Happy Day-after-National-Donut-Day, friends! And a fine National Donut Day it was here in SF: sunny, breezy, not too cool. Post coffee and pre acupuncture, I wandered through Noe Valley and snapped the above picture to document the lovely weather.

Confession: I almost didn’t partake in NDD festivities. I KNOW, I know: totally blasphemous thinking, but when I yawned and stretched and made myself coffee, I was more in the mood for a bagel than anything else. But you know about the bagel situation in this city; if you don’t know, rest assured that the bagel scene here is nonexistent. (Note: Haven’t tried bagels from Wise Sons yet, but it’s at the top of my to-do list.)

Like a champ, I rallied and headed to the Jelly Donut.

I knew before I reached the counter which donut I’d order. That’s one of my strengths, you know: Extreme Donut Decisiveness. As last time — as always — I selected the oblong buttermilk fritter cloaked deep in chocolate frosting. Here’s a visual:

Big as a lumberjack’s fist, this lit’l guy called to me from the display case, beckoning with a heavily frosted finger. The cashier threw in a few (three) donut holes for my snacking pleasure, and I was on my way.

I settled into one of my whiskey barrel chairs and ate slowly, using a fork and knife. Silverware wasn’t the best idea. The donut crumbled under the pressure of the knife, but no matter — I scooped up the frosting crumbles because, as we all know, frosting waste is to be avoided at all costs.

Another confession: I couldn’t finish my donut. (I’m expecting you all to be like, “What happened to you out there, Baumer?”) The truth is, the donut was just too much: too big, too sweet, too oily. Its frosting was half an inch thick, and as much as I love frosting, I love my tooth enamel more. To my credit, I ate about 2/3 before throwing in the towel. Alas! Next year, I’ll have my game face on and select a less formidable opponent.

I’ve gotta hop in the shower and prep for a picnic, but happy belated National Donut Day to you all!

Another too-short weekend! I’m mightily glad the evenings are lighter — all the better for post-dinner strolls, my dear — but I have Strong Negative Feelings about waking up when it’s dark out. Once again, daylight savings has made this unenviable condition a personal reality.

Back to the start, though, the start being Friday night. Hit up Southern Pacific Brewing Company for burgers (I got the Black and Blue, as last time), Brussels Sprouts, and beers — or Manhattans, for those not in a beer-drinking mood. My Manhattan was on the sweeter end of the continuum; not undrinkably sweet, but sweet enough. Lesson learned: stick with beer. The burger and fries — oh, the fries! — were totally solid. The fries, slender and golden, were better than solid. They were impermeably good.

These are homemade Micheladas, created/enjoyed on Saturday night. They're not related to our trip to Southern Pacific except that these are alcoholic drinks, and we consumed alcohol at S.P. #tenuousconnections.

Southern Pacific may feel warehousey (which, duh: it’s in an old warehouse) and be packed with startup bros, but it’s meeting a critical consumer need: the need for good, decently priced food & drinks. Try finding that on Valencia, and ye shall be lost.

Saturday’s adventures took us to the Richmond, that infrequently visited land o’ yore. We’d planned to bike from our houses* to the ocean, stopping on the way back for lunch (ambitious!). As it happens, hunger waylaid us. (Are you surprised? We were not surprised.) We stopped at Good Luck Dim Sum — Alex’s favorite dim-sum joint in the city — for sustenance.

Full Disclosure: When Alex suggested dim sum, I made the “Hmmmmm” noise I make when I’m thinking “HELL NO!” but want to appear more open-minded than I’m actually feeling. Those who know me know this noise. Alex responded, “Wait, do you not want to go because you’re not in the mood for dim sum, or because you’re afraid of it?”

The latter, sadly. Prior to this weekend, I’d had dim sum once — and that was only by accident! I’m skittish about eating foods I can’t identify, foods with gelatinous textures, or foods that may or may not contain shrimp. BUT, in the spirits of Progress/Open-Mindedness/Overcoming Personal Failings, I said, “I’m scared, but let’s do it.” And we did.

What I liked most about this meal was the element of choice. Choice — choosing what I want to eat, how I want that food prepared, the fork I select, where I sit, etc. etc. ad nauseam amen — is one of my favorite parts of cooking and eating, and the choices available at Good Luck were damn impressive. As we waited to order, I gazed into the display case, admiring the tender coconut shreds blanketing the desserts, the golden symmetry of the sesame balls.

