MarketStEl

Thanks, but no, I haven't. My weight continues to fluctuate in a range between 203 and 207. I probably need to give my Lizard Brain a good talking to.

I think I may have made this request before, but if this hasn't been done already, could someone kidnap Rich Davis and drown him in molasses? After all, whoever did this would only be doing to the creator of KC Masterpiece barbecue sauce what he did to the sauce itself. (An aside: Some of you who are history buffs may have picked up on the obscure reference in my topic title. One of the worst man-made disasters to strike the city of Boston occurred in 1911 when a molasses tank at a sugar refinery in the city's North End exploded, sending a syrupy brown tidal wave through the neighborhood and into the harbor. The gooey flood killed dozens, knocked out the Atlantic Avenue elevated and caused serious property damage.) A hint of sweetness is characteristic of Kansas City barbecue, but IME real Kansas City barbecue -- and barbecue sauce -- has just that: A hint of sweetness. KC Masterpiece is sweeter than it is tangy, precisely the opposite of my favorite KC sauce -- Gates' -- and also far from the taste of the other good Kansas City sauces I've had (Cowtown, Jack Stack, Zarda). And here on the East Coast, where most people think Kansas City is a city in Kansas (it isn't: Kansas City, Kansas is), all the private-label Kansas City sauces you find in the supermarkets are chock-full of molasses. Now one chain has taken a step for the worse. I was in a Wegmans supermarket in Cherry Hill, N.J., a few weeks back and noticed that their store brand barbecue sauce came in a Kansas City version. Wegmans is one of those chains that offer lots of wow and fancy foods, and its store brand has a reputation for quality. But I ended up walking out without a bottle of their Kansas City barbecue sauce. That's because the very first ingredient listed on the label -- before tomatoes, before "spices", before even molasses -- is high fructose corn syrup. What's the problem here? Type 2 diabetes-inducing levels of molasses not sweet enough? And when might those of us in the benighted regions beyond the pale of real barbecue be able to expect a bottle of real barbecue sauce on our store shelves? (Paging Ollie Gates: There's some money being left on the table here.)

Moosnsqrl and I share hometowns, though not home states, Rocky. We also met, over lunch at the kind of nuevo-Mexicano restaurant that simply did not exist in the Kansas City of my childhood, last summer, when I went back for the first time in 20 years to attend my 30th high school reunion. Yes, I completely forgot about the quail. If we ate the zeppole like candy, we consumed the quail like popcorn. I enjoyed gallivanting around Seattle with you, too, and look forward to doing more of the same on my next trip. BTW, no photos, but Sean's wife Christine is a pretty good cook too. She welcomed me to town with delicious homemade burgers topped with sauteed mushrooms and onions.

So: Whose scrapple special was the most special of them all?

