Dosa: Southern Indian Deliciousness

Dosa
995 Valencia (@ 21st Street)
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 642 3672

Dosa is a sophisticated Southern Indian restuarant in an unlikely location: the Mission, usually known more for tacos and copious numbers of weird people then dosas and chutney. But here we are.

Southern Indian food is a little different from the rich Mughali specialities most Americans associate with Indian food. Don't expect tikka masala, naan, and tandoori - Southern Indian food revolves primarily around vegetables, chutneys, and breads, most notably the large crepe-like dosa (hence the name.) Furthemore, Dosa's weekend brunches offer chaat, essentially the Indian word for crunchy little fried snackies. Obviously I was tempted.



After a brief wait, we were seated at a tiny but sunny table near the door. Delicious fresh papadum's appeared immediately, still slick with grease from the frier. These were salty and addictive - if only they sold them at gas stations. (It will come.)



I had to try a chaat dish, so I sprung for the bhel puri, composed of puffed rice, diced green mango, potato, tomato, onion and coriander, accompanied by chutneys ($7.00.) This was a crispy and technicolor delight, served in a small casserole - almost like a savory and super flavorful version of one's morning Rice Krispies. The lurid green cilantro chutney was crack-like, as was the tangy tamarind variant. (I kept em' throughout the meal to dribble on pretty much everything. And wanted more.)



I love fruit and I especially love fruit when combined with spices, so the Fiery Fruit salad with lemon juice, cayenne pepper, mint, ginger and god knows what else ($9) was a must-order. This was a wonderful idea and absolutely delicious, a fresh and warming counterpoint to all the crispy starchy fried things that comprised the rest of the meal. I'm tempted to try to figure out how to make this at home.



Of course, we had to order a dosa, and since my mother is a potato fiend, we went with the classic Masala Dosa, filled with creamy spiced potatoes, onions, and cashew nuts ($10.) The dosa was huge and papery thin and considerably larger then the plate, and the creamy soft filling was scrumptious, an advanced Indian take on mashed potatoes. Served with lentil dipping soup and a tangy and creamy coconut chutney, it was great fun to rip apart and dip into whatever looked most appetizing.



We also tried the South Indian Moons, a chef's sampler of five different uttapams (a kind of flat dosa), served with lentil curry and sambar. I couldn't tell you what was exactly in these savory little suckers, but they were definitely awesome versions of the savory pancake - moist, rich, and filled with flavorful bits of onion and mint and spices. They're made for dipping just like the dosa, and that's exactly what we did. (Though I could have gone for a little more spice on the lentils.)



Dosa does serve one selected meat dish every day, and on our visit, it was chicken saag ($14.00) Dedicated carnivores that we are, we ordered it and didn't regret it - the chicken was tender and falling apart underneath a cover of creamy saag, studded with chunks of paneer cheese. Again, I could have stood for it to be a little spicier, but that's a minor complaint.



Dessert? Dosa offers a few interesting Indian specialties, but I went for the mango kulfi, a kind of hard Indian ice cream served in chunks and garnished with saffron. It was hard as a rock when it appeared at the table, and I had a few unpleasant moments staring and willing it to melt, but the flavor was delicious: creamy and intense, offset nicely by the pungent little threads of saffron.

Dosa is a small restaurant and it was packed full when we arrived for Saturday brunch - although our 10 minute wait was by no means painful. (Just don't expect lots of room to stretch out in.) It's a bright, clean, and sunny space, and the bar is a nice place to linger and sip hot chai tea or one of their interesting cocktails.

Sure, we grossly over-ordered, but I don't regret it - we did manage to polish everything off. Dosa is a step above the usual hole in the wall Indian place, and prices reflect it - but the originality and interest of the menu justify paying a little extra. It's definitely worth a visit next time you're in the city and craving a different take on Indian food (and incredible amounts of delicious carbohydrates.)

Aziza: Hip Moroccan, Lamb Shank Big As Yo' Head

Aziza
5800 Geary Boulevard
(between 22nd Ave & 23rd Ave)
San Francisco, CA 94121
(415) 752-2222



I've been hearing about Aziza through the grapevine for a long time. The testimonials were impressive: best Moroccan food in the city, imaginative and bold flavors, hip and understated setting - a nice hand with lamb. I had to try it, and I jumped at the chance to reserve a table the next time I found myself in San Francisco with my family. I wanted lamb. Big, Neanderthal chunks of lamb, preferably swimming in its own juices.

