Ahh, Food Porn

I've been going through another one of my existential crises lately. This time it revolves mostly around the fact that I'm not someone who is meant to be chained to a desk for 9 hours a day. Just because I am good at Excel doesn't mean I enjoy compiling spreadsheets all day. And unlike my fellow coworkers who doodle on their note pads and yawn during sales meetings, IMing all day with friends who have more exciting lives in NYC is not going to make me a happier person.

So, what exactly does a girl who can't help rolling her eyes at management and sigh way too loud: "Oh, Gaaaaaaawd!" in the middle of a meeting then shrug it off as stretch do?

She get knives.

Now, I'm not rich. Obviously. But I try to make do with my budget. So, I headed to Target last weekend and purchased some decent knives. Now, they're not Top-Iron Chef quality. But they've been doing the trick so far.

This of course has gotten me even more interested in cuisine. I'm totally proud to say that I now cook and prepare all my meals at home. That's right: breakfast, lunch and dinner. I'm saving roughly 50 bucks a week, if not more. And I feel so much healthier.

It's my own version of Slow Food.

And speaking of which. I was privileged enough - or, quick enough - to grab a pair of tickets to the opening night of Slow Food Nation at Fort Mason. This is an all weekend event, but I only got tickets for the first night which was mostly for the hot shots of the trade and media. (Yes, there are some fabulous perks to my job that do make those mundane meetings worthwhile.)

A whole pavilion dedicated to all of my favorites: beer, wine, spirits, breads, olive oil, ice cream, tea, coffee, chocolate, honey, jams, fish, salumi. Total and utter food porn, as my future boss Tony Bourdain would say. This is hedonism to the tenth degree in foodie world.

So, for an event of this magnitude the extra ticket had to go to someone worthy. I chose my old Oakland roommate, culinary student, and connoisseur of all things gastronomic, J-Man. There's nothing better than having a fellow foodie who can lead the way to the good stuff.

We started with raspberry beer, made our way to the tandoori naan, then on to the fish. I have to hand it to Yoshi's for creating something that looked like, and had the texture of udon noodles out of squid. Then it was on to the cheeses, the wines, and olive oils. Some were sampled with bread and others were just sipped in cups. That's just hard-core. I did finally get to try Absinthe from Paris among other cocktails.

Now, I consider being a slow food foodie akin to being a Free Mason. I was actually five feet away from Alice Waters. Talk about wow factor. She's responsible, not only for the Gourmet Ghetto in Berkeley with Chez Panisse, but also for championing local and sustainable food as a way of life.

I have yet to dine at Chez Panisse, but everyone knows that the Alice Waters' disciples who end up opening restaurants are the most successful. You work for her, you're pretty much set for life. The East Bay inside joke among foodies is that even if her janitor were to open up a cafe it would someday earn a Michelin star. (Who knows if that's true, Chez Panisse only has one.)

But of course the best thing about being a VIP at any event is the goodie bag. A girl could get used to being pampered like that. Now that gets me off.




Yeah, I totally tried these pickles . . . the salmon roll was bomb. Pickles not to my tasting.

kicking squealing gucci little piggy

I was super excited a few weeks ago when I got the free tickets from Another Planet, er, actually my office since I beat out everyone at work for the only pair of first night passes. I think my coworkers hated me a little more because of it. Like when I said, "Oh, can't you guys change the night for the after-work pool night because I can't make it?" They were like, "Fuck you, we feel so bad for you." and "Oh, poor baby, you're going to miss pool night because you're going to see Radiohead and Beck instead." Oh, right and how could I forget this one: "Haha, you're going to get all emotional." Yeah, I would have slapped on the heavy eye-liner if I hadn't started the day with a killer eye infection.

Yeah, it's tough being me.

Although not as tough as trying to enjoy a concert. I don't think I've ever had to work this hard to listen to a band in my life - and that includes all those times I sat by the radio to win tickets.

I'm not so young anymore. And that's why I'm really in pain. You can pierce your nose to make you feel young again, but it's just not going to do the trick when you have to go to an outdoor rock festival. The truth is I'm not 18 anymore, unlike my cousin, who's only complaint was the "creeper" standing next to her asking if the band was British and who they were.

I'm really glad she didn't tell me that during the show or I would have cut him with my compost-friendly cup of Heineken Light. I was already on-edge from having to walk to the other end of the park just to get my will-call tickets. And then having to stand in line for thirty minutes, followed by more walking, then another line to get in, followed by more walking, and a line to get my ID checked, more walking, a line for light beer, more walking, a line to order my flat bread pizza with nitrate free pepperoni, and then a line to pick it up, followed by even more walking.

I missed seeing Beck. That's one artist I'd really like to see in concert. But it was either going to the other end of the park and seeing him or missing Radiohead. We all have to pick our battles. Luckily, I did get a chance to see Oaktown local, Too Short. Groovy. I have a tiny crush.

But it was definitely all about Thom Yorke and the rest of the guys from cabeza de radio. I did feel bad for them because the sound system kept breaking up. They kept playing, but none of us losers in the back could hear any of it. Then he would have to apologize for the damn thing after the massive booing and random cursing: "Fuck Meyer Sound!" Aw, poor Meyer Sound, small Berkeley company gets a largely publicized gig and they fuck up.

