Chinatown reds and blues

Sometimes I find myself unable to live up to the immense pressure of the weekend. When I realize I'm unable to attain that state of perfect relaxation, that rush of intense joy filling my body with wonder and curiosity - or at the very least, a nice meal - I get so mopey and depressed. 

I just wrote a three paragraph rant on the injustice of working a 45-hour week and what it does to the human soul, but then I erased it. Meh. I guess it felt cliche, like nobody doesn't already know... I just feel such a sadness at this age in my life: working almost every single day for barely enough; not knowing what I want to do; or whether to do it; the meaning of the word "do" and whether it's positive or destructive; this dull emptiness. 

I found myself wandering around Oakland Chinatown tonight, hoping to catch one of the markets before they closed down to grab some ground pork. It was dusk and the air felt fresh on my bare legs. I could hear ducks calling from around the lake. Most of the people in this busy working class restaurant district were gone for the night.

For the first time today, I felt a calm. The atmosphere tapped into a feeling I've been having about what it means to work and to go home. And I guess, what happens in between...

Guerilla Marketing: The obviously Richmond

Spice rack at La Loma Market #1

prickly pear at Rincon Latino

Every time I take Housten to work, my id experiences a suburban renaissance. I've been trying for almost a decade to ditch the Phoenician sprawl of my childhood, but give me two hours and put me in a car three miles away from a large shopping center with Chinese food and discount fabric, and I'll take it every time! (Watch me go.)

Housten works in Albany, which isn't an extremely interesting place in and of itself (although it's growing on me) but succeeds in its vicinity to even more suburban no-man's lands like El Cerrito (decent Barnes & Noble), El Sobrante (enjoyable Domino's Pizza as well as better-than-average selection of gas stations) and San Pablo (not sure if I've actually been to this one but the map boasts an SP Automotive Supply as well as El Portal Gardens for Seniors.)

But by far, the best suburban paradise is Richmond! Not Point Richmond, the fancy place by the water with all those trinkety shops and places to buy sunglasses. But real, crappy, Richmond down San Pablo Avenue where it's probably not safe to go at night. During the day though, it's a veritable oasis of Goodwill stores, "Maxican" restaurants, and my favorite thing in the world, ethnic markets! [side note to all the food journalists that obviously don't read this blog: I know the term "ethnic" is now out of fashion and questionably racist to all the ethnics out there - but seriously - who cares? This is a battle I choose not to fight...]

 Brazilian Coffee House Restaurant Goiano, conveniently located next to the Wendy's.

Rosca de Tranca
sweet breakfast bread

Driving up San Pablo awhile back, I stumbled upon the colors of the Brazilian flag and decided to check it out for some South American flare. (6 weeks counting until !Voy a Peru!) I wasn't even actually hungry, but splurged for the $10.95 buffet to be polite after walking in and asking the owner a million questions. I'm not lying though when I say I've felt more content than I have in months, sitting by the pastry counter, munching on a fried banana with a Brazilian newspaper spread out on the table, listening to large families chat in Portuguese. 

Wow! I've never tasted flavors like this. First of all, everything is spicy - even the minty salad of crisp collard greens. But the comfort fall-off-the-bone fatty meats feel lighter than you'd think, perhaps from all the spices. To make your plate heartier, sprinkle on a bit of salty Farofa, or toasted cassava with dried pork. Brazilian cuisine is a mixture of Portuguese and indigenous sources, but it also draws from African immigrants brought by the Atlantic slave trade. In West Africa, a similar dish goes by the name gari.

TO MARKET:

Drive down the street a little further and you'll reach a more densely populated shopping district with local markets and restaurants. Rincon Latino, 12851 San Pablo Ave., sports a colorful exterior and the ubiquitous showcase of fresh produce out front. But inside...

These artful pepper preserves are from none
 other than Brazil! They're made with
malagueta pepper, with is also eaten
 in Portugal and Mozambique.

Every country has a cream!

I hate these things but they're beautiful.

My haul: One packet of corn tortillas made that morning in the room next door, still hot. Spicy pepper-dominated salsa for under $1. Avocado. Flat leaf parsley for something else I was doing. Refried black beans. Interesting dried fern called doradilla, also known as the false rose of Jericho, native to the Chihuahuan desert. When the fern is exposed to moisture, it unfolds like a giant blossom. Apparently, it's traditionally used as an herbal medicine in tea. Can't wait until my throat feels sore!