(A clue to how my life runs: I started to post this yesterday, after reducing some more photos I wanted to include. I got only so far before I had to go out to defend my Trivia Queen title [go to Philly.com and navigate your way to the "Image" section of Sunday's Inquirer for more about this]. Then I tried to post this again this morning, but a friend came over with a job for me and I had to turn my attention to that. Now that I've got the week's groceries put away, I'm trying again. If I'm lucky, I'll get this up before 9 p.m. EDT tonight, when I head out to sing my brains out. As you can now see, I wasn't lucky.) Now that I've finally gotten all the pix I wanted to post uploaded and have caught up on all the back-and-forth on the upcoming mayoral primary in Philadelphia, I can finally do that one marvelous day I spent in Seattle justice. First off, let me say that while I found San Francisco absolutely enchanting--and, like most visitors, I didn't want to leave--I think that on the whole, I like Seattle better. My opinion may have been affected by the fact that I enjoyed very un-Seattle-like weather the three days I was there. For the entire stay, the scenery and climate lived up to the lyrics to the theme from the 1960s TV series "Here Come The Brides": The bluest skies you've ever seen are in Seattle And the hills the greenest green in Seattle Like a beautiful child Growing up, free and wild Full of hopes and full of fears Full of laughter, full of tears Full of dreams to last the years In Seattle But my suspicion is that the city is pretty cool in the rain, too. Actually, Thursday, April 5--the day I spent in the city--dawned somewhat overcast. I rode the commuter bus in from Bellevue--whose center I confused for downtown Seattle on the ride up from Sea-Tac to my brother's house in Woodinville--and exited at the corner of 8th Avenue and Pine Street, near the visitors information center, or so I was told. I found the visitor info desk inside the Washington State Convention Center, got a tourist map, found out where the places I would have drinks and dinner later that night were, went up an escalator and walked right into Freeway Park. This is a well-maintained, surprisingly quiet patch of grass and concrete perched right atop Interstate 5, but the foundation is thick enough that you can barely hear the traffic. It was also a surprisingly empty patch of grass and concrete. My guess is because it's rather difficult to just stroll into; I could only find one direct entrance from a bordering street into the park. But someone else did eventually walk through, and she was nice enough to snap a photo of me in it. As I was too busy gawking at the scenery to read on the bus, I decided I needed to find a place where I could survey the local newspaper (something I do wherever I go), relax a bit and maybe check my e-mail. I found that place just uphill from Freeway Park on Pike Street. Here I got a cuppa -- a very good cuppa, too, fruity and smooth; this place does its part to uphold Seattle's reputation as Coffee Capital USA -- checked for any late messages from the area (none, thank God; your coffee purchase also buys you 20 minutes of time online) and sat down to read the day's news. I understand that the Post-Intelligencer is the smaller of Seattle's two dailies. Sean tells me he only reads the P-I, though, and he led me to believe that it's more in touch with the pulse of Seattle than The Seattle Times. Besides, whenever I get sent a story about happenings in Seattle online, "it's in the P-I." I note that Thursday's edition had a story that was right up my alley: one about potential disaster striking a transportation facility. The rack of FunMaps in the front window should have tipped me off to what part of Seattle I was in, but I thought nothing of it then. From Uncle Elizabeth's, I walked down Pike into the shopping district and oohed and aahed at the stuff I couldn't possibly afford in Nordstrom. (I also made a mental note that as far as type of retail is concerned, Seattle's Fifth Avenue bears more than passing resemblance to New York's.) I then made my way past several structures of varying interest to the building I definitely had to check out: the Seattle Public Library. Rem Koolhaas' haphazard stack of boxes is the most jaw-droppingly stunning structure I have been in in quite some time, and I was impressed at the amount of thought the architect put into the building and how it should work. There are a lot of good, innovative ideas at work in the library, and it certainly seems to have fulfilled its intended purpose, which is to draw people into the heart of Seattle every day. But there are some areas where Koolhaas fell flat on his face. In particular, there's the little matter of how you get from the bottom of the parking ramp for the books to the gathering place on the floor below. There is no obvious stairway connecting the two. Instead, large signs direct you to a fire stair just before the end of the book garage. I was told over cocktails later that day that many library staff say the building doesn't work as well as everyone thinks it does. Living as I do in a city with a similar architectural landmark that is a functional failure (Penn's Richards Medical Laboratories [1960], designed by Modernist giant Louis Kahn), I can sympathize with the librarians. Still, I'm glad I took the guided tour. By now, it was noon, and time to head downhill to the Pike Place Market. This sprawling complex occupies nine buildings along a four-block stretch of Pike Place. The main building also descends four floors from Pike Place to about one floor above the level of Alaskan Way. That's a lot of space to sell a lot of food. I'd guesstimate that there's about three times the space in the Pike Place Market that there is in Philly's venerable Reading Terminal Market and about four times the space found in the nation's oldest farmers' market, St. Louis' Soulard Farmers Market. Like the RTM, the Pike Place Market strives to balance its primary mission of bringing the food producer and the food consumer together with its secondary function as tourist magnet -- in fact, before I left for Seattle, RTM General Manager Paul Steinke e-mailed his list of RTM loyalists a Seattle Post-Intelligencer story about how some in Seattle are worried that as the Pike Place Market gets ready for some needed renovations, it will lose its character as a source for quality fresh foods first and foremost. (So far, the RTM has successfully kept fresh food in the forefront.) I've got news for them: The market has already gone way too far down that slippery slope for my comfort. While most of the auxiliary buildings are occupied by vendors of either fresh foods to prepare at home or prepared foods to eat there, the Main and North Arcade buildings (I didn't get a chance to explore the Economy Market adequately) struck me as more crafts fair than cornucopia. But even there, there's plenty of good food to be had. I had said beforehand that, having experienced the workplace motivational juggernaut called FISH! already, I was not particularly interested in seeing the guys who send fish flying through the air. As it turns out, it's impossible to avoid them, for their fish market lies right inside the main entrance to the Main Arcade, under the famous neon sign and clock. Just listen for the shouts and look for the clump of tourists -- you can't miss it. I quickly made my way down a ramp and into the North Arcade, where nary a scrap of food was to be found in the building's nether regions. I guess the food keeps better on the street level. And the flowers, too -- loads of them. And as with so many other places in this very hilly city, there were marvelous views from many vantage points on the main level. But I was getting hungry, so I strolled up Pike Place itself, looking in the other market buildings for a place to eat. There were plenty of them, offering fare from around the world, but ultimately I settled on a deli in the Stewart House building called Bavarian Meats. Unlike most of its East Coast analogues, this deli really doesn't do food to eat on the spot. The woman behind the counter told me that while the shop does make sandwiches, they were definitely an afterthought: for instance, I couldn't get cheese on the cured beef sandwich I requested -- if I wanted that, I'd have to get at least a quarter pound of it. Ordinarily, that wouldn't faze me, but I really didn't feel like eating that much cheese right then. So I had it without. It was simple, and very good. And yet I still had room for more. I guess traipsing up and down all those hills had left me ravenous. That morning, when I told Sean I wanted to buy both my partner's birthday present and something good to take home at Pike Place, he responded that I really had to go to Uli's: "You may have seen it on the Food Network." I didn't tell him that I don't watch the Food Network all that much. But I recalled his advice and headed there next. On the way there, I passed by the original Starbucks, which has two things you can't find at any of their thousands of other outlets: The original logo featuring a bare-breasted mermaid -- and a special coffee, Pike Place Blend, sold only at that store. As I'm not a big fan of Starbucks, I passed on buying some. Uli's is all that. They make their sausage right there on the premises-- --and their varieties span the globe: German bratwurst, Mexican chorizo, Portuguese linguica, Cajun andouille...the list goes on and on. The proprietor is a certified German master butcher, and his certificate hangs proudly in the front window of the sausage-making room. I decided I'd send some smoked salmon -- from Pure Food Fish Market next door -- home and ordered a South African boerwors on a roll to eat right there. I'm not quite sure how to describe its taste -- a little winey, a little sagey -- but it sure was good. Finally, I bought a T-shirt -- salmon-colored, of course -- and the best beef jerky I've ever eaten from Stewart's Market. I had some time to kill after that. So I went down the seven or so flights of steps that connect Pike Place Market to the waterfront and took a stroll along Alaskan Way. An earthquake a couple of years ago left the 50+-year-old Alaskan Way Viaduct, left, structurally compromised. A heated argument has raged ever since over what to do with the elevated expressway. I refer readers to the Ferry Building pictures in my San Francisco trip report on the California board for the obvious answer. I also see that the (now out of service ) Waterfront Streetcar Line is named for George Benson. He is one of my favorite musicians; I didn't know he was a Seattleite! I then climbed up the University Street steps and stopped in Tully's not for coffee, but for an energy drink they're promoting made from some sort of South American tropical rainforest plant. Sean tells me he prefers Tully's to Starbucks, so on my next visit, I will have to try their coffee. Oh, yeah: I also took a monorail up to this thing that looks like a pie plate perched atop an egg beater. It's called the "Space Needle" by the