Aziza is located quite a ways out on Geary, although it's a nice straightforward cab ride. (It is also located conveniently across from Ton Kiang, which is riding high on my must-try list.) We arrived right on time and were quickly shown to our table, ushered through Aziza's warren of darkly lit rooms, painted in dark midnight blue and jewel tones. The tables sat next to a big row of plush couches covered in pillows, which I immediately sank down into. (The little boy across from us constructed a fort which he lurked in for the bulk of the meal; he had the right idea.) It's a hip but not pretentious space with a wonderful atmosphere: warm, welcoming, slightly mysterious.

Menus are printed on bare-bones strips of grey paper, and we immediately set to deliberating about what we wanted - hell everything looked delicious.



I have had a life-long love affair with little greasy fish, so I decided on the anchovies with preserved lemon, celery, olio nuevo, and marash pepper ($9.) The presentation was beautiful and minimalist, tiny little fillets laid out on a white plate and drizzled with olive oil. They were scrumptious, with a delicate oily flavor, offset by the pop of the tiny accompanying olives and tangy celery and lemon chunks.



The meatballs, presented on skewers with grapes ($9) , were tender, delicate, and minty, with a subtle and perfumed flavor, offset by the sweetness of the fruit. I also loved the fresh and crunchy jicama salad that accompanied, dressed with yogurt, herbs, and a squirt of lemon.



Finally, we tried the squid with cured black olive and herb jam ($9), presented in an attractive little tan casserole. The squid was cooked just right and had a slightly sweet, tomato and cinnamon infused flavor, offset by the briny olives. (I do wish there was more description of what exactly was in the sauce on the menu rather then leaving it to pleasant mystery.) The crostini with herb jam on them were a bit too crunchy (a minor complaint, I know, I know.)

Our server whisked the plates away, and our entrees came out with impressive promptness - no waiting about, stomach grumbling here.



My lamb shank with barley and spiced prunes ($22) was divine - no other words for it. This is Aziza's trademark dish, and for very, very good reason. The picture is fuzzy, and I apologize, but that is because my hungry eyes turned into giant saucers when the plate was placed in front of me, and so the photo is hasty and poor. I skeletonized it, I will admit. The meat was falling off the bone in fatty little shards, accompanied by a sweet and vinegary sauce infused with the essence of lamb, soaked up by a earthy side of barley. I even savored the juicy and aromatic prunes that came with it - a perfect accompaniment to that tender, tender meat. I may be inexperienced in the ways of sheep, but this was the best lamb I've ever had. I ate it all and wanted more, and it was definitely as big as my head, or at least equidistant.



My mom chose the couscous with chicken, prawn, lamb, and harissa ($20), which came out on a big plate, lumped with golden couscous (specially made by the restaurant) and lots of delicious meats and vegetables. My mother adores carbohydrates (quite a feat for a size 2, really) and thus she loved this dish - the combination of savory spiced meats (lamb sausage, mm) and golden semolina couscous was really quite divine. The harissa, a North African spice paste composed primarily of paprika and cayenne had a delicious slow burn, and I stole most of it when she wasn't looking. Sorry, Mom, sorry.



My dad went with the squab with hon shimeji mushroom and thyme-ras el hanout ($25), a big plate full of meaty and perfectly cooked squab, accompanied by gamy wild mushrooms. The meat was delicious and full flavored, and tasted as rich as any duck - impressive indeed. Combined with the mushrooms and the accompanying greens, it was a great (and surprisingly rich) combination.

I do not generally like desserts. I have little sweet tooth: give me meat and salt and bony little things, finish me off with a bit of fruit or a tiny chunk of dark chocolate, I generally ask for no more (and want no more.) But the desserts here intrigued me, featuring different combinations of ingredients and flavors far beyond the usual Chocolate Decadent Explosion Orgasm Cake most restaurants shove at you. We all ordered dessert. We did not regret it.



