At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016


In San Francisco we pride ourselves on some of the most innovative and exquisite food in the planet. We boast about our fine dining, why, we've practically re-invented cuisine! Of course most of us can't afford it, and have no intention whatsoever of getting dressed up to spend two hundred dollars on three slices of barely grilled ox tenderloin with a raspberry vinegar and goji berry demiglaze, arrayed on a bed of the cutest little baby kale.
With three perfect nasturtiums accenting the elegant plate.
Three and three; it's an ironic gestalt.
Or something.

How about fresh shiitake and wild boar suimai with truffle oil.
Also on a bed of the cutest little baby kale.
"Artisanally" steamed.

We suspect that all of California Cuisine is just a very cleverly disguised attempt to get us to blow our salary on pretentious little baby vegetables. Because you can get twice as many crops out of a field if you never let the plants grow to adulthood. Let's face it; baby vegetables are the non-meat equivalent of veal.

Alice Waters has a lot to answer for.

Oh look! There's some cold-pressed coffee!
It's ethically sourced!
And green!

The rest of the world is not like that.





Yesterday I had a HK-style club sandwich at Wing Hing (a bakery and chachanteng in Chinatown). Behind me, several women were eating bittermelon and fish over rice. Three seats down a grumpy man slurped noodles. A mother at another table fed her kids cake and fried rice.

[What made it a Hong Kong style club? Lettuce, tomato, ham, bacon, cheese, and A FRIED EGG. It is not hoity-toity. The drink of choice is milk-tea, which is strong and sweet. Also not hoity. A lot of milk-tea was drunk by various people. One person was noshing on soy sauce chicken wings and grapes.]

At Sam's in the evening I bumped into Kurin and three friends celebrating the birthday of one of them, by having burgers after going out drinking. They left shortly after the bookseller arrived, and while he was enjoying his plate of fried food, Joe came in for a burger.

[Also mentioned were pizza, bratwurst, quesadillas, beer, and sauerkraut. Plus the 'Little Miss Mayhem Junior Chainsaw', which is a toy for girls in the eleven to thirteen range that never got off the ground. Non-competitive, encourages role-playing, and sparks the imagination. With butterfly decals. Sriracha hot sauce on everything.]

I do not know what I am going to have for lunch in a few hours. It might be roast duck, it might be something soupy or crunchy.
It will not contain baby vegetables.

It might be sarson da saag and makki di roti.

Maybe tapioca balls and fruit juice.

But it will be very real.

Screw kale.

Marinites, bankers, and rich people from the tech industry eat at our finest restaurants. The rest of us happily make do with the proletarian stuff that they won't touch. We wouldn't be caught dead spending so much for pretentious dickwad chow. Food is food; seeing how far you can push the envelope on ingredients and snob-appeal is not food.

One of these days we will shoot all of our star chefs.
As well as the people to whom they cater.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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