what Cecchini says resonated with me, as I think it would with any bartender -- at least any one who had poured at popular bars in big cities where being in the weeds was a daily and shift-long experience. I get the sense that Cecchini is starting to feel a bit of burnout, and that it terrifies him, because the life he has been leading is the only life he knows. I know the feeling. But most of the older bartenders you see (and think about it, how many do you really see?) either came to it later in life, or at least did not work for years in the bright-lights-big-city sort of hotspots. In Cecchini's case, it's possible that he'll stay in the biz, but move to more managerial duties and less time behind the bar. I would love to visit his bar before that happens, though. I also identified with the way he felt about old-school hotel bars. I absolutely adore them. I think I'm the only San Francisco resident I know who regularly visits our venerable hotel bars, and I seek them out in every city I visit. I even occasionally toy with the idea of going back to full-time bar work in a stately old room somewhere! Cheers (and apologies for the tome -- can you tell I think I could write my own book on the subject?), Squeat

Thanks much! Man, I love this forum! Now I've got to find some saba!

Okay, I have to confess to total ignorance on this one, but what is saba? It seems to be the Japanese word for mackerel, but dribbling mackerel over tomatoes? Also, there seems to be a southeast Asian vegetable similar to asparagus that is known as 'sabah', but again...? Cheers, and thanks in advance, Squeat Oh yeah, 'Saba' also appears to be the name of the official Yemen government news agency, but even I know you don't mean that!

Great review, Cusina! I was in the bar business for approximately 10 years, and I thoroughly enjoyed this read. Very entertaining and, as you say, eloquent writing. In fact, it earned space on my exclusive 'Washroom Selection' shelf , and I often enjoy a quick reread of this or that section. I second the recommendation. Cheers, Squeat

...and how many times have you heard someone talk about 'a tamale'? And they're not talking about a city in Ghana. I've just about given up on that one.

When I was in high school wild pheasants would come through our lawn all the time. I don't think I have ever smelled anything that smells as bad as pheasant shit (unless it's that stuff my neighbors make -- could be a contender). If you stepped in it, you basically had to throw your shoes away.

Good: Definitely bacon cooking, especially if you've just woken up and are still lying in bed. Apples baking. Also hot apple cider with cinnamon and cloves. Bread baking. Garlic roasting. Coffee brewing Basil's a good call. Bad: Whatever the hell my neighbors across the hall make about three times a week. Vile, vile and nasty. Smells like rotting fish plus farts plus rancid lard or something. Smells even worse than that. I don't know how to describe it. It smells like pure evil. I have to breathe through my mouth while I'm letting myself into my apartment. Burnt cruciferous vegetables (broccoli, brussels sprouts, cabbage, etc.) is pretty bad, too.

I seem to be on a roll. Never again will I wash one of my collection of mid-century Bauer mixing bowls and place it precariously at the end of the drying rack, then try to wedge a cutting board in at the back, only to have the bowl smash into pieces on the floor. Goddammit! I'm not cooking anything next week!

Jewish Cooking in America by Joan Nathan The Book of Jewish Food by Claudia Roden Plus I'm currently reading Mimi Sheraton's memoir Eating My Words, which I am enjoying so much that I have ordered The Bialy Eaters. So 4 more for me. I'm trying to impose a temporary moratorium because I'm supposed to be saving money for my vacation, but it's so hard!

Have to pick Mexico (and all the nether Americas), too. In fact, I'm in the process of firming up plans to spend Thanksgiving in Oaxaca, where I will be trying to learn about the region's incredible culinary heritage/tradition. (Remember that Central/South America contributed greatly to what we currently think of as the grand European tradition of cuisine: chocolate, potatoes, tomatoes, chiles anyone?) I'll happily exchange money for time in Oaxaca. Time and the local conception of it is what has crafted the seminal and signal cuisine which emanates from this region, as far as I can tell from here.I hope to be stranded there for at least a week.Two will be better... if I can swing three it will be a contender for the best vacation of my life, I'm sure. I'll keep you posted. Squeat

I have rubbed my butt tonight and I will slow roast and pull it tomorrow (unfortunately I have neither smoker nor grill). I have fat trimmings and am planning to make cracklin's (and rendered fat -- yay!) to add to the 'mesclun'/watercress/radish salad (I'll add the cracklin's -- not the rendered lard, for which I have other plans) I will serve with the pork sandwiches, along with a classic east North Carolina vinegar-based bbq sauce (the vinaigrette for the salad uses this sauce, too). (I suppose this belongs in the 'Dinner' thread, but still, Soba asked about the fried pork skins along with the 'q!) Cheers, Squeat

Yet another reminder that I simply do not have what it takes to be a professional: NEVER TRY TO CATCH A FALLING KNIFE!!! Duh! How many times does it take? Squeat Edit: I've heard it expressed more eloquently: "A falling knife has no handle!"

According to this interesting article in the Independent, Gonzalez has made a public statement of support for the bill: The article goes on to say: Squeat

1. Quince, SF 2. Chez Panisse, Berkeley 3. Gary Danko, SF 4. Delfina, SF 5. Zuni Cafe, SF 6. Limon, SF 7. Chapeau!, SF 8. Acquerello, SF Avoid/Overrated: Fifth Floor Slanted Door Foreign Cinema Cheers, Squeat