Perhaps I should modify that statement: I enjoyed the coupling of choice and excessiveness. I knew when I placed my order that there was no way I’d be eating all that food, but it was uniquely gratifying to carry that orange plastic tray, heaped with food, from the counter to the table, other diners looking on in curiosity or aghastness. The woman behind me in line actually said, referring to Alex’s order, “Oh, I thought that was for the two of you.” WHAT?

“Nope,” I said. Pause. Another pause. Woman looked a little nervous. “We do like to have leftovers,” I finally said.

Alex, looking so dapper and about to dig in.

My favorite bite, to be sure, was the sesame ball. I’m gaga for sesame: seeds, oil, whatever form I can get. It’s difficult for me to write about the ball because I have no basis for comparison, but I’ll say this: the interior bean paste kicked up the depth of flavor in a way that pleased me. Murky red, one shade darker than a kidney bean’s coat, the paste tasted ruddy. It tasted like it looked. Beautiful in contrast to the ball’s light exterior.

On the other end of the enjoyment spectrum was the scallion dumpling, the loser in my Personal Food Judgment Zone. I love scallions, and I love dumplings, so what could go wrong? MANY THINGS. I’ll break it down nice & simple: first, the dumpling’s skin was ueber-gelatinous, a texture that greatly displeased me. Second: the dumpling’s interior had only two visible ingredients: chopped scallions and shrimp (which were not listed in the item description!). Third: Well, I don’t have a third. I’ll just restate that the dumpling contained shrimp.

Scallions rock, but shrimp do not. Sorry, seafood lovers, but shrimp (to me) look like outsized bugs. Someday, I will try one, but that day is going to take weeks — months? Years? — of preparation. As it was, I was unprepared for shrimp and did not eat more than a nibble of the dumpling’s skin, and that was good enough for me.

Man, writing this is making me crave a sesame ball.

Dim sum. It’s not a Garky Tradition yet, but it’s on its way.

In other exciting news unrelated to everything I’ve just mentioned, my mom and sis are heading to town tomorrow (cascading applause!). Yep, We Three Troublemakers will be reunited and ready to nosh. Mom and I are going to bake Sys a special birthday cake, but we’ll undoubtedly sneak out for some treats, too: likely Papalote (sys’ favorite salsa in the city), Boulange (mom loves their breakfastssssss), and, if I have anything to say about it, MISSION PIE. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had one of their scones, and I’m getting itchy for one.

***

*Well, from one of our houses, but just imagine us starting from a point directly between our two houses, if that is easier. Which it isn’t, because maybe you don’t know where Alex and I live? To simplify: we set out from Alex’s house.

When I’m low on ideas, I mine my personal history. During Thursday’s introspection session, I remembered a dish my parents used to make: sautéed chicken served with scallions and bacon over egg noodles. As a kid, I wasn’t much of a meat-eater, but I fiercely craved this dish; I realize now that the flavor combination of bacon and scallions pleased me greatly. Egg noodles, of course, are good in whatever form they’re presented (unless that form = “overcooked”).

I consulted the Almighty Intertron and found a similar recipe — a disconcertingly basic recipe, I should add — one that had seven ingredients (chicken, bacon, scallions, pasta, salt, pepper, white wine). Kids aren’t known for their refined palates: truth. Using the googled recipe and my Very Vivid Memories as inspiration, I began. Here’s the recipe I came up with:

Garky’s Chicken with Bacon, Leeks, and Chives (serves 4)

Ingredients

• Eight ounces egg pasta — curlicues work best, if you’ve got ‘em, but you may also use those wide, flat, yellow strips
• Two large chicken breasts, totaling roughly one pound.
• Four strips of bacon
• A goodly amount of chives, minced
• One bunch of leeks, chopped, cleaned, and patted dry
• One bunch maitake mushrooms, cleaned and roughly cut
• Two or three cloves of garlic, minced
• Salt & pepper
• Red pepper flakes
• Extra-virgin olive oil
• About two tablespoons white wine (chicken stock may be subbed)