locals. I'm told that this structure is the signature of Seattle to the outside world. It was built for this world's fair that took place here in 1962. I must admit that the structure is quite distinctive and very striking, and (yet again) it offers breathtaking views from the observation deck on the top of the pie plate. I think that snow-capped peak barely visible in the far distance is Mount Rainier. But I must confess that the Space Needle was ultimately a letdown, because unless I had mad coin to drop in the fancy-schmancy revolving restaurant one level down, this was all it offered in the way of food: Not that I really needed to eat, for it wouldn't be long until I would meet my Seattle hosts for dinner. From there, I went back downtown, up Pike Street past Uncle Elizabeth's, crossed this street: and, one block later, found myself on Broadway. The main drag of Capitol Hill is a really neat thoroughfare--busy and unpretentious, full of funky shops representing a (ahem) rainbow of cultures. I think I could easily make myself at home in this neighborhood. I had a couple of Cape Codders as preliminaries at a place called Julia's on Broadway -- nothing special, just your usual gay-bar happy-hour special, with a little chitchat with a local on the side--and hopped a Route 49 trolleybus back downtown. After deciding that I'd get there faster walking once we got stuck in traffic in the Pine Street construction zone, I strolled into Vessel at about 5:15, 15 minutes after our arranged meeting time. There waiting for me were Lauren Edlund (ledlund): Rocky Yeh and Jan Lang (SeaGal): and Wendy Miller (littlemsfoodie, not pictured) and her husband, who didn't join us for dinner later. Neither did Henry Lo (hhlodesign) and Lorna Yee (Ling), but they did drop in for cocktails with us. And what cocktails they were! Should Katie Loeb, Philly's chief spiritual advisor, ever get a chance to get away from the bar at M, she must come here to try Vessel's creations. I ordered their signature drink, the Vessel 75. I generally don't do bourbon, but this concoction of bourbon, Peychaud's bitters, simple syrup, orange zest and maple syrup foam might make me reconsider. Another outstanding specialty cocktail on the menu was the Chartreuse Swizzle -- green chartreuse liqueur, falernum, lime and pineapple juices. I note that here, too, olives are offered as the standard bar snack at happy hour. Apparently, this is all the rage at better bars these days. Rocky also ordered this cocktail: The wasabi remoulade was a delicious change of pace. My hosts informed me here that I had fortunately stumbled across the right fish market from which to ship smoked salmon when I bought my fish at Pure Food. (Most of it is still in our fridge, awaiting consumption. I suspect I will have to serve it before anyone else eats it.) From Vessel, we proceeded uphill, then downhill, a few blocks to Union, a fabulous restaurant recommended by my hosts when we coordinated this outing. This being Seattle, I had to order seafood, but I'm getting ahead of myself just a little bit. But only a little, for fruits of the sea were also represented among the appetizers we ordered. Like this geoduck with Tokyo onion, cucumber, and lime. I had never had geoduck before; the enormous clam is found only in the waters off the Pacific Northwest coast, so I can say that I ate something you can only get in Seattle on this trip. We also ordered the Totten Virginica oysters, served with lemon ice and Casa Brina olive oil. These lasted about two minutes. Rounding out the first course was beef tartare with capers, cornichons and rye crackers: and something that would get the chef fined in Chicago, a miner's lettuce salad with roasted beets, pistachio, and shaved foie gras. We are grateful to the Seattle Department of Health for warning us about the risks associated with eating raw or undercooked food, but as you can see, we were all quite willing to take those risks in exchange for delicious starters that all played sweet, tart and savory elements off against one another. I guess things could be worse: instead of a warning on the menu, we could have had an attorney making us sign affidavits before dining instead. For the second and subsequent courses, the health risks were a non-issue. The second course included grilled spotted sardines with celery, pine nut and golden raisin salad: something not on the menu that I vaguely recall as a lamb chop -- does anyone else remember?: and roasted squab with parsley root and young garlic, served over squab jus. All delicious, and all well executed. Then it was on to the entrees -- grilled lamb T-bone and braised lamb shank with asparagus salad dressed with grenache vinegar and fennel pollen: a rare veal tenderloin with roasted spring onions, Bloomsdale spinach, and veal jus: and the dish I ordered, roasted halibut with carrot and fennel juice and braised ramps. Dessert consisted of a cheese plate: I don't seem to have notes on the cheeses, so maybe someone can recall what the five varieties were? a medley of sweet vegetables (I believe that the triangle at the lower left is a beet): and fruit-and-nut bread, barely visible at the left above. Speaking of bread, the bread that was served at the start of our meal was excellent -- crusty and toothsome. I didn't get to meet chef-owner Ethan Stowell, but I was introduced to dining room manager Hans Horchler, who runs the house with skill and aplomb. Service was attentive, efficient and unobtrusive -- exactly what it should be at a restaurant of this caliber. One of my dining companions will have to recall the wine we had with dinner, which flowed almost as freely as the conversation -- I can see why you all like to get together to dine often! Over dinner, Lauren and I agreed to exchange outstanding local foodstuffs from our respective home regions. She will send me a Late Harvest Syrah from Washington that she praised highly, and she will get from me a block of Pennsylvania Noble, an outstanding cave-aged Cheddar-style cheese from Lancaster County. On the way out, we encountered this fella: who was being readied for inclusion on the next day's menu. For this level of dining, BTW, Union is an excellent value, with nothing on the menu over $30 and plenty of choices in the small plates under $20. I should also note that a meal like this demonstrates that there is such a thing as too much food. I'm no stranger to fine dining, but occasionally I wonder how anyone could be sated with the dainty portions I often see on the plates at restaurants renowned for their creativity, a category into which Union falls. Let me state right here that not only was everything absolutely delicious, it was quite filling too (although getting stuffed is not what you come to a place like Union to do). And yet the evening's dining wasn't over. From here, Rocky took me up to Belltown, that way cool neighborhood on downtown's northern edge where Henry and Lorna live, for real dessert at Ethan Stowell's new place, Tavolata. (Sorry, no photos.) This was one of those places where the decor is bare-bones, the ceilings high and unfinished, the atmosphere laid back but with a slight buzz, and the food fresh and interesting. Rocky took me here for the (mumble) -- I forget what they're called in Italian, but they resemble donut holes or beignets. These were fresh out of the fryer and dusted with powdered sugar that had melted to form a glaze. I'm sure it wouldn't surprise you to hear that we ate these like candy. Then we drove to the other end of downtown, past the train station and Pioneer Square, to the International District, Seattle's Chinatown. This part of downtown Seattle struck me as a little more desolate than the parts to its north, and there certainly wasn't the color, light and energy one finds in the Chinatowns of San Francisco, New York or Philadelphia. But looks are deceiving. Like those other Chinatowns, the ID is the place to go for good cheap eats late at night. Rocky took me to a Chinese restaurant like none I've ever been to: What made the Purple Dot unique was not the kind of Chinese fare it served -- though Rocky pointed out to me that the spicier Chinese cuisines (Szechuan, Hunan) found in Eastern Chinatowns are by and large missing from Seattle and that Cantonese dominates everything -- but by the menu's mix of Cantonese and American diner fare. Up at the top of this picture is what Rocky ordered: a ham and cheese sandwich with fries. In the foreground is my dish, "Beef Internal Delicacies" -- "offal" to you. Together we made pretty quick work of a congee with thousand-year egg, not pictured. The offal was far from awful; in fact, it was wonderful -- chewy and beefy; it looks to me like it had been simmered in beef stock for quite a while. Accompanying our post-dinner adventure was running commentary on Seattle and its restaurant scene. By now, it was the other side of midnight, too late for me to catch the last Sound Transit commuter buses back to the Eastside, so Rocky headed for the Mercer Island floating bridge -- Sean's wife hates tunnels, so they rarely cross it -- and ultimately Woodinville, where we promptly got lost in the network of twisty lanes and cul-de-sacs, all similarly named ("This is NE 179th Street...no, wait, it's now 191st Avenue NE...now we're on NE 181st Street...wait, it's NE 182nd now..."). Sean had to come outside to guide us to his place on 199th Place NE. If you've managed to make it all the way to this point, you have as much stamina as it took me to traverse all those hills. My thanks and compliments go to my Seattle hosts; you all sure know how to make a visitor feel right at home! We will definitely have to do this again the next time I visit -- and as Estella Rose Smith is only six months old, there will be plenty of visits in the years ahead. Restaurants and establishments mentioned in this essay: Uncle Elizabeth's Internet Cafe 1123 Pike Street 206-381-1600 Nearest transit service: King County Metro routes 10, 11, 14, 43 and 49 all run east on Pike and west on Pine, one block north. Julia's on Broadway 300 Broadway East (at Thomas Street) 206-860-1818 Nearest transit service: Metro routes 9, 49 and 60 stop at Broadway and John Street, one block away. Pure Food Fish Market (206-622-5765) Uli's Famous Sausage (206-839-1000) Stewart's Market Beef Jerky (rotating space, no phone) North Arcade Building, Pike Place Market Bavarian Meats (206-441-0942) Starbucks Coffee (206-448-8762) Stewart House, Pike Place Market Vessel 1312 5th Avenue (between University and Union streets) 206-652-5222 Union 1400 First Avenue (at Union Street) 206-838-8000 Nearest transit service to all of the above: Anything headed toward dowtown Seattle. While the downtown transit tunnel is closed for reconstruction, most of the principal routes operate on 3rd Avenue, one block west of the tunnel. When the tunnel reopens--with light rail a few years hence--all of the above places are a short walk from University Street station. Union is three blocks downhill; Vessel, one uphill; Pike Place Market, four blocks, downhill first, then uphill slightly.

