Soulemama {this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment














(Hope they survive the snow!)

After writing yesterday about being able to walk to so much stuff I had the pleasant experience of realizing I’d left some stuff off the list. My son has been extremely sick the past week-- and I am dragging along, too. But luckily, we live on the south side of San Francisco, the city of villages.

We took the car to the Doctor’s, but it is less than 2 miles away, and totally walkable when we are not both punky. Walgreens (oh how I wish it were a Pharmaca instead.... one of my half-baked business ideas is to open an integrative pharmacy on this side of town), is 5 blocks away. My next door neighbor spelled me for a half hour (I LOVE my neighbors).

And when I am sick, nothing beats chicken soup. We had homemade broth with tortellini from Lucca. My son, Mission kid that he is, craves Horchata-- fortunately almond/rice milk is super healthful/nutritious and just what he needs to get his strength up.

Tonight I think we are ready for a little sinus-clearing spice, simple with the rotisserie-chicken-based soup from Cookie Magazine(super simple, by the woman who writes Dinner, A Love Story....hopefully some day she'll re-post the recipe there). And it's all right out the door: rotisserie from George's; lime, cilantro and jalapenos from Casa Lucas, totopos from La Palma.  It sounds like a lot of stops, but they are all within a few short blocks. The stroller is easier to unfold than it is to negotiate the car seat-- plus, friendly smiles and waves. Or, I might get my neighbor to grab the supplies for me.


Actually, I think the thing that makes me feel the best when I am sick is knowing I can ask for help.... and that supplies are nearby!

My son LOVES buses. Telling him we are going to take a bus ride is like telling him we are going on a rollercoaster. I guess in San Francisco they are somewhat similar.

I have had a more mixed relationship with public transportation. I took it everwhere growing up. In Europe, public transportation is in general much better defined, has broader coverage, is more reliable, cleaner, faster, and cheaper than here. It was a luxury to have a car there. And a car was for long distance trips, not a run around the city.

Over the years, I’ve tried to keep some of this attitude towards public transportation alive in me, but the truth is, the buses here are dirty, infrequent, and the price keeps going up. And my mornings before work often turned into work at home and then race to work time: the bus prevented me from being totally plugged in, something I could ill-afford.

Once I had a kid, I focused more on walking +car than car+bus. A lot of my errands became closer, local. My pharmacy, my grocery store,the bakery, the green grocer, the book store, are all in walking distance. I know where the potholes are, which side of the street is better for walking. I have watched a mural being painted, Jaime at La Victoria worries if they don’t see me on Monday morning.

But with a toddler or larger packages, I’ve been defaulting to the car. It just seems easier, faster. Of course, it also costs to park, and gas prices just keep going up. Not to mention, we only have one car.

So this past week I’ve made an effort to get back to the bus. For fun I can check out google's estimated cost of trip -- in San Francisco they compare gas and average gas mileage to bus fare. Often, my trips are about $1.50 in the car versus $2.00 on the bus. Of course, this doesn't include the cost of parking or the cost to the environment.

With a stroller, it’s great. If it’s slow coming, we can walk to the next stop. Everyone smiles and laughs at J. Muni actually goes to most of where I want to go-- and if we have to walk, that’s fine. We have the time, and there is so much to see.

We come out ahead taking the bus, no matter how I do the math.

When J was smaller, we only gave him goat’s milk. It must have been for the year between 1 and 2: before 1 he only had Mama’s milk, and after 2 we transitioned to “regular” (cow) milk.

I tasted it a few times--used it in coffee when we’d run out of our own milk, once just out of curiosity.

It tasted like a richer, grassier milk-- but like milk. We’d given it to J because the fat molecules are more similar to mama milk fat molecules, making it easier to digest, and supposedly, reducing the likelihood of lactose intolerance, eczema, and all kinds of other ailments.

It was pretty expensive though, and it had almost too much flavor for us to drink: it stood out in the coffee instead of blending in. You had to pay attention to the flavor instead of letting it blend it. So once J stopped taking a bottle, it seemed to make sense to transition to our (cow) milk. Ironically, while he loves yogurt and cheese and whipped cream, J isn’t much of a milk drinker; usually he takes a cup of half kefir, half milk.