Method

1. First things first: set a pot of (salted) water to boil. Clean your chicken breasts, trim them of fat, and cut them into equal-sized chunks. When the water boils, add the pasta and cook until just done (between three and five minutes). Drain pasta, toss with a bit of oil, and set aside.
2. In a rather large skillet, cook your bacon. Set bacon aside to drain and remove most (but not all!) of the fat from the pan.
3. In the bacon-fat pan, cook your chicken. Add salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, chives, and white wine to the chicken and cook until just browned. Remove from pan/store in separate, heatproof dish.
4. In that selfsame pan, saute your leeks, mushrooms, and garlic. (Note: it helps to start the leeks first, then add the garlic and mushrooms after a bit.) Cook leeks until they’re soft and gently brown. Remove from pan.
5. It’s combination time! To your pasta, add your chicken and vegetables. Crumble your bacon — which should be cooled by now — and toss that in, too. Mix thoroughly and serve right away.

Raaaaaaaaaaaah! This dish nailed it. I’m glad I didn’t follow the internetted recipe as it was — the leeks and mushrooms added a level of earthiness I might not have appreciated as a tot, but that I sure as hell appreciate now. Garlic, too, was a good call; I’m totally befuddled by recipes that don’t involve garlic. Verdict: I will be making this dish again in the near future. (Note: Alex was also a fan — he took leftovers to work for a quik-n-easy lunch.)

After dinner, we found ourselves with a mad jones for ice cream. No, I’m not using the royal we — Alex also craved sweets. So we hit up our new go-to, St. Francis Fountain, for A SUNDAE!

That there is the Buster Brown: one gooey brownie topped with Mitchell’s vanilla, raspberry sauce, cronchy slivered almonds, and enough whipped cream to topple Paula Deen herself. ALSO: our server, maybe noting our Lady-&-The Tramp-type behavior, added two maraschino cherries so neither of us would have to go without one. All together: awwwwww! Thanks, beanied hipster dude!

This week, my goals are as follows: 1) Find and prepare another leek-centric recipe, because leeks are the shit; 2) Hit up St. Francis again; 3) Eat fewer PB&B sandwiches, lest I burn out on that delicious combination. Good day.

Sunday morning. I’d slept a kingly, dreamless sleep — the sort that, if assigned a color, would be a velvet navy — and woke early to the full spring sun. I had a tour set for the afternoon, but the morning was mine to spend as I liked. I considered lazing in bed; I hit snooze a few times before rolling my carcass into being. Motivated by the weather (gorgeous), my sweet tooth (persistent), and an open quart of buttermilk (soon-to-expire), I put my laziness on hold and baked muffins.Not long ago, as Alex and I wandered the late-evening aisles at Safeway, I picked up a jar of poppy seeds. I had no real plan for the them, but poppy seeds don’t require a predetermined course of action; they’re a good thing to have around. Aside from Mohnschnecken* and lemon poppy-seed muffins, I couldn’t think of a recipe that called on poppy seeds as a main ingredient. (OK, that’s a lie: I recalled a citrus poppy-seed vinaigrette my mom made when I was a wee one, but said vinaigrette is a condiment rather than a main or dessert so it was excluded from my mental list.)So I let my cravings dictate my direction. I’ve had pears on the brain for a stretch, and pear poppy-seed bread pervaded my thoughtstream. Google yielded some decent results for my search, and I found this recipe for Pear Poppy-Seed Loaf from Living Tastefully.

I baked a proper loaf last week, and it was good, not great. The flavors were solid — the bread wasn’t too sweet and was heavy on the seeds, per my preference — but the chunks of pear called for in the recipe sunk to the bottom of the pan, yielding a loaf with fruit on the bottom. Meh! 

This time around, I made a few mods:

• Instead of using chunks, I mashed the pear. (Fortunately, I had one pear leftover from last week’s baking session, and the lit’l dude was plllllllllenty ripe/easy to mash.) I used the same amount (1 c.) called for in the original recipe and added the mush to the wet ingredients.
• Rather than baking a loaf, I made muffins (doi). A few bonuses here: muffins eliminate the need to, you know, get out a cutting board and SLICE when you want a snack, and muffins also require only half the cooking time of a loaf. #score #timemanagement
• I added about half a teaspoon of Ceylon cinnamon. Couldn’t detect it in the final product, but I was comforted knowing it was there.

