Good To The Core

The air is crisp, a pull-your-coat-tight kind of cool. My front stoop is layered in leaves from my Japanese Maple tree. It's only seven o'clock and I already want to crawl in bed to spend some quality time with my book. These are all signs that it's Fall, whispering of the Winter to come. I've already made a couple pots of soup to keep me warm. As lovely as soup is, Fall is the time for apples to come center stage and put on their marvelous show.



Apples come in a variety of colors and textures. Be they green, gold, or red, I think they're all beautiful. Ironical two of the worst apples I've ever had are the Red Delicious and Golden Delicious . Trust me, the name is really misleading. Unless they are VERY fresh and ice cold, they aren't worth the energy to chew. They embody the worst possible fate for an apple....mushy!

On my trip in New Zealand, Nancy and I came across this roadside apple stand. Nobody was there to give money to, but the box on the apple display made it obvious where to put it. Of course we skreeched the car to a stop to pick up some apples, happily parting with the change in my pocket. Honor system payment rules!



I once went with my friend Scotty to the Applefest at the Applecrest Farm in Hampton Falls, New Hampshire. The orchard is the oldest and largest in New Hampshire. It's been around since 1913, giving the Wagner family plenty of time to master the art of apple growing, which they have. Damn perfect apples. When Scotty and I went there, we ate every apple thing we could get our hands on: Apple Pie, Apple Cider Donuts, Apple Crisp, and Caramel Apples. Ohhh belly-aching bliss. The "fest" workers had a shirt that I wanted oh so bad. I was ready to trade some greenbacks for it, but alas, it was not for sale. You needed to volunteer there at the fest to get one. I offered to do dishes or schlep apple barrels around, but they weren't interested. No shirt for me. Scotty kept a look out for the shirt on E-Bay for years following, but to no avail. Thanks for trying Scotty!



I never thought a day would come when I would find an apple better than the Fuji, but it happened. I'd like to introduce you to the Honeygold Apple. Wow. Sweet, crunchy, and so much more. If you're a Fuji fan, have a little fun and set up a taste test with these two contestants. A great way to spend a fall afternoon.

Lastly keep your eye out for the Jazz apple. It is the new thing from New Zealand. It's a cross between a Gala and a Braeburn. I haven't come across them myself, but I hear good things. Drop me a line if you get your mouth around one. I'd love to know how they taste. Did you hear Miles Davis as your teeth sunk in?

The Depatment of Doing

The "Department of Doing", in New Zealand, is one of the funniest offices I've ever seen. I didn't go inside to further investigate. Just the idea alone that a whole department was dedicated to "Doing", was enough for me. Being a big "do-er" myself, this is something I could really get behind. But really, what do they do in the "Department of Doing"? What services do they offer? Is there a 24 hour hotline that citizens can call when they are bored and can't think of any activities to entertain themselves? Maybe the have tutorials on effectively making To-Do lists. Perhaps a weekly philosophical lecture on how just living and breathing is doing something.

A Butt In The Oven

In honor of the upcoming cold months, I am going to tell a tale of that illustrates the true cost of heat. As most of you know, I live in an old house, a house so old that it only has heat in one room. It gets so cold in our house that you can literally see your breath while walking down the hallway. Like a good human, I have learned to adapt to my surroundings, in this case becoming creative in my heating methods. When I am in the kitchen, I typically crank the gas oven on to broil and get the kitchen up to a nice toast 72degrees. When I am really greedy and this isn't enough, I not only have the oven going full force, I stick my butt on the ledge of the open oven door. Being this close to the heat source is addicting. One night when my friend Scotty was over for dinner, I was doing the butt-in-the-oven routine. We were chatting away, having just mad a big boiling pot of stew, which I moved to the counter to cool. Upon returning from setting down the soup pot, I stuck my butt back in the oven. A few words into my next sentence and sliparoo, my socked feet came out from under me. The oven opened its hungry mouth and I fell all the way in. My weight on the door, pulled the oven on top of me. Both Ric and Scotty ran to my rescue, though I wasn't hurt in the least. I felt a fool. I glanced over at the soup pot, thanking my lucky stars that I had just removed it. I was so close to having boiling soup all over my skin. Phew. The door to the oven now won't shut all the way. I see this as a reminder of the comical, yet slightly frightening night I fell into the oven. For the record, I haven't done it since. My ego still is bruised for the ridiculous display I made when I fell. To all those folks out there without heaters who are getting ready for a cold winter, get a space heater, buy a hot water bottle, or put on an extra coat. I don't recommend sticking your butt in the oven, as tempting as it is.