Hey I thought that all of the scrapple creations were just for the celebrity judges at 2 PM accoring to the schedule I got. That bread pudding sounds good though. I am a bit shocked that Bassett's did not do a scrapple swirl ice cream for the event though... ← A few lucky onlookers got a taste of some of the competitors' creations. A trio of young men from Delaware County who sported custom-made scrapple T-shirts promoting Scrapple's MySpace page, http://www.myspace.com/breakfastcandy, got one of the scrapple cheesesteaks all to themselves -- or so they thought: In a matter of seconds, about three or four other people, including someone quaffing in the Beer Garden who reached through the latticework, got themselves some too. I had to finish my grocery shopping; otherwise, I would have stayed around to find out who won. I hope Paul e-mails me the results. Edited to add: The rest of us got plenty of opportunity to eat scrapple too. J.L. Martin, Godshall's, Hatfield and Leidy's all had plenty of slices cooking and were promiscuously passing out samples. J.L. Martin and Hatfield had both beef and pork scrapple; IMO, pork scrapple is far superior to beef, and of the porkers, I preferred Leidy's over Hatfield and Hatfield over J.L. Martin. But to my surprise, the scrapple I liked best was the turkey scrapple from Godshall's (available at their Reading Terminal Market poultry shop and at area Acme stores).