WHAT I MADE THAT NIGHT:

I fried the corn tortillas, rubbed the refried black beans on top, then added avocado and a citrusy summer corn and tomato salad from work. Then a sprinkle of grated parmesan and a dash of the peppery salsa. Not exactly authentic but extremely fresh and filling, without any meat...

NEXT DOOR, RICHMOND HALAL MARKET:

FURTHER DOWN, LA LOMA MARKET #1:

To the farofa, you go! 

Further down the street I found another, more brightly lit market with a larger meat counter, cut-to-order cheese and a seemingly jovial farm mural with a disturbing smiling pig being boiled alive. I got into a conversation with one of the employees in Spanish, and he told me he used to work on a farm in Veracruz making fresh cheese, much like the one below.

Apparently this is a quesadilla...

Afterwards, I walked a couple doors down and found Angie's Bakery, housed in the back half of what used to be a bar and a restaurant, among other things. After walking down a dark corridor with a sign that says "Alvarado Gardens," you're treated to an array of breads and cakes from El Salvador and Guatemala. After another extremely gratifying Spanish conversation with the employee, I was recommended the "quesadilla," a sweet rice cake from El Salvador that gets its name because it contains cheese. (I found it hardly noticeable.) I took the cake outside and ate it on the sidewalk in front of a Brazilian mural of Christ the Redeemer. It was 3:30 in the afternoon and about as hot as it can be in Northern California. For a second, I felt a pang of nostalgia for the Arizona sunshine and space...Then I got back in the car.

Experimenting with TAJINES!

     Want to see my tajine? I pretty much asked every single person this question on Sunday at work. (And most people said yes!)

     It wasn't an entirely inappropriate request. I had just bought this traditional Moroccan pot across the street at Sur La Table, and was hella excited about it. Not only because it was 20 percent off - making it  appx. $14 - but also because I'd been eyeing it for months. I don't want to seem like a trend slave/hack, but the foreign flavors of Morocco are the new it-thing: a slew of cookbooks inspired by Michelin-starred restaurants like Aziza have thrust Morocco to the forefront of Bay Area fashion stuff. 

I bought most of my ingredients from Marwa
Halal (pictured) and Oasis on Telegraph and 30th. This
neighborhood hosts a variety of Middle Eastern and
Ethiopian markets.  

     Blah. I'll never have enough money to eat at Aziza, and unfortunately there's only one Moroccan place that I know of in Oakland/Berkeley, but I'm scared to go in because it's in Temescal and it's always empty. (Can anyone tell me if it's good?) But I have eaten one of the best meals of my life at a place called Aicha on Polk Street. The North African juxtaposition of sweet and savory - lamb with prunes, chicken baklava with honey and cinnamon - makes me swoon. 

     The tajine is the symbol of all this greatness. And although it's technically Tunisian (seriously if someone would pay me to go around Tunisia and write a cookbook for someone or other, I would be so indebted to you, and you could feel good about yourself too because you brought that cuisine to the world, so hit me up) its simple but ingenious shape creates the characteristic rich, viscous sauces and silken soft meats that Morocco is known for. The high, conical lid allows air and steam to flow through the pot, moistening the meat and thickening the sauce on the bottom. And depending on whether you buy a glazed or unglazed pot, the earthenware can give your dishes a rustic flavor. 

      It's all a little intimidating, but I'm convinced that once you get the technique down, it's extremely easy to create Moroccan masterpieces with minimal effort. With the perfect stove-temp, cook-time and amount of water, all you need to do is set the ingredients in and let them transform. 

      Honestly, my first attempt was mixed. After several failures obtaining ingredients at the market, I went without a set recipe, and managed to achieve an amazing sweet prune cardamom sauce. But the lamb was a little tough for how long I cooked it, and I'm scratching my head as to why. 

     This was my combo off the bat: A couple pounds of lamb shoulder, cut into medium chunks and rubbed with a mixture of salt and ground garlic. I also threw in cardamom, fresh ginger, cinnamon, black pepper, sliced onions and a few prunes I had sitting in the cabinet. Instead of searing the meat first, I simply melted some butter on the bottom of the pan and then added olive oil and then my stuff. In traditional Moroccan food, the meat is not seared first, but placed in with the sauce so that they exist in harmony.