I love pears and I love huckleberries, so the pear tart with huckleberry, frangipane, and bitter almond ice cream ($9.50) was a natural choice. Served warm and elegantly appointed with dripping, luscious ice cream over the top, it was tangy and excellent, sort of like an Oriental interpretation of the American apple pie n' ice cream. I loved the delicate crack of the sugared top of the pastry, a creme brulee without the cream. The portion size was spot-on too: quite small, perfect for a respite after a big rich dinner, but not so small that you feel you are being fed doll food. Perfect.



My mom, feeling stuffed like a tick, went for the light option: an orange blossom honey mousse with citrus & mint and prosecco-chili gelée ($8.00.) It was definitely the most high concept dessert on offer with lots of interesting components, but it worked - the whisper-light mousse combined with the crunchy caramelized sugar wafer and the fresh citrus chunks it sat upon. An interesting addition were the tiny gelatin cubes you can see resting in the spoon in the photo above: like an intensely flavored lemony jello. Interesting, but not so interesting that it fills you with a sense of vague confusion.



Finally, my dad selected the cinnamon ice cream with cookie - definitely the simplest dessert we sampled but still tasty, with a nice aromatic flavor and a tasty crunch from the accompanying buckwheat cookie. Aziza obviously has a talented hand with ice cream. Don't miss it.

One final note: our server was a true professional - friendly, extremely knowledgeable about the menu, and prompt. His menu and wine recommendations were spot on, and he certainly helped make our meal flow in the way it should.

Aziza is a superb restaurant. It's a pleasure to find a restaurant offering both a top-tier dining experience and interesting flavors, worlds away from the same 30-bucks-a-plate Asian Tuscan French fusion fluff that most "fancy" San Francisco restaurants peddle. It's hip but not pretentious, and I think that applies to the food - muscular and flavorful Real Food with high quality ingredients and a seasoned hand in the kitchen. It's a must-try if you're looking for something different (and high end) in San Francisco. (I will dream of harissa. And lamb shanks that are larger then my head.)

Zocalo: Foofoo Mexican (But not bad)

Zocalo
1801 Capitol Ave
Sacramento, CA 95811
(916) 441-0303


Zocalo adheres to the genre of Dolled Up Mexican Food, generally served in salubrious surroundings by attractive people who attempt to sell you expensive tequila. This is not always a bad thing - Zocalo has obviously found its niche, catering to Sacramentans with money who enjoy drinking muddled blackberry cocktails.

The decor is lovely: the huge space adheres to an old-style (but classy) Mexican theme, complete with a water tank in the entryway with floating roses. Everything from the light fixtures to the statuary has been planned out and looks great; the lighting is kept at a mysterious low that offsets the gentle glow of your surroundings. The bar is huge and well stocked with a variety of exotic liquors. (And people attempting to pick up other people.)

How about the food though?

Zocalo plugs itself as a purveyor of regional Mexican cuisine, which is reflected on the menu: you'll see things like mole, carnitas, camarones in chipotle sauce et all, which is a step up from the cheese-drenched gloppy things many Mexican restaurants content themselves with.

As at all Nice Mexican Restaurants, a bowl of decent tortilla chips immediately arrived along with three tasty salsas: a black bean dip, a red chipotle salsa, and a tasty green. These were delicious, and I also appreciated the free refills that appeared without prompting.

We began with starters: the ceviche de guaymas with fish ($9) and the empanadas with chorizo, cheese, black beans and avocado aioli ($8.50). The ceviche was an attractive presentation, served on individual curved-up tortilla chips and sprinkled with an attractive blend of pico-de-gallo and chopped avocado. Portion size was certainly hefty, and it was a tasty rendition of one of my favorite dishes, although I could have stood for a little more flavor.



The empanadas were super-rich and quite delicious, with a crispy pastry crust giving way to an oozing, meaty center. The avocado "aioli" I found bizarre - it tasted more of extrude from a bag grocery store guacamole then of anything that resembles either good guac or, well, aioli. I'd give it a pass. Or maybe just substitute it with some, you know, real guacamole.



I went with the salmon salad with honey-chipotle dressing ($13), which I know is a wussy choice (but I was jonesing for some salmon, be kind, be kind.) It arrived on a big old plate full of fresh field greens, black beans, red pepper, and corn, and I proceeded to drench it in the nice fresh salsa provided table side, ignoring the sugary sweet dressing. The salmon itself wasn't very good - it had been overcooked and came out rather dry, although admittedly I prefer my salmon rare and pink and freshly kilt. I wish I ordered something else.