My verdict? Muffins all the way, baby. Using pear mash instead of chunks increased the lightness and moistness of the bread; true, the pear flavor was more diffuse, but the texture was loads better. In this instance, a mellower flavor was a trade I was willing to make for an airier crumb.

Yep: yesterday was a Total Baking Success. I’ve got muffins in the freezer, muffins in the fridge, muffins on my mind(!) If I can make it through this workday, I am going to eat the hell out of a buttered muffin served with some mint tea.

***

*My all-time favorite pastry, and one I  haven’t been able to locate in the U.S.

It’s taken me a few weeks to realize this, but arugula has decisively replaced baby spinach as my green of choice. This shift in allegiance has benefits and drawbacks, as is only natural. Benefit: arugula is a springier green, frilly and tickly and with the sharp bite of pepper. Drawback: arugula does not have as much iron as spinach, and I need all the iron I can get.*

The takeover occurred slowly, as these things do; at breakfast yesterday, I noted with a start that it has been weeks — maybe a month? — since I’ve eaten another green.Still, I’m not concerned. I’ve got my jar of iron pills — dingy capsules that taste like dirt — and the full assortment of greens remains available, always. I actually love personal food trends (food gravitations) and what they might signify. I don’t believe, as some people do, that they hint at deficiencies that our bodies seek to correct; rather, I suspect they’re rooted in something murkier — a convergence of physical and psychological preferences, seasonal cues, social prompts, what have you. I’m not fully tempted to suss out the causes, not only because the causes might be unidentifiable, but because I’m content with this small, benign mystery.

I have a policy of heeding food gravitations. If arugula appeals to me, arugula it is! I know myself, and I know that I’ll eventually tire of the gravitation food.We’re still reaping the benefits of our V-day bounty: yesterday’s breakfast drew on a few leftover ingredients and a few freestanding ones. Clockwise from top: Josey’s wonder bread, buttered (and, post photo, slathered in Donna’s jam); bacon; and eggs with two cheeses and arugula.

The toast and bacon are self-explanatory. The eggs could stand for a tiny bit of elucidation, I think. Alex beat the eggs with salt, pepper, milk, and goat cheese and cooked them in the normal fashion — low & slow. When they were mostly set, he added some sheep’s milk cheese from Bi-Rite (name escapes me = ack! Where is my cheese journal when I need it?) and some washed arugula, letting the eggs cook until the cheese melted and the greens wilted.

I don’t have to tell you how this story ended. (Answer: with two clean plates.) Arugula and eggs are my new favorite pairing; the textural contrast between the two is pleasanter at breakfast than it would be later in the day, when my mouth has adjusted to the world’s input, and arugula’s peppery flavor is pretty damn hard to beat. Arugula: it’s what’s for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

***

*As I discovered several months ago, when my doc revealed that my iron levels are pretty low.

It is Sunday night; I’m bundled in my favorite loungewear hoodie, sipping some ice water, and hearing the fire engines roar past. This past week was long (too long), and the weekend felt painfully short after such a hectic spell.

Still, I feel rejuvenated & ready to start my week. I had some gorgeous meals this weekend: brunch at Chow with Courtney, where I had mimosas and fries and a gussied-up peasant sandwich of ham, roast tomato, gouda, aioli, and a fried egg on grilled sourdough; dinner at Nombe with Alex and Willow and Joe, where our table spilled over with food: miso and bacon-wrapped mochi and a delicately gridded grilled eggplant, which was drizzled with miso. A chocolate souffle that really wasn’t, but that was a solid dessert nonetheless. My cutest meal was at Jay’s Cheesesteak 2, the Western Addition cousin to the Mission shop. Friday, I had plans to meet Sabina but no time to run home for food, and I found myself wandering Divis in search of a bite. I considered (briefly) Bus Stop Pizza, but reasoned that any pizzeria named after a bus stop couldn’t provide more than novelty. The brand-x sub shop next door was empty but for a forlorn clerk wielding a baguette. In light of my unwillingness to venture more than a few blocks from the Page, Jay’s became my last chance.