Still, I asked myself last night as I crawled into bed after a hot shower, and two Duane Reade PMs if I would do this again given the chance. And you know I definitely would because "you do it to yourself, you do . . . that's what really hurts."

one shot

We have this cool side-project going on at work. There's this camera the editorial department got as part of a circus promotion. So, we put film in it and are passing it around throughout the office to make a collage of East Bay images. Since there are roughly 30 people in my office and about 36 pictures in a roll of film, we basically get one shot. The best shot makes it into the paper.

So, imagine my frustration when I was handed the camera one day by accident. Great. I've had this thing for almost a week without any images coming to mind. I have tried to get rid of it by handing it off to another coworker, but was told to keep it a bit longer.

This really sucks because I've taken so many random images throughout the East Bay on my cell phone's camera. Good images too.

The pressure is intense. But I have a few ideas up my sleeve.

woke up this morning and 10 years had gone by

A few years ago I left my hometown, which up until then was my one goal in life. Most people ask me where I grew up and I normally hesitate. The last time I said "Millbrae" one of my coworkers looked at me intrigued, "Norway?" I shook my head and corrected. "No, Millbrae," I repeated, "you know, across the bay . . . by the airport."

"Oh," he looked disappointed, "that would have been more interesting."

Yeah, well, we can't all be interesting. You can take the girl out of the Peninsula, but, well, you know . . .

I don't head into Millbrae much, unless it's for a trip to the airport because let's face it, that's pretty much all there is out there. Although, I believe they've opened a Chipotle where the Lyon's used to be. Ahhh, Lyon's, the only restaurant down the street from our high school and the place of so many fond memories. (Think Peach Pit)

Speaking of high school . . . apparently my class has decided to hold its reunion this October. (Wow, it seems like only yesterday that I was standing in line waiting for my Freshman student body card.)

Anyways, I was hoping they'd settle on December because that would have given me a little more time. But now, I only have two months to lose those fifty pounds I've been trying to lose these last ten years. Let's look at the check-list of all the things I should have accomplished in these last ten years, shall we:

1.) Lose 50 pounds --- working on it.
2.) Graduate from college --- check
3.) Move out of Millbrae --- check
4.) Get my own apartment --- check
5.) Have a "grown-up office job" --- check

Ok, so four out of five ain't bad. I'm leaving the marriage and kids for the twenty-year reunion.

Like any teen I had bad times in high school, but ultimately a great experience. It should be interesting to see what everyone is up to considering I already know what everyone is up to thanks to Facebook and MySpace. But it should be interesting to see people I've known since preschool all grown up.

In the meantime, I'm going to sit back and enjoy this YouTube clip and plan my diet of carrots and water for the next two months.

beers, bongs and barbecues

I feel like I totally lost a month. July was here, and then it just disappeared. I'm sorry my dear readers if I have neglected all three of you. Not my intention. I think Mercury was out of retrograde and Jupiter had aligned with Mars coinciding in a super busy month. Needless to say both my liver and my sanity are slowly recovering. I blame it on the weed. No, the beer. No, the barbecue. Oh, fuck it. I blame it on all three.

Here's what happened while I was away . . .

Cried my eyes out at the six gay weddings I helped put togehter. Later celebrated with a drag king show at the White Horse Inn. Got hit on by my favorite peppy Puerto Rican, Papi Gil. By the time the "guys" came on stage was completely hammered.

As always found some time to unwind and detox in Sonoma. Nothing like watching fireworks between a row of grape vines.

The rest was much needed because the following week was the East Bay Express Best of the East Bay Party! Too much good stuff would have been the tag-line for that event if AM/PM hadn't already copywritten it. Totally excited about next year's. I'm all about parties. I was just happy my coz came to help out from Sonoma. Having a guest always gives me a great excuse to head over to The Dead Fish in Crockett. Brunching on crab benedict and other seafood goodies while sitting outside right above the Sacramento River is a perfect way to kick-off the weekend.

Discovered a new more distinguished Happy Hour at Periscope Cellars Wine Wednesdays. I believe my group was actually caught on camera scarfing down cheese and downing the wine. I'm still trying to find CBS 5's "Eye on the Bay" segment.

Had to have my fill of Kitty's of course. It had been a while since I'd gotten my $2 PBR on. I like to save the mojitos for our staff meetings.

Fell in love with Feist at The Greek Theater on the UC Berkeley campus courtesy of Another Planet Entertainment. She's so cute. I heart Canadian folk-rockers from Toronto even if the only song I really know is the one from the Apple iPod Nano commercial.

The next day it was off to The Warehouse Cafe in Port Costa. Sundays are apparently a special day at this bar that serves over 400 beers because they have a delicious barbecue, and live music which is great to listen to when you've had your share of pear cider. I happen to like this place not only for the fabulous view of the murkey Sacramento River, or the thunder of Harley's being started by, but because the owner and I share the same name. Like I say, it's the little things that make me smile.

And it's the little things that keep me smiling when I've had too many beers, pot brownies and barbecues. Or, is it the brownies that keep me smiling?