My dad went for the pollo en mole ($16.5), a traditional dish featuring chicken cooked in a sauce composed of chilis, chocolate, and sesame, served over rice with a side of grilled plantains. I'm a mole snob, but this was a pretty tasty version with a nice, complex flavor and a good hit of sesame, although I would have preferred a little more heat. The chicken was tender and tasty, and the plantains had retained their characteristic starchy sweetness. It's a slightly watered down mole, but it does retain much of the appeal of the original.



I also caught a glimpse of the tacos de cazuela ($13.5), a decadent looking casserole of steak, cheese, and vegetables, served with rice, beans and corn tortillas. This looked cheesy and good, although it seemed a bit watery. I will try it someday and report.

We passed on desert, although there's a range of interesting looking Mexican specialities - tres leches, flan, so on and so forth. There's also dirty hippie free trade coffee, although I really don't need any caffeine coursing through my bizarre little system at 8:00 PM. Someday.

Is Zocalo worth a visit? Certainly - it's presenting pretty good Mexican food with an authentic twist in a nice setting. As Real Thing Mexican food often is found only in venues featuring questionable hygiene, pissed off servers and blaring FUTBAAALLL games, this is not necessarily a bad thing, especially if you're trying to impress a date or simply want to protect your ear-drums. Try to dress nice and appear as 1. skinny or 2. affluent as possible. (Either or both will help with the bar scene.) Order some tequila and enjoy it for my 19 year old self, you jerk.

OZ Again

Oz Korean BBQ
3343 Bradshaw Road Sacramento, CA
95827
916-362-9292



I love Korean food. Some of my earliest and happiest memories involve it: dipping crisp-fried yakimandu into soy sauce full of floating green scallions, chewy strips of spicy squid, fermenting kimchi tossed on top of almost anything. California has proved to be a Korean food afficinados dream: even Sacramento brims with Korean joints, small and fancy, fast-food and grill your own, endless purveyors of kimchi! (Yay!) You can buy kimchi at the grocery store here. I eat it often.

My favorite Korean place here in Sacramento is OZ Korean Barbeque. Located somewhat outside of town, it's a big restaurant in a big edifice of a building, adorned with big scary looking smoke-stacks to let off the smoke - coming from the tabletop grills inside. The entry way is dramatic and rather gorgeous - a brush painter came in to produce a gigantic painting of Tahoe in the Asian style that snakes up the walls. The dining room itself is big, stone and wood paneled, and noisy. Eating Korean food is not a quiet or austere art. It should be done in groups and you should order beer. (OZ is happy to hook you up.)

Panchan or Korean side-dishes appear quickly. The selection changes often, but you'll usually get at least five dishes - expect kimchi, squid strips, seaweed salad, marinated bean sprouts, pickled cabbage and jalapeno, radish, and other such delectables. You're in luck - refills are free and endless. (I ground through three on my last visit. I like kimchi.)

You should sit at a grill-table. It's fun to grill your own meat, and OZ's galbi (marinated short ribs) and bulgogi (marinated beef sirloin) are high quality and delicious. Don't miss the Tokyo X, which is the polite name for marinated pork belly, that fatty and delicious food. You can also get chicken and seafood to grill on the tabletop,but both strike me as unnecessarily healthy.



However, you should also order off the menu, for one needs accompaniments for the orgy of meat you are about to engage in. Japchae, or sauteed glass noodles with beef and vegetables (pictured above) are just plain wonderful - slippery, beefy, easy to eat. Stone Age Bi-Bim-Bap, a dish of sirloin, egg, vegetables, and pickle served over rice in a crackling hot stone bowl is also excellent. The rice caramelizes merrily away at the bottom of the stone vessel, and once you mix up the slightly burned rice with the toppings and the bean paste....perfect.



Don't miss the soup. Korean soup tends to be red hot, literally and figuratively, and filled with delicious silken tofu, vegetables, and the protein of your choice. I love OZ's Korean "cioppino" filled with various unlucky creatures of the sea, floating in a super spicy broth with tofu, garlic, and enoki mushrooms - scrumptious.