But reading Goat Song made me curious, again. We used to buy J’s goat milk at Rainbow, and I had a vague recollection that they sold cajeta in the cheese department. After Brad Kessler’s lyrical description of it, I was driven to try it. Well really, I just wanted to try something form the book. I think I just wanted to somehow commune with that book in another way--eating a tomme, cajeta, anything. I would have eaten the book if I could.

Somehow instead of cajeta, though, I ended up with goat’s milk fudge, from a place called Kidding Around With Chocolate. Puns with food aren’t usually a good sign to me.... but maybe I am going to have to re-think that, too.

It was divine. Dark, rich, smoky, creamy,mysterious. One of the best things I have ever eaten. Not fudge, really, more like some sort of hand-held chocolate mousse: there was an airyness to it.

I would have taken a picture but I ate it all.

And I wonder, does J not drink cow’s milk because he is missing goat’s milk? Is his platonic ideal of milk grassy, rich, creamy, instead of bland and quiet?

When I was about 4, we moved to Italy. We moved to Rome; our new house was across the street from Villa Borghese, a huge park, the former country house of the Prince of Rome... The scale, compared to the size of the city, is that of GoldenGate Park, or Central Park.

We moved  to Rome in February, from London. It had just snowed that winter, in London, the first time in 20 years. Miners were marching, every morning, in protest of Mrs.Thatcher’s reforms. In London it got dark at 3 pm, and I ate chicken potpie for supper in our cold, damp kitchen.

That year Ash Wednesday was in February, and so when we got there, it was Carnival season. No single Fat Tuesday for Italians, Carnival lasted several days-- even weeks, depending on the region. Masked balls, and gambling, in Venice; orange fights in Peimonte (no snow balls for them! ). In Rome the weekend family passegiatta was converted into impromptu child parades: girls and boys dressed like something out of Calvino’s fairy tales, throwing confetti, blowing party horns. Like Halloween, only no tricks, or fear,or darkness. Little girls wore hoop skirts, and embroidered over-skirts; the little boys dressed up as princes and captains.

My mother had begun reading King Arthur and the Round Table to me, at bedtime, back in London, and it was my one continuity there in this land of longer warmer days, and oranges and pasta for supper, and hugs from kind filipina ladies. When we went for our first weekend walk in the park across the street, I saw the princesses and knights and ladies and kings and thought I had fallen into the book. I thought little children dressed this way always, and I fell in love with Rome right there and then. It was like living in a fairy tale, only one where it was always warm, and there were always good things to eat, someone there with a hug. No witches, unless you counted the lady who brought presents at Christmas. A very Italian fairy tale, I suppose. Suffused with positive magic.
























As an adult, I’ve come to realize that almost any environment or landscape holds it’s own magic: we just have to be alive to it. And as a parent I’ve come to realize that it is so much easier for kids to be alive to that magic: it is real and constant for them. They don’t need trips to Rome-- or Disneyland--the magic is here and now.






It is a blessing to be a parent in this city and have a little guide to remind me of the wonders of cable cars, fire engines, towers, wide open fields, butterfly hunting.

I am totally immersed in this book, Goat Song, right now. It is so beautifully written, so evocative. Part of what I like is that he goes so slow. He describes the color of the grass the goats ate, the 10 different shades in the sky as the sun set the first night. For me, this level/layers of description really allow me to be there. And it is a very peaceful, soul warming book.

I went to a birthday party in the Excelsior neighborhood last night-- right near Itty Bitty Farm (to my knowledge the only working family farm in the city). Between this book and the party I’m thinking I have to ask about a visit sometime soon (And I guess I should read Keeping Poultry and Rabbits on Scraps next?).

Meanwhile, our bizarre summer-in-winter has passed, and it is raining. Which also means my meringues are like glue and the meyer lemon curd wouldn’t quite set up, so no sweet recipes today!

La Latest at La Local....

So.... they cut the part about the ex- marxist teachers, the lesbian peace corps teacher, the friend-of-Marion Barry teacher, and my Public Enemy reference, but I'm still pretty pleased with this week's column....

I thought we'd settled in for a good long winter of train-track-building. My son took about 10 train trips (Muni, Bart, Cable Car,Street Car) in December, we went to the train exhibit at the library, and attempted to visit the SF Railway Museum. For the train set, he got a bus during Advent, a helicopter and pilot from his grandparents, and a fire engine from his Pop.