But what a phenomenal chance! I desired only the most basic food; if I’d had my way, I probably would have conjured up a peanut butter sandwich on thick, seed-crusted bread. Jay’s offered a close second: a no-frills BLT served on toasted baguette. It’s tough to tell in the photo above, but the cook made the bacon precisely as I like it: half a step too close toward burned. Nestled in its wreath of shredded lettuce and mayonnaise, crowned by tomatoes, that bacon was crisp salty satisfaction. (Sometimes, all it takes is salt.)

I felt ultimately cozy in that dim-lit shop, alone except for the cook, the clerk, and another diner, reading the Guardian and pausing, now and then, to take a thoughtful bite of fry. I’m already excited to go back — not as the result of a pre-planned trip, mind you, but the next time I find myself in the neighborhood, in want of a fine, simple meal.

]]> http://garkyeats.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/mac-attack/ Fri, 13 Jan 2012 17:06:55 +0000 garkyeats http://garkyeats.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/mac-attack/

That looks like a proper mid-century meal, right? Be not fooled by the plate’s low-profile appearance: this dinner was inarguably beautiful.

I am not typically a “mac and cheese person,” which is to say I only eat cheese & macaroni when it’s prepared by someone else. This has always been the case, from the time I was a tot to the current day. Furthermore, I have limited experience with homemade macaroni and cheese, which (as I discovered this week) is an entirely different animal than its boxed mutation.

When he returned from Amsterdam, Amadeo brought Alex a selection of fabulous cheeses — gouda and pesto-infused varieties among them — from the city’s famed market. What to do with all that cheese? Alex wondered. The answer presented itself, as it often does, in the form of a Mark Bittman recipe. (Note: here is a link to Bittman’s recipe for Baked Macaroni and Cheese.)

Alex making roux: yeah, yeah!

From-scratch macaroni and cheese isn’t as difficult to make as you might think. True, it requires one to boil water, grate cheese, and make roux (a tricky but not impossible task). Even so, it’s totes manageable for a weeknight.As Alex prepared the mac, I took over salad prep. Above, you’ll see the salad (undressed): a simple assemblage of butter lettuce, English cucumber, halved tiny tomatoes, and paper-thin radish slices for pepperiness. In an old jar, I mixed a simple vinaigrette: oil and vinegar and Maldon salt and fresh pepper and lemon juice and a wee bit of fresh maple syrup, for the tiniest hint of sweetness. Fresh vinaigrette — so easy and so satisfying — is one of my current favorite things. In fact, I think I’ll make some this evening, just because.

Note: We didn't have any bread with dinner. In fact, this is Sam's loaf of bread, but Alex also got a loaf from Josey. At any rate, I thought you all would enjoy this photo of a beautiful, craggy loaf.

Macaroni and cheese with a fresh green salad: right now, I can’t think of a pleasanter, more balanced meal. With a dish as rich as the mac, you have to serve the lightest side dish; the tossed salad, with its oh-so-delicate butter lettuce, fit the bill. The relative acidity of the salad was a nice foil to our creamy main. When all was said and done, I didn’t even crave dessert; that’s the sign of a wholly satisfying meal.

I’m definitely coming around to macaroni and cheese — not that I had beef with it before, but it never fully registered in my food consciousness. Now, though, it has taken up permanent residence there, interrupting my daily thoughts with reminders of how good baked pasta and breadcrumbs are together.

I got home late after the longest day at the office, and I was inches away from getting takeout. Yes: Kate getting takeout, one of the rarest naturally occurring phenomena. Papalote beckoned me; Serrano’s suddenly seemed like the tastiest slice in the world. I was about to duck into a bodega for a sleeve of Pop Tarts, but at the last second, I withdrew. I had big plans for a loaf of stale bread.

You see, I’d been saving this bread for bread pudding. I was thinking sweet, initially, but then recalled a Bittman recipe I’d seen for savory. It would be perfect for dinner — the day had been cool, and I envisioned myself all wrapped up in a blanket, listening to Cat Power, eating a bowl of the pudding: Max Coziness. The power of this image was able to destabilize my momentary laziness, and I got to work.