Seafood is a winner here. Begin your meal with the seafood pajun, an eggy pancake filled with squid, shrimp and crab along with vegetables, dipped in a sweet soy sauce. Finish with the squid pan fry as pictured above - a burbling cauldron filled with spicy hot bean paste, vegetables, and squid tentacles. It's absolutely addictive and tastes distinct from anything other cuisines might offer.

If you're in the mood for Asian food and are growing increasingly sick of eating Thai food again again again, you owe it to yourself to try Korean food. Experience the wonders of sticky bean paste and glass noodles and grilled beef. Eat some kimchi and be unabashed about the toxic garlic breath you will provoke. OZ serves food that is worth social censure for. (Or bring your friends to eat kimchi with you, and then no one will be bothered. That's a good plan.)

Gonuls J Street Cafe

Gonuls J Street Cafe
3839 J Street
Sacramento CA
916-457-1155



Gonuls is a little cafe located on J Street, kitty-cornered in next to a Starbucks and an upscale day spa. (This means parking is an exciting adventure.)

Upon my first, halting impression, the interior reminded me somewhat of an office - beige and adorned with inoffensive paintings of Tuscan landscapes, along with jars and dishes of the proprietors jams and jellies (and little fake plants.) Despite the somewhat off-putting emptiness of the restaurant, a very good three piece jazz band was playing, and we enjoyed listening to them as we were seated and presented with a large basket of somewhat hard foccacia bread, presented with the requisite olive oil n' vinegar.



The menu is Turkish with a few Mediterranean specialties - think hummus, lentil soup, stuffed peppers, and lamb dishes. However, more familiar Continental specialties are also in evidence, including pastas , shrimp and pizzas - yuppie chow fans, you are presented with an embarrassment of riches. In keeping with California's sense of self-rightneous, there's an emphasis on organic ingredients (to be commended.) Don't expect any bargains: prices are moderate but not cheap. Gonul's obviously has ambitions slightly beyond those of a run of the mill neighborhood cafe.



I felt like I should at least try to adhere to the place's Turkish theme, and went with the Turkish-style red snapper, served over eggplant and rice, with a sauce of thyme, tomatoes, olives, and capers ($17.00). The sauce was quite tasty, but the rest of the dish wasn't nearly as successful - the fish was slightly mushy and tasted pre-frozen, more like cod then a nice piece of snapper (color me suspicious.) The flavor of the sauce was good enough, but the rice had congealed into a rather gloppy mess, and I didn't eat much of it. It overall felt like more of a home-made thrown together presentation then a composed and professional restaurant dish...and certainly not worth 17 bucks.



My mom went with the curried lentil soup ($6.00 a bowl), which was tasty enough, although the curry flavor could have been more pronounced. It did have a nice tang from the included yogurt. She also tried a house salad, which was pleasant enough - composed of organic field greens, feta cheese, and walnuts with a light oil and vinegar dressing..



My dad tried the red lentil soup with tomato, shallot, and lemon ($6.00). This was quite tasty, and the fresh spinach it was topped with added an agreeable touch of green - although we experienced a somewhat embarrassing moment where we were unable to discern the curry lentil soup from the red lentil soup by flavor alone.



He moved on to the stuffed pepper appetizer with beef, lamb and rice ($8.50), which was certainly rather gigantic, although I was unimpressed with the flavor - again, that gloppy rice made a reappearance, and the meat was not much in evidence, although the sauce covering it was rather tasty. Gonuls apparantly has a "glop" problem when it comes to presentation, as is evidenced by my photograph. Not that glop can't be tasty, but I don't love looking at it either.

We passed on dessert, but I snuck a look at the menu on the way out and it seemed impressive - I might return just to try the key lime pie, which is somewhat akin to crack in my book.

Service was slow and disjointed. Gonul's service style felt homey but not in the good way - with long, indeterminable waits to have our order taken and for various courses to arrive. Combined with the office like feel of the dining room, the entire experience didn't quite feel like that of a polished restaurant, although the jazz band did help loosen things up a little. I'd certainly budget some time if you're planning to eat here - the confused service means an in and out sort of dinner probably isn't in the cards.

Would I return to Gonuls?

The menu is interesting enough, and I like the emphasis on fresh ingredients (though they should really apply that to the fish.) Prices do need to be drawn down considerably, as the food is by no means sophisticated enough or polished enough to justify that sort of premium. They're trying to play the role of a cute and excellent neighborhood cafe with an out of the ordinary menu..they're just not entirely succeeding.

fish maws?