But then the other day M got this book out:   
and it has been all San Francisco, all the time.






































Midwinter in San Francisco smells like fallon the east coast. Crisp, clear air, the smell of cedar mulch just laid to trap the first rainy season. So today's stop was the Koret Playground at Golden Gate Park. I wrote a lot about playgrounds this summer, and we visited a lot too, and I have to say: this might just be the best I've ever been to. So much fun.
































But, the carousel wasn't open... J was so sad, I told him another time, over and over again. After his nap he asked if we could get Friday (well, "day after Teacher Paula day?" ) and I started to say "no", there is so much to do, this errand, that. But really, is there anything more important than a carousel ride on a crisp midwinter day? So w'll be riding the ponies this Friday, no Goodwill and gift return for us.

I suppose next week it will be the submarines, or the seals...

I always love my neighborhood, especially the fact that there is always something new to love about it.



















So inspired by this house and article.


photo © Interstice Architects

Inspired by Soulemama: {this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

Monday was my birthday. It was a lovely day here, too hot, really for mid-November (74 degrees!), but I took advantage of it and walked these two not-so-small-anymore boys to the park and played with them for 2 hours. As we walked back they each told me how happy they were.

It was too hot to cook, so my day was topped off with the ultimate treat: an impromptu dinner out at the "mango lassie store" (Indian Restaurant).






































My real "gift" had come on Saturday: a moonlight kayak trip with my husband on a bay off Sausalito, looking back at San Francisco, all the lights, at the stars, imagining what it must have been like for the Ohlones, not even 300 years ago. It was enchanting, such a truly wonderful gift-- and what a gift to be able to live here, where the past is so close, where nature is endlessly revealing herself in new ways.

My column is up... finding a school is proving overwhelming.

Last week, to get away from the heat-- although really, it was hot everywhere-- we drove down to Pescadero for the first time. It is like something out of a novel, a fantasy of California. I was going to say going back in time, but it is really just unique, especially the San Gregorio Country Store-- loved the selections, the eavesdropping, and the fact that you could do it all with a drink in hand.




We stopped at Pebble Beach on the way down. It was really incredible... memories of waves etched (semi) permanently into the side of the land. The technical name is tafoni.

I am, apparently, all-consumed by The Gift, but I managed to crank out this week's column, nonetheless.

We went to Alameda to get worms for the composter last Friday. I was in the throws of the last pages of The Passage, and really, the Bay Worms group and the intentional community and the urban farm that surrounds it (partially built out of/in old military barracks) reminded me so much fo the description of the First Colony. I suppose the future is now, except I am annoyed I have to wait 12 months for the next installation in the saga... Hopefully by then our worms will be helping  us make some delicious food.

I’ve wanted to visit Cuba for forever. First it was because I was fascinated by the incredible moving 50 year old cars. Then, thanks to a dear friend, it was the music. We followed Buena Vista Social Club and its offshoots around the country for a little bit.

After I read this, it was for the gardens. 90% of Havana’s food is grown within city limits! Why can’t we do that here! It must be so beautiful, decaying, industrial, organic: all at once.


*******
The other night at my meditation circle we talked about this koan:

Asked where he had been walking in the hills, Zen master Changsha said, "I went out in pursuit of the fragrant grasses, I came back following the falling flowers”.


*******



The next day, after dropping J off at his little school, I took a new to me route, I had to run an errand. This is Arlington Community Garden perched on the side of a cross-town boulevard.



And here is the new little community garden my neighbors have started to build, at the side of our highway:




And behind my house


and at the top of the hill:



I'm not sure if I'll be taking Spanish this fall, after all.

I don't know any good songs about Cape Cod (although it deserves one!), so I'll just miss California, in advance, instead. My latest is up at Missionloc@l....

I went to Craft Night at Jordan Ferney’s studio last night, which was a lot of fun... interesting people to meet, fun snippets of conversation to overhear, and I made huge progress on the hat J asked for (maybe I really will make him a sweater for Christmas!). I really enjoyed being around the group of women working on and expressing their creative ideas.

But really, this post isn’t about any of that.....

I didn’t have time to make the peanut-sesame cookies I’d planned (even though they are so fast!) so I stopped and picked up some Kika’s Treats... lucky for me (my excuse for eating some...)! They were the hit of the night.