My Ladies

I just wanted to give a shout out to my ladies. These two chickadees are the best in what friendship has to offer. We've already got lots of adventures under out belts, like snow trips and Oaxaca, but there are still so many more to be had. No matter what we're doing, it's always good. It can just be walking around the hills of SF chatting or throwing hypothetical questions back and forth over Vietnamese food. Life's growing pains & bumps feel a lot less scary with these Sabrina and Erica at my side. It's a wonderful feeling, knowing that I've got these two in my corner cheering me on through the hard times and calling me on my shit when I need it. Thanks ladies for being as silly, adventurous, thoughtful, and marvelous as you are. I look forward to being 80 years old together, reminiscing about Sabrina's dumpster diving, Erica's disdain for thrift stores, and my obsession with good eats.

Tea and Friendship

When you want to frolic in lace and mismatched tea cups, Lovejoy's Tea Room is the place to go. It's full of sugar, spice and all the things that make girls nice. The food is lovely and dainty, but it still fills you up. My friend Sarah and I went here a few days ago to indulge in bottomless pots of Rooibos Tea, while catching up on too many months of separation. Sipping tea tastes better when you are with a friend, and have all the time in the world to chat about life, love, and everything else. Something I really love about this tea "room" is its grandma's attic feel: Mismathced everything... Chairs, tables, linens, cups, saucers, silverware, lamps, etc. It feels like home, buzzing loudly like a hive full of ladies.



We went for the High Tea for Two, which comes with four Tea Sandwiches, Rye Coleslaw, Spring Greens with Balsamic Vinaigrette, Warm Scones with Double Devon Cream and Strawberry Preserves, and Shortbread Tea Biscuits ($32). There are a lot of sandwich options to choose from, including our choices of Cucumber and Cream Cheese, Chicken Apple Walnut Salad, Artichoke Hummus, and Pear with Stilton Cheese. Even though this seems like enough food, we couldn't pass up the Petits Fours plate when it came around.



Did I mention that the tea pots are bottomless, so drink up my friend. If you go the caffeine route, you can be up all night doing those projects that you keep back-burnering.
It's never too early to start thinking of what to do for Mother's Day. What mother wouldn't love an afternoon of tea with her daughter. If you don't want to wait that long, and I wouldn't blame ya for it, take the restaurant on a test drive with a friend first. Lovejoy's Tea Room is located at 1351 Church St, San Francisco. Call for reservations 415-648-5895.

Rockin' Until The Witching Hour

On the recommendation of a coworker, I went to see the play "Love, Janis" about Janis Joplin's life. I got inspired, well actually a bit pressured too, by my friend Cheryl, to be Janis for Halloween. Cheryl fulfilled one of her goals from the last decade: she was Angus from AC/DC. A great Halloween was had decorating "creepy cupcakes" in the SF avenues, followed by attending a wild party in Marin until 2:30 in the morning. I haven't been up past the witching hour in too long. It sure felt good.

Mi Profesora

There were lots of activities one could do after Spanish school in Oaxaca, Salsa Dancing, Backstrap Weavinig, Mexican History, and Cooking, to name a few. You can guess which one I wanted to take. The frugal side of me also factored in the free meal that was to be had four days a week at dinner time.

We started our cooking course with a trip to the main Mercado in Oaxaca. We took a sloooooow bus, crowded with folks. It would have been much faster to just walk, but our little old teacher had to make two trips that day, and understandably wasn't into hoofing it. The market presented many culinary mysteries and delights. I partook of some Burnt Milk Ice Cream (Leche Quemada), which wasn't so tasty, but is a local favorite. I declined the offer of crispy crickets, but loved the homemade mixed nut bars made from honey and sesame/pumpkin seeds. We also got to eat some chocolate from the Mayordomo, the largest and most popular chocolate company in Oaxaca. I bought a couple of bars and an uber-rich chocolate milk shake that got me mildly belly aching.




Mercedes, my cooking teacher, loves food as much as me, and was delight to share in the adventure and enthusiasm. After eating our way through the market, we returned to the classroom. Over the next several weeks we made Tamales con Yerba Santa (a delicious anise flavored leaf that can't be purchased in the USA), Arroz con Leche, Memalitas (like little corn tortilla bowls topped with beans, cheese, cilantro, salsa and onions), Refried Black Beans with Chepil (another leafy plant only found in Oaxaca). We also learned how to make many of the traditional sauces, which consist of a variation of tomatillos, onions, garlic, salt, and chile. Lots of their sauce of "fried" in corn oil. Strange but true. It does make a difference in the flavor.



I adored my cooking teacher. All four feet 3 of her. On the last day of class, we did a covert exchange of pesos for her photocopied cook book of special recipes. (The Institute of Oaxaca frowned down on any selling of merchandise from teachers. They banned it, even if the student requested it.) I've tried to recreate the recipes back in San Francisco, but they just don't turn out the same. This is partially due to the lack of crucial ingredients like Chepil and Yerba Santa. Without Mercedes on my side, reprimanding and encouraging me in Spanish, my salsa doesn't have the same sizzle. Gracias por todo Mercedes.