I thought that Irish coffee shop was a few blocks west of Terminal Square on West Chester Pike. Is it close enough to walk there from 69th Street Terminal?

Okay, April 25 is next Wednesday, and I might have a little change to spare after all is said and done. However, I will want to wait until after I've taken my partner out for his 63d birthday (which is today) to nail down a date for sure. Nonetheless, I would greatly appreciate hearing from the regulars and wannabe regulars about dates in the next three weeks after the 25th that might work for them. With those in hand, we might be able to get to Fairmount--and to Osteria now that everyone else and their dog has already been.

Update: The 25th approaches. However, I think I will need to wait until after payday to arrange anything, for I really should take my partner out for his 63d birthday, which is today (Friday 4/20), and I can't do that either until the 25th at the earliest. (He will be easy to please. Sunday brunch at Woody's will be just fine.) There's also been a delay on the part of my Washington State correspondent in getting her hands on the Late Harvest Syrah that was promised in exchange for a block of Pennsylvania Noble. What all this means is that quite likely, our next cow-out will have to wait until May, by which time I will want to be put into a coma so I can forget my tax bill.

Okay, I'll weigh in with my favorites. The short answer is All of them, except Brie, for some strange reason -- quite likely overdosing on it in college. But forced to choose three, I will pick: Pennsylvania Noble (Cheddar-style cheese; distinctive in that the maker skips the salting step in the cheddaring process) Smoked Gouda (real, not industrial) ...the third one is a toughie, there are so many that qualify... Maytag Blue (though I use Buttermilk Blue, which is almost as good, more often)

Why are you skimping on the cheese? I'm having a friend over for dinner tonight, and I plan on picking up some Asiago and maybe some Shropshire blue to add to the New York cheddar and Parmesan I already have on hand for mac and cheese to go with the roast pork. Think I'll try that Alton Brown version. I usually bake mine. And as for Berkeley still being Berkeley: I don't think I'd see a store with a big sign on the outside reading "I wish Pluto were a planet again" anywhere else. (Nuclear-free-zone cities are a dime a dozen. West Chester, the county seat of one of Philly's Republican suburban counties, is one.) This has been a wonderful blog, even if the last day or two was bereft of illustrations. You have a nice-looking old-fashioned modern kitchen there! Blog again once you've gotten it all broken in, okay?

Since this isn't limited by cost, why not Vetri itself?

Something tells me you will get back there before I do, so I'll want a full report on these. What are they, anyway?

I now have a full report on this day and the day I spent pursuing good cheap restaurants on the California board. After reading it, I realized I wrote it for a non-San Francisco audience. See for yourself.