My pudding was a modification of Mark Bittman’s Savory Bread Pudding, the recipe for which can be found here. Curious about the tweaks I made? Read on:

• I reduced the amount of milk from 2 cups to 1.5 cups. BUT, to prevent the pudding from becoming too dry, I added two beaten eggs to the milk mixture.
• I only used parmesan cheese (maybe 3 ounces? I didn’t measure) because I was too lazy to grate any mozzarella. Ooops.
• In addition to sautéed shiitakes, I added garlic powder, minced green onions, and golden raisins to the bread mixture — worked like a charm!

How was the end result? See for yourself:

 My first bite was a timid one: I had small doubts about my willy-nilly inclusion of raisins. My second bite was much larger: the sweet raisins tasted perfect alongside the earthy mushrooms. Bittman, those mushrooms were a good call — without them, this dish would have tasted like, uh, bread soaked in milk and then baked for a bit. With them, the pudding was a real meal.

Next time around, I’m going to add some toasted nuts (toasted pistachios, or maybe pecans) and some additional sautéed veggies, just for healthiness’ sake. I might also bake the pudding for 3 – 5 minutes longer. (Note: The range is 35 – 40 minutes; my pudding baked for 37 and could have been a tetch crisper.)

As I set about my dinner prep last night, my roommate Scott asked if I’m “always in a cooking mood.” The short answer is no, I’m not. Last night, I was especially not in a cooking mood, but overcoming that initial stubbornness made my dinner all the more enjoyable: not only did I sidestep takeout temptation, but I felt good about having achieved something tangible at the end of a crazy day. I felt good about using that stale bread, and I felt good eating a warm meal. So many good things — I’ll remember these things the next time I feel like a cereal dinner.

]]> http://garkyeats.wordpress.com/2011/12/19/our-anniversary/ Mon, 19 Dec 2011 14:30:28 +0000 garkyeats http://garkyeats.wordpress.com/2011/12/19/our-anniversary/

We celebrated our six-month anniversary on Saturday. The day was beautifully leisurely: we woke late, then went to Atlas for breakfast and reading. (Really, the meal classified as brunch, but it seemed more like breakfast to me — blame the lack of mimosas?)

Atlas is fast becoming my new favorite breakfast spot. Sparely furnished and unassuming, the cafe doesn’t seem like it would be any better than dozens of other such places, but its bagels have the edge. San Francisco isn’t known for its bagels, sadly, but Atlas delivers in one’s moment of carbohydrate need. Next time I’m there, I’ll ask where they source those bad boys.

Pictured above is my bagel: everything variety, topped with cream cheese and tomato slices. Winter tomatoes aren’t the best, but sprinkled with a bit of salt, this one hit the spot.

We also got fruit, which mistakenly came with yogurt, which Alex most deliberately drizzled with honey. I loved the pattern the honey formed — not as much as the taste, but the swirls & loops are nonetheless lovely. I ate individual fruits — melon cubes and grapes and quartered strawberries — dunked in the yogurt, and for a moment I flashed back to Tulum, those late, long breakfasts in the Palapa, the ornately arranged fruit over which I’d pour the runny yogurt. The yogurt always came in a squat, white pitcher, just the size of a pepper shaker. I’d like one such pitcher.

[Image Source]

We had planned to get a nice meal for dinner, but the day previous a fierce Henry’s craving struck, and so we went there instead. I don’t mean to say that Henry’s isn’t nice — the food is consistently awesome, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a dining room with such Gemuetlichkeit. Rather, I meant to say that we’d planned on a fancy dinner, something that would have required us to wear our better pants and affect more formal modes of speech. Alex put it best: “An anniversary is a celebration,” he said, “and some celebrations call for mu shu pork and deep-fried shredded pork.” Well said, sir: well said.

***

It’s true that entries have been few and far-between, and I blame myself, but also I blame the Holiday Season, time zapper that it is. I can also attribute my lack of updates to increased work for Eater. Fear not: Garky Eats isn’t going anywhere. It may experience a few days of stagnation here and there, prior to the start of the new year, but absence makes the heart (but not SEO) grow fonder.

Friday morning, I put down a deposit and picked up my keys. I am so stoked to move in to my new place, but slightly less stoked about the prospect of boxing my books, trinkets, pairs of socks, &c. Ah, well: it’s a process that can be made more pleasant with music and PBR, right? (Aside: if any of you wants to help me pack, I’ll make you so much pizza and pour you so much prosecco. Or something equivalent.)