     This picture, taken after about 45 minutes of medium-low cooking, shows what I may have done wrong. When I started out before I put the lid on, I decided to add some water to make everything moister. I think I may have added too much, despite the INCREDIBLE smell of garlic butter and hearty meat emanating from the pot, my dish had turned into a stew. I thus had to remove the lid for a half an hour so that the water would evaporate. (It also started a vicious cycle of putting the lid on, taking it off again, etc.) This could have disturbed the natural cooking process.

     This is what it looked like after about 1 and a half, two hours. Ready to go! The water had thickened to a beautiful complex sauce, with luscious plumps of rich prune and hearty onions. We dipped pieces of fresh pita bread from Oasis Food Market, and dolloped Greek yogurt on the top. We also made some couscous on the side. Not 100 percent authentic (what is authenticity anyway, not to be all serious and crap) but really great for a first try. If you decide to give it a go, make sure you soak your tajine in water overnight before you use it. And although I didn't, try to follow these care instructions. Be safe! Your tajine will thank you...

Cheesy Day Trips: Harley Farms

Cheesemongers with Ruby the guard llama

cheesemonger Jane's goat shoes

        On a recent Wednesday morning, four cheesemongers (and an ardent sister) set off through the fog down a curvy road of mountain vistas, Bay-straddling bridges and some of the remotest furniture stores I've ever seen. To downtown Pescadero - we arrived - a picturesque beach town about 25 minutes south of Half Moon Bay.
        Now if you've never seen cows grazing by the beach before, this is worth the trip alone. But on this occasion the cheese peeps and I were heading to an artisanal but established goat farm minutes from downtown. (We sell their fresh chevres on occasion at Pasta Shop.) A 20+ acre property dotted with 100 year old buildings and country-house-meets-Urban-Outfitters decor, Harley Farms definitely has their stuff together.
        The glowing office manager Adriana Serrano amiably led us through a tour of their pastures and operations, with plenty of baby-goat holding along the way. (Tours are also open to the public. Plan through their website.) I left extremely impressed with the smoothness of their operation - and with the bigger picture in mind - how damn amazing California is during the summer. Honestly, it's torture even sitting down to write this right now. My bones are crying for the beach...

FIRST, QUICK PICNIC DOWNTOWN:

No time to cook, so we ate bread! Fresh from the oven,
stuffed with steaming artichoke hearts, with house-made
artichoke pesto cheese spread on the side. 

It's artichoke season at Arcangeli Grocery Co., one of two
cutesy country stores with fresh produce and specialty goods.

ON THE FARM:

Two of the 150 (+/-) Alpine goat milkers on the property. All these guys are descendants
of the original six that Dee Harley purchased back in the '80s.

Kids are born in the spring so that the
mothers give spring milk.

A five minute drive from the ocean, the farm is quite the
tourist destination. They've been able to sustain their
operation through profits from farm tours,
special dinners and two gift shops.

View from the loft barn, where they hold their seasonal farm dinners.

Yellow Calendulas and purple Johnny Jump-ups
decorate the property. 

The edible flowers are used to color the fresh chevre.

The Monet (left) and Van Goat (right corner) are surely tastier than a mouthful of canvas.

Other flavors include apricot pistachio, tomato basil and cranberry walnut.

When you walk onto the pasture, the goats
follow you and try to suck on your clothing.

Ruby was the most friendly of the three guard llamas,
who herd the goats and protect them from predators.

In the barn, baby goats play in their pin until they're old enough to be with the others. In the next pin over,
a baby goat who had just been born was struggling to walk, while it's mother - afterbirth still
attached - was helping it along.

In the early morning and again in the evening, the goats come to this room to be milked. Each goat gives
 about a gallon of milk a day, or one pound of cheese. 

The apricot pistachio chevre being made. After this, they
put a another layer of cheese over and then the apricots.

Fresh goat ricotta still in its basket: after being frothed
in a double boiler, it's curdled with white wine
vinegar and kosher salt, and then drained overnight.

AFTERWARD, SAN GREGORIO BEACH:

On the other side of the road, cows were grazing.