I assume that most of you recall my asking for cheap-but-good-eats recommendations for the San Francisco Bay area -- then ordering cheesesteak on my first day there. I trust the chronicle that follows will redeem me. First, I really appreciate all the recommendations I got from all of you. I will file these for future reference, for I will be back. As I've already said, I can see why people come to San Francisco to visit and end up staying there. Like New York, it is truly sui generis among American cities. However, on the one day I spent entirely gallivanting around the city by myself before a dinner that ended up not taking place, I also wound up not hitting any of the recommended establishments. Nonetheless, I did have two very good, very filling meals that were better than what I would find in Philly in these genres (though not by much anymore) -- and I spent a grand total of $25 between them. The day before that, however, I took your advice and started my excursion by getting off BART at Embarcardero and heading (ahem) straight for the Ferry Building. This photo is proof positive that the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake was probably the best thing to happen to the San Francisco waterfront since, well, the erection of the Ferry Building itself in 1896. For comparison, here's a photo of the same scene pre-1989, from the entrance display describing the building's renewal: Inside, the transformation is equally dramatic. The Great Nave is once again filled with light and now lined with specialty food and beverage shops of all kinds. Here, for instance, is a shop that sells California olive oils. I've made a note to visit their Web site when next I get spare cash so I can purchase some of the Persian lime oil they had out to sample: If Paul Steinke is reading this, here's an idea for a possible addition to the Reading Terminal Market, what with Kennett Square being close by. On second thought, Iovine's has this territory pretty much sewn up already: This shop sells nothing but mushrooms and related fungus derivatives. Their prices weren't bad for organic -- or conventional -- and they had great variety and quality. I bought some white button mushrooms and some shiitakes for the dish I would fix later that evening. I should have bought the bread there too, but I'm getting ahead of myself -- you'll find out why in a bit. I found this shop rather novel -- a Japanese "deli" from the Japanese outfit that opened the first American-style deli in Japan: For fans of Simon and Garfunkel, there was this place: and you could have just parked me here for the rest of the day with a knife and a box of crackers and I would have been happier than a pig in you-know-what: Then there was the place I should have purchased my bread. But I wouldn't find that out until much, much later. In the taxonomy of public markets, the Ferry Building is less farmers' market and more upscale food court, but it offers plenty of quality raw ingredients for the serious cook. Still, it feels to me like it's tailored more towards the folks who ride the ferry there from Sausalito than towards folks like me. I think you'd find me more often at the outdoor market at the Civic Center, where I purchased some fresh garlic and cilantro for the evening meal. (I promise I'll have a cocktail at the Slanted Door on my next visit, though.) From there, I took the F-Market line all the way to its end at Fisherman's Wharf, riding in a vintage 1918 San Francisco streetcar. As I walked along the piers, a large room with people baking bread in it caught my eye. The signs said that this was an actual working bakery, producing authentic sourdough bread according to an old family recipe. So I went into their retail store and purchased a round loaf of sourdough bread for dinner and a jalapeno-cheddar roll to curb my hunger pangs. The roll was nice and peppery, but it didn't have that sour taste that's characteristic of sourdough bread. That should have served as an omen, but I ignored it as I made my way to the streetcar back. I was pleased to see this vehicle roll up--a little bit of home, saved by San Franciscans who appreciate what SEPTA management doesn't: but I've never heard anyone in Philadelphia ever refer to these cars by the term the Market Street Railway folks used. After a pit stop at the San Francisco Transit Museum, I made my way for Dolores Park, where the friend for whom I was cooking that night lives. He told me that there was a very good grocery store around the corner from him, and he was right. Oops! Shot directly into the sun. I'd certainly buy ingredients for my special-occasion cooking at this store, but for routine stuff, I'd probably shop at the Safeway I passed on the trolley to the Castro. Seeing as how this was a special occasion, though, I dove right into the Sunday-afternoon crowd inside the store. I bought some boneless chicken breasts: some pappardelle pasta, cauliflower and broccoli, a couple of cans of organic tomato paste, some organic chicken broth, some more mushrooms, and a bottle of Grenache/Syrah. The chips were for me to snack on on the way there. I spent a grand total of $36 on this repast, including the wine. Given the change in my friend's mood as the evening progressed, it was money well spent. As I was cooking, though, I mentioned to him that I was bequeathing him the unused garlic and cilantro. Then he tells me -- after I asked him twice if there were any foods I should avoid -- that he didn't like cilantro. (He acknowledged that I had asked him, so there was no foul. Besides, he liked the resulting dish. Sorry, no pictures of the finished product.) Now, about that bread. When my friend ate it, he said, "I usually don't like sourdough bread, but I like this." Why? It didn't have that sour taste. Even a clueless Easterner like me knows that if the bread doesn't have that sour bite, it's not sourdough. In other words, I had been sold a bill of goods, like most visitors to Fisherman's Wharf. My hosts in Oakland told me later that night that I should have gone to Acme Bread (pictured above) instead. Next time, I'll know better. The next day started around noon with a window-shopping spree on Union Square. After calculating the interest on the mortgage I would need to take out to buy anything at Nieman Marcus--including lunch in its restaurant--and oohing and ahhing again at all the pretty objects in Gump's, I was beginning to get hungry. I noticed that Chinatown was just a couple of blocks away. As I hadn't printed out the recommendations, I was pretty much on my own for figuring out where to eat. I wandered through the neighborhood, scoping out menus. The bargain-hunter in me stopped in his tracks when he saw this on Jackson Street: but a quick look inside disabused me of the notion that I'd enjoy lunch there. So I pressed on and came to this Vietnamese restaurant. The menu looked enticing and the price was right, so I went inside. As I waited for my meal, I caught up on the news and saw something I found disturbing but not surprising in that day's Chronicle. When my order arrived -- very quickly, I might add -- I was sorry I didn't have a dining companion. I had ordered the Imperial rolls as an appetizer; they came out along with the iced coffee, which was served in an individual drip cup. I guess the substance in the bottom of the cup was condensed milk and sugar. Shortly afterwards, my main course was served: the house special hot and sour soup, with shrimp, calamari and a variety of fish products: fish balls, surimi "crab" legs and fish cake slices. The broth had just a hint of heat from the Thai chili peppers in it, and the heat was balanced by a slightly sweet vinegary tang. Two people could have shared this easily. Instead, I ended up eating the leftover portion for breakfast the next morning. That portion survived my light rail tour of the city just fine. (A friend told me that I had to ride the J-Church inbound for the view. This too was a good recommendation: there's a stretch where you ride in the median of a street through a canyon, then as you emerge from the canyon and crest a slight hill, the entire city opens up before you--an absolutely breathtaking sight in a city where such sights are commonplace.) As the sun was setting by now, I decided that this would be a good time to try one of those places in the Mission District that had been recommended to me. But because I hadn't printed out the recommendations, I had to go by feel. I walked down 24th, turned left on Mission, and walked up the block. I narrowed my choices down to two. The first place was bright, clean, and airy -- and almost totally empty. The second looked scruffier, but it was much, much busier. I don't think I have to spell out which place I went into. Even though it was Mexican, this place had more of a South Philly feel than that cheesesteak-and-hoagie place in Berkeley did. They even had a big pile of thinly sliced steak cooking on a grill and an assembly-line setup, just like the busy cheesesteak places back home. While I didn't see a vertical broiler, there was a painting of one on a rear wall, so I figured I couldn't go wrong ordering a taco al pastor here. I also ordered chips, a watermelon agua fresca, and a quesadilla Suiza. The chips were nice and crisp, and the agua fresca was delicious. So was the taco al pastor; the pork used in the version served here was marinated in chili pepper, in contrast to the pineapple-infused version I ate at Taqueria La Puebla on 9th Street in Philly's "Italian" Market. (I put "Italian" in quotes because the historic market street is increasingly Asian and Mexican in character.) And the quesadilla Suiza? If what I ate is any guide, "quesadilla Suiza" is Mexican for "cheesesteak." The piles of beef cooking on the grill should have tipped me off. It's very simple -- thinly sliced steak topped with Chihuahua cheese (or was that Monterrey Jack?), served between two flour tortillas -- and very good; I'd put this up against Tony Luke's any day. (Well, maybe not: it's amazing what a little sharp Provolone and broccoli rabe can do.) The total for this haul came to $5.75. Add that to the $18.25 (including tax and tip) I spent at lunch earlier, and I'm under $25 for the day. I suspect that I could have found a place that served real breakfast for $6 or less, which would have brought the day's grand total for three meals to $30, well under Miss Ray's golden number. As I left El Farolito, I spotted one of the places that had been recommended on the other side of the 24th and Mission intersection: It looked to me like El Farolito was a better value still. It sure did taste good. Restaurants mentioned in this essay: Golden Flower Vietnamese Restaurant 667 Jackson Street (415) 433-6469 Nearest transit service: MUNI bus routes 9X, 9AX or 9BX to Kearney and Stockton streets, or route 41 to Columbus Avenue and Kearney Street. Closest BART/Muni Metro station is Montgomery, 8 blocks south. Taqueria El Farolita 2779 Mission Street No phone Nearest transit service: BART (any line except Richmond-Fremont) to 24th Street Mission station. MUNI 14-Mission, 67-Bernal Heights, 48-(mumble) and 49-Van Ness/Mission buses also stop at this intersection. Edited to fix mildly insulting typo.