Image from here: barracuda.

I have always loved interactive food. I am a monkey relation (aren't we all?) and I enjoy picking things apart, dismantling animals that were formerly living. I love boney food, food rife with complexities - sucking marrow out of bones, tenderly lifting fish bones out of the gaps between my teeth with my tongue (delicate, softly now - the bones get into your intestines, kill you, end your life.), chewing the crunchy hard membrane off pork ribs (done for, I don't throw them under the table like I would have in medieval times.) I like food that requires some measure of skill and intuition to eat, calories that do not come easily - I abhor rice pudding, mashed potatos, milkshakes, things a toothless degraded person could easily consume. I want my food to puzzle me.

I have good memories of food like this.

When I was very little taking apart racks of ribs crispy and smoked, off the grill, fingers covered in black soot and flecks of barbeque sauce, pork that has died for my sins, caught in my teeth, inflaming my gums and so worth it. (The dentist yells at me afterward, foists floss threaders into my hands, bad bad bad!)

Chili crabs: Chunks of sea creature, hacked apart with malice, wok-fried with bright red sauce, chilis so fragrant they smoke out the house and make the smoke-alarm wail, eaten with hands, viciously. My eyes cross, carnivorous, I pretend I am a pie-dog hiding under a dock, chewing apart crab carcasses (as if my life depended on it.)

Fish: Ginger scallion fish, big scaled head that is covered in tasty, silken parts, drifting in sesame oil and chunks of jalapeno. I take apart the maw, and it slips out of it silken scaly fat, tiny teeth glinting under flourescent lights - I take its jaw in my jaw, scrape its teeth against my own teeth, we are coming together, fish and I (but he is devoured and I remain, with bad breath.)

Crawdads: There's yellow gunk in the heads, in Lousiana they say it is the best part, you snap them apart at the midsection, little red jewel bodies, and slurp out the brains (take their essence into yourself, their minor crawdad hopes and dreams), throw them away and take another. Someone is throwing beads and drinking beer and you are sucking heads - that sounds so dirty.

Lamb bones: they come out in a big vat at the dark wooden Chinese table, the businessmen who have adopted me smiling as they steam up to the ceiling. The fat one draws a green evil bottle of baijiu, chinese liquor out of his coat, pours me a glass - he takes the lamb knuckle in his chopsticks, gnaws it contented, and I join them. We spit out the bones in tandem onto the table and get drunker, drunker, giggle like fools amid the skeletons.

Pomegranates - Babur said they were the world's best fruit, spoke of the merits of the pomegranates of Turfan and Samarkand, how his men grew punch-drunk on their seeds and on wine - I think of them sitting on overstuffed cushions and smoking opium whenever I eat one. You can soak them to get all the seeds out and make it easy on yourself, but I find that a fool's errand, debasing - I like to spend a happy hour communing with a pomegranate, a roll of paper towels by my sides, blood red jewel juice spurting up onto the ceiling and the floor - I'll clean up afterwards, for now I am content.

And it could go on and on - chicken wings and soft osso bucco marrow, rack o' lamb and soup dumplings (careful now, they will squirt you in the eye), chestnuts that must be smashed, garlic cloves encased in perfumed paper - this is why I eat, I suppose, because I am easily bored.

some food questions

1. What is one food (or meal) you used to hate but now love?


There are many - my finicky little kid years are not long behind me. My mother still loves to tease me about the time when she made a curry and I ran screaming through the house to dive under a blanket, to escape THAT NOXIOUS SMELL. Now I would wear curry as perfume, pre-scent my clothes with it. Oh how things change.

In most recent memory, salmon. I got aggressively ill once after eating some poached salmon, and for years onward, couldn't even look at salmon without recalling lurid barf-memories. And then this past April, my dad and I went to Fleur de Sel in Boston, a fine restaurant indeed - and I was feeling light-headed, risky. I ordered salmon with braised lentils. The salmon was seared, this side of rare, the lentils butter-infused and rich, and I fell in love with salmon all over again. Now I eat it two or three times a week, skin and all, I can't get enough. Oh how things change.