I am always so proud of the work La Cocina does, and so happy to be able to introduce new people to the results. Not just because years ago I helped babysit Caleb(!), but also to think my small, random, intermittent volunteering efforts there maybe help another woman realize her (delicious) dreams... or even just the occasional purchase.

Somedays I am so glad to live in San  Francisco.... even if we don't get summer!


image copyright Kika's Treats

I didn’t use to like Mexican food. I write this with some trepidation, as I live in a large Hispanic community that is grappling with an increasing number of anglo residents, in a larger geographic area that was once part of Mexico... and it just feels disrespectful and unwilling.

Having lived here for about 4 years and in San Francisco for 10 and in California for almost 11 years, I can safely say that what gets sold on the East Coast isn’t really Mexican food, and what gets sold in chain restaurants is just accented fast food, and what gets sold North of Market Street, even, is pretty different.

About 7 years ago after watching the Shawshank Redemption for about the 20th time, M and I hopped on a plane and went to Zihuatanejo (clearly, before J was born,when we were still able to do things like that). And I can safely say I love Pacific Coast- Mexican. Tacos al Pastor. Fish Tacos. Camerones ala Plancha. The best Pina Colada I ever had. Coming home, I branched out, fell in love with La Altena. It turns out I like Mexico City food, too. I learned that lime and cilantro are usually fresh ingredients, not everything is smothered in cheese, and there is a wide range of spice (actually, I don’t think authentic Mexican food is too terribly spicy, not the way Thai or Szechuan can be).

And I have a confession: I like some faux (or faux-ish) Mexican food, too. Around the time J was born  I became addicted to a torta con chorizo verde from Nopalito (very North of Market, also, on the way to the Zoo... an easy habit to make). And try as I might I couldn’t find chorizo verde at Casa Lucas or La Palma, or anywhere else in the Mission.

And a straight google search didn’t turn up anything.

But recently, at our newly reopened library, I saw a copy of Diana Kennedy’s The Art of Mexican Cooking. While I’ve long heard of this book, new it was the “bible” of Mexican cooking, it had never occurred to me to look at it before. I don’t know why.

Anyway, she has a recipe, which I tweaked a little, and we made buns, and I bought some avocados and cabbage and made some salsa, and a corn salad, and J and I made some Watermelon Agua Fresca and I peeled a Mango for desert and it was the best dinner we’ve had in a while.

Chorizo Verde for burgers or tacos
Adapted from The Art of Mexican Cooking. I didn’t stuff and cure these, which you would do for real chorizo, but this preparation was great as a burger (tasted exactly like the sandwiches), leftovers were fantastic in a chorizo scramble, and tacos would totally work with this mixture too-- easy to crumble without drying out too much.

1 lb ground pork
2 oz pork fat (ground fat, or really finely chopped uncured bacon, pork belly, prosciutto, guanciale, etc. would work)
1/2 cup white vinegar (apple cider or rice wine work, too)
1 bay leaf
6 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
1 tsp dried oregano
3 cloves
5 peppercorns
1/2 tbs sea salt
1/4 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp coriander seeds
1 serrano or other small, slim green chile, chopped
1 c loosely packed, roughly chopped cilantro (or 3/4 cilantro, and a 1/4 mix of mint, basil, parsley)
1 bunch swiss chard

Directions
Steam or Boil Chard for approximately 6 minutes, drain and cool, then steam and roughly chop. Set aside.
Combine the garlic cloves, oregano, cloves, peppercorns, sea salt, cumin, coriander in a mortar an pestle and grind until loosely combined.
Set aside.
Put the vinegar in a blender and add the mortared spices, bay leaf, and chili and blend as finely as possible. Possible you could do this all in a mortar and pestle, or the mortar and pestle stuff all in the blender-- but my mortar is too small, and the blender didn’t seem to pound the spices well enough/too my liking.
Add the cilantro, then the chard, making sure that each ingredient is well incorporated before adding the next. You want to turn this into a paste, as much as you can.
Mix the fat and the pork together in a bowl, then add the spice paste, working it in by hand until evenly distributed.
Cover the bowl and marinate 2-24 hours. Form sausages or cook loose, and enjoy.