Before I left town for the West Coast, my partner's brother-in-law drove us up to the Wegmans in Cherry Hill after a Palm Sunday brunch. After oohing and aahing over the wonders available in the prepared-food court, admiring some of those same higher-end raw ingredients others have already commented on, nibbling my way through all the samples being thrust in front of me, and wondering "Why can't I buy a pound of ground beef, a quart of milk, Cheerios, Calphalon cookware and a KitchenAid stand mixer all in one place in Center City?", I think I stumbled on the reason why they don't open stores in less affluent city neighborhoods: Their margins would be ruined because all the Pathmark shoppers would buy their regular groceries at Wegmans while avoiding the prepared-foods area and the high-end kitchenware. (Well, maybe they would buy the prepared stuff too, if the Freshgrocer at 56th and Chestnut is any guide.) The razzle-dazzle stuff that leads people to believe Wegmans is pricey hides the dirty little secret that it isn't. I scoped out their prices on many items you'd find in any supermarket, and they were consistently as good as or better than the stores I shop on a regular basis. (I note that their in-store signage trumpets this fact: "Consistently low prices" signs are sprinkled liberally throughout.) I also liked the variety they offer in their store brand. I almost walked out with a bottle of Wegmans Kansas City-style barbecue sauce until I noticed that the first ingredient listed was high fructose corn syrup. (They also had a Memphis- and a Southwest-style sauce.)

Hasn't ever been a problem for me. I put a silicone hot pad in the bottom of the stock pot. I would think that maybe that provides enough of a heat sink that it doesn't affect it? Probably. I'll probably rely on the Corning Ware instead. I used to read them religiously, but kind of stopped a while ago and haven't been reading them lately. I love the voyeuristic thrill of hearing about other's food, but I don't shop everyday at exotic outdoor farmer's markets, or cook gourmet extravaganzas or host fantastic dinner parties with 37 courses. 360 days a year I probably eat cold cereal for breakfast. Typically one of us cooks something that lasts 2 or 3 days and we eat leftovers. I'm cooking every night for this just so you all don't get bored! (What, leftover curry again?) I guess I'm just worried that I won't measure up to the high bar set by all the previous bloggers. ← The Reading Terminal Market "exotic"? Meatloaf and cheesesteaks "a gourmet extravaganza"? A friend and his partner cooking for me to celebrate my birthday "a fantastic dinner party"? (Absolutely!) Yes, you most definitely measure up. As for what I eat for breakfast, I refer you to my own foodblogs, linked from my .sig. Here's a first-person version of the same observation for you to use six months after your kitchen remodel is finished. Be sure to hang on to this until 2009, then: "Humor is emotional chaos remembered in tranquility." Great-looking pizza, BTW, and I don't feel so guilty about having to roll my own crust now.

There's a pizzeria on 13th across the street and down the block from Woody's that catches the club crowd after closing time. The pizza is actually passable. The Letto Deli across the street is open till 3 a.m. weekends. But the usual go-to place for the late-night crowd is the sit-down diner you passed en route to NYPD and Wendy's.