2. If you had to give up one of your favourite foods (or meals) for good, what would it be, and why?



An obscene question. Why in the name of God would I do that? But if I did - I guess it would be ahi tuna, because all the mercury will probably set me a glowing someday, or send me off crazy and gibbering like the first Emperor of China. Thankfully no one is making me, I can hasten my death at my own will.

3. Which food seems like it should be healthy and isn't, and do you eat it? Why?

Another odd question. I am chastened to realize that I don't eat very many things that are not healthy (I need to get in touch with my chicken fried steak side, again.) People think salads are healthy, even ceasar ones with boatloads of mayo and cheese and bacon and deliciousness. They are wrong. This does not mean you should not eat them if they are delicious. However, if you are eating them instead of a bacon cheeseburger for heart-health reasons and it turns out the bacon cheeseburger actually-factually has less calories, then for gods sake eat some beef.

4. If you were an item of food, personified, what would you be and why?

I like to think of myself as chili crab - complex, spicy, tends to burn the eyes and smoke the house up when cooked, creates a terrible mess. I suspect I am more like a sardine - unctuous, boney, laden with a confused identity and prone to hanging out in slimy places like cans (but has hidden, sophisticated depths when grilled over wood....I hope no one ever grills me.)


5. You've seen tomatoes and pies used for this purpose... now think of a more inventive item of food one could throw at someone. What is it and why would throwing it at someone be hilarious?


Pshh. I suppose plastering someone with live, infuriated crabs would be funny. Cruel for both crab and man, but funny.

food writing: WASTING MY LIFE

I want to be a food writer, a travel writer. I want to be a dealer in pleasantness and frivolity. I want to write about things that are of no importance to anyone at all.

A professor at my old college liked my work and complimented me on it often, reading my writing in the college newspaper. "You could go far," he said in a thick Iraqi accent, "You write very well." I nodded, appreciative. "I want to write about food and travel," I replied, fidgety. He looked horrified. "What a waste - you could write about politics, muckrake, change the world! Why would you write about something as silly as food?"


I thought about it. The professor had come from Iraq to here, he had not had an easy life, he did not understand why I would want to write about frivolity. I thought. I didn't quite know why I did either - was I just too scared to write about matters of Import? Did it truly affect the universe when I hashed out the Best Pho In Sacramento, tracked down a quality purveyor of tacos and obscenities in a midtown taqueria? I am throwing my life away, describing Beijing hotels and mixed drinks served out of tiki huts. Maybe I should write about presidents and president makers.

But I lost my capacity for import long ago, my interest in being important. When I was very very young I wanted to be famous and matter, like everyone else does, some sort of literary rockstar with adherents and people teaching classes on how much my work mattered to future generations. But I got over it. I came to terms with my own insignfigance.

My faculty advisor, who I respect deeply, said the same thing when I mentioned I was doing restaurant reviews for a local magazine. "I guess that's nice. It might not your greatest desire but it's something to do."

That made me uncomfortable, his inference that somehow writing restaurant reviews was lower work then writing, I don't know, ruminative naturist treatises on the nature of the universe. But I am perfectly content with restaurant reviews. I am not an artiste. I am not an auteur. I like eating food and writing about it and I'm not entirely sure why that shouldn't be enough.

Of course, travel writing can, I guess, be Important. When we travel we tend to find ourselves walking in and out of bizarre situations, situations that often recall the political winds of change or whatever. I walked across Tiananmen Square four times a day this summer. I couldn't ignore the army's morning exercises on the big pavement desert; I couldn't ignore the man with no eyes who played the erhu and drank Orange Squirt on the sidewalk every day, couldn't ignore the jangling Tibetan tourists or the ever-more elaborate Olympic preparations springing up beside Mao's portrait. They were all there and reflected matters of great import indeed, China's political situation and its changes, where it had been and where it was going and hoped to go. I can't ignore matters of import and I can't help reporting on them; maybe I'll fall into writing about politics and things with more gravity then noodle bars and rice wine after all, because I can't help it.

But it will not be intentional, I do not intend to make myself important. I will stumble into things and say what I see, and if what I want to see and what I want to do involves seeking out curry and beer (and not suffering and political maneuvering), then so be it. There are enough pundits in the world; I prefer to get plastered and eat snacks. Hopefully there is room enough for me too.