Picking up my keys was just the start of this past weekend. Friday night, I met Aurora for dinner at Cha Ya, where we enjoyed a serene, multi-course meal. As you know, my median dinner time has crept farther and farther past 6:00, edging into an arguably European time slot. Friday, it was back to square one: A. and I were the first diners to arrive. Our early arrival garnered us a prime table, uninterrupted service, and funny looks from passersby (who must have wondered what two twentysomethings were thinking, eating dinner at 5:00).

We began our meal with cocktails, natch — barley spirits mixed with fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice. (Note: How did we know the juice was fresh? We squeezed it ourselves. At the table.) Similar to vodka, this spirit was mostly tasteless; I was pleased to have fresh-squeezed juice (one of my favorite small luxuries). Aurora and I shared miso and the daintiest cucumber salad, garnished with toasted soy nuts and golden raisins and dressed in a mild vinaigrette. Next, we split a tofu custard topped with veggies: sugar snap peas, squash (undercooked, sadly), carrot coins cut to resemble blossoms. I’m sad to say that, texturally relevant though this dish was, it was bland. Cream-of-wheat bland. The veggies tasted like their natural selves; I dumped a bunch of soy sauce on my portion to spruce up the flavor, but this only made me feel as though I were eating cream of wheat with soy sauce.

The highlight of the meal was the fried eggplant stuffed with tofu and veg; ever-so-faintly sweet, the eggplant had the consistency of French toast* — a meltier, more-fried French toast — and assumed the mild ginger flavor of the sauce it bathed in. I’m partial to stuffed things — the uncovery process makes any meal more novel — and the entrée fit nicely with my Learning to Love Tofu Initiative.

After dinner, we jaunted to the Art Murmur, which was nifty and vibrant but maybe a little too scene for my evening: I’d promised myself a quiet night, but one tallboy, one vegan cupcake, and 1.5 dive bar Mai Tais later, I realized I’d made bad on my promise.

Saturday, I kicked it with Sabina, ladystyle: we spent some quality time on the couch watching only the finest Bravo had to offer. We quite possibly also watched one of the sequels to “Bring it On,” which was quite possibly featured on ABC Family. No comment there.

By Saturday evening, I wanted to swaddle myself in my comforter and sleep the deepest, most dreamless sleep, but I had other plans — I was meeting Alex to cook dinner. We spent a goodly amount of time paging through cookbooks, admiring rare chops and crusty loaves and Nigella’s sultry poses, and we decided, in the end, to visit Bi-Rite and get whatever struck our fancy.**

Aside: Oh, my god: as much as I love general grocery shopping, I love shopping at Bi-Rite the best. I’m drawn in by the jewel-bright berries, the stone fruits whittled into sample slices, the orderly rows of cupcakes and tarts. Such order! Such prosperity. As I stood considering the bins of olives, a salesdude wandered over and gave me samples of a few varieties; little did he know that I’d already decided to get a tub of Cerignolas.Roughly an hour later, we began to cook, but not in any old way. No, no: the preparation of this dinner was just as leisurely as the preceding grocery trip. Alex put on music; I broke the bundled Romaine hearts into leaves and washed them in lukewarm water. We paused to snack on olives, take a sip of whiskey, flip the record. A few minutes passed, then an hour; the vinaigrette was ready, the bread warmed in the oven, and the steaks hissed in their pan. I set the table with one green plate and one yellow. We were hungry, yes, but not so hungry to overlook the luxury of a languorously prepared meal.

If I had to choose (which I don’t, seeing as I’m the one recounting this experience, but I’ll choose, anyway), my favorite part of the meal was bread topped with manchego and membrillo. I’d never had quince paste, and I smitten with its texture (jam-aspic hybrid?), sweetness, and bloody hue; paired with the crumbly cheese, it was divine. All night, I thought about this combination, the satisfaction I took in its simplicity. Sunday, after a glorious brunch and my tour, I bought a wedge of twelve-month-aged manchego and a tub of membrillo and set to work making my newest favorite comfort food.

***

*Which I’ve been craving something fierce lately, god help me. I never used to like French toast, but look at me now! #seachange

**This isn’t entirely true: we did decide to make a variation of Jamie Oliver’s Insalata di Strata, but our protein/beverage/dessert choices were guided by impulse alone.