Wow! Had I run across this thread earlier, I might have retimed my West Coast vacation. I'm going to want to keep track of this so I might be able to plan my next Seattle trip around one of these dinners if at all possible -- and trust me, this first trip to Seattle won't be my last (of course, having a brother and niece who live in Woodinville provides additional incentive). Photos and report of that wonderful dinner (and cocktails beforehand) coming Real Soon Now. I promise. --Sandy, back in the thick of things in Philly/Chester

Sounds interesting, and I look forward to further reports. While you are covering the high end, I managed to do a whirlwind tour of the low end yesterday. Story and photos soon after I return to Philly. Suffice it to say for now that everyone who said I needed to visit a taqueria was right.

Okay, possibly dumb basic science question. I know that most Pyrex ovenware is not to be used over a source of direct heat (open flame or electric burner). Wouldn't the bottom of a pot sitting on a source of direct heat also pose the same problem? (This may not really be a problem for me, as there is a CorningWare casserole dish in my cookware collection.) What? You mean to tell me you haven't been reading the foodblogs yourself? We're a deranged bunch, I tell ya. Asking people to show us their fridges, indulge Pocky fetishes, and stuff like that. Please, Ma'am, I want more!

My Oakland hosts have exposed me to Irish oatmeal, something I would recommend you check out, Fress. It differs significantly from the American version in that its texture is more granular, sort of like very, very short-grain rice. It takes just as well to the various embellishments. My hosts buy the quick-cooking version of McCann's Irish Oatmeal (the back-of-the-box blurb reads something like: "We have kept the traditional Irish oatmeal you love, but use modern technology to bring it to you in a convenient, easy-to-prepare form." Or something like that.) I imagine Whole Paycheck should carry it. (There is apparently a cheaper alternative in Oakland called Farmer Joe's.)

Good morning from my temporary home base in the Oakland hills! Nice to meet a fellow messy-desk person. Apparently we are the more creative types, according to some article I read recently. I'm having a great time out this way, as you may or may not have divined from random posts to the California and Pennsylvania boards. You live in a wonderful city full of Mediterranean spirit, charm and climate. (While waiting to board my OAK-SEA flight, I read The San Francisco Chronicle's TV columnist dissing The Weather Channel. I wanted to write back to him, "Of course you don't get The Weather Channel. That's because where you live, you have no weather.") Good luck putting your kitchen together, and I look forward to following your adventures in baking. Have you ever made sourdough?

If you get to SF try the Slanted Door at the ferry building. ← Hit the Ferry Building yesterday. Gorgeous restoration job, neat high-end food emporium inside. Tasted a Persian lime California olive oil that I will have to order online once I return and get paid again. Saw, but did not go into, the Slanted Door. Bought a loaf of alleged sourdough bread from a bakery at Fisherman's Wharf to bring to dinner. Didn't realize that it wasn't really sourdough until I ate some. Found out later from my hosts that I probably should have bought a loaf from Acme Bread in the Ferry Building instead. (The place I bought the bread, so you can avoid it when visiting, is called Boudin.) Prepared a variant on chicken cacciatore for my friend: two boneless breasts, browned in olive oil then tossed into a mix of two cans tomato paste, half a container of organic chicken broth (~1.5 cups), a bulb of chopped fresh garlic, chopped white and shiitake mushrooms (all of these sauteed in olive oil before I added the liquid), a chopped poblano pepper and about 1/4 cup chopped cilantro. Simmered that for ~20 min, then served it over egg noodles with roasted broccoli and cauliflower. As the sauce is simmering and I tell him that I'm bequeathing him the leftover produce, my friend tells me -- after I had asked him twice if there were any foods I should avoid -- that he hates cilantro. He loved the dish. We are going out to dinner at a place on 18th between Dolores and Guerrero that's apparently a very hot table tonight. (He couldn't get a reservation after 5:30 or before 9:30. We're dining at 9:30. I may end up on his couch tonight, as the last BART trains depart at midnight.) I may try to sneak the camera in, but I'm not among confirmed foodies. I hope he can make it back to his hometown sometime soon. I don't think we realized that we missed each other until last night. (I do try to stay in touch with him regularly, something I don't always do well with distant friends and acquaintances.)

The story thus far, that encounter with the cheesesteak aside: --As I mentioned already, In-n-Out Burger is all that and a bag of chips (instead of the fries). --I splurged on dinner at Union in Seattle with a most congenial bunch of Seattleite eGers, followed by a pig-out excursion into Belltown and Pioneer Square with one of them. I have entered into a swap with another: She will send me a bottle of Late Harvest Syrah from Washington State, and I will send her a pound of Pennsylvania Noble Cheddar in return. (Edited to add: A full report on my Day in Seattle will be forthcoming on the Pacific Northwest board.) --Last night, my hosts for the remainder of my trip treated me to dinner at Bucci's in Emeryville, where I had a delicious and most tender braised lamb shank. We split an antipasto sampler and a baked goat cheese with breadcrumb topping appetizer. En route there, we talked history (of Emeryville and of the area), transit (one half of this host couple is a transit geek like me; there is an O-scale PCC in Public Service Co-ordinated Transport livery bearing a (Newark, NJ) City Subway rollsign next to me as I type this), and the part of the country where said transit geek host and I both grew up (he in north-central Missouri). --Today I think I'll try one of those Mission District places before heading to a friend's place on Dolores Street near both the Mission and the Castro. I'm cooking for him tonight; he's taking me to dinner tomorrow. Having a grand time. Don't want to leave; can't afford not to--at least for now.