Foodie Sundate with Eric

I now proclaim Sunday to be the best day for dates. Today Eric and I did some exploring in the Gourmet Ghetto. Here's the Acme Bread bakery in Berkley. We fell in love with their bread at Hog Island Oyster Co.


My favorite offering. I forget what they're called. We bought two at $1.80 each!

We were supposed to stop in at Cheese Board to pick out some lovely fromage to smear onto our feshly baked bread, but it was closed, as anyone in the know knows. We were not in the know. No biggie, I have St Agur in the fridge...one of my favorites. It's a creamy, intensely blue (i.e. moldy) french cheese. It's the cheese that had me buying Cambozola in order to fulfill my creamy blue cravings. If you read my Cambozola entry, then you'd know how crazy I am about St. Agur. It's the real thing, baby.

Anyway, we headed for Masse's patisserie across the street. I've raved about their finaciers, but they failed to excite this afternoon. Instead of rich, buttery, and slightly chewy around the edges, they were pale, too soft, and the hazelnuts tasted a bit rancid. The chocolat cookie was to die for. A brownie/collapsed chocolate souffle of a cookie, so tender and fragile that it collapses when you bite it, but with a beautiful chew. Intense chocolate flavor, perfectly sized chunks of melted chips, and unobtrusive chunks of pecan dotting the shiny surface. A real elegant cookie.

The strawberry macaroon had a disgusting pepto bismol color. At 1.25 for a half-dollar sized pastry I almost passed it up, but I had to have a 15$ minimum to pay with credit and didn't want to buy a cake. The macaroon was definitely sub-par, though not as repulsive in taste as appearance. The strawberry flavor was almost artificial tasting, the macaroons themselves like those dried-frosting flowers set atop a gaudy birthday cake. Biting into it was like biting into a day-old spoon of frosting: crusty on the outside, overwhelmingly sweet and melty within. If you want a real macaroon, visit Miette in the ferry plaza.

They had beautiful white tulips all over the cafe. If this pic isn't a predictable advertisement...well...Then I overrate my abilities as a photographer, which is actually pretty likely.

After our little patisserie date, Eric and I went next door to Black Oak books where I spotted a teeny hardcover filled with the rudest food critiques. I want!

Fave Bay Area Sweets

Miette: Pistachio Macaron, Vanilla Macaron

Sea Salt: Brownie Sundae with Salty Caramel Ice Cream

Golden Gate Bakery: Melon Cake, Coconut Tart

Ici: Malted Vanilla Ice Cream with Hot Fudge, Pinenut Praline Ice cream, Semolina Cookie, Coconut Macaroon

Greco's Cafe: Pignoli cookies

Masse's Pastries: Financier, Chocolate Cookie

Dottie's True Blue: Blueberry-Cornmeal Pancakes

Grand Farmer's Market: Cherries in peak season

My House: Plum Upside-Down Cake, Fresh Whipped Cream

This list will grow and have pics. Soon.

my heaven is on the bay

Finally went to the Ferry Building "Farmer's Market." Tres bougie, and sooooooooo my kind of thing. Had lunch at Hog Island Oyster Bar. I've only been waiting to go since I heard about it this summer. I must say that I have not learned to love raw oysters, but cooked...oh, they are divine. Started with oyster stew, essentially 6 sweet, creamy oysters in a pool of cream, chives, and black pepper. With the complimentary Acme bread dipped in the cream, you really couldn't eat a finer, more satisfying lunch while watching barges and sailboats pass beneath the bay bridge. Our main dish was a huge platter of two kinds of roasted oysters: Oysters with anchovy-caper butter and Oysters with tarragon, shallots, and chili flakes. They were both delicious, but Eric and I were both partial to the anchovy-caper oyster. The richly briny flavors of the anchovy and capers really complimented the sweet, metallic flavor of the oysters. That, and I felt that the shallots kind of ruined the delicate, custardy texture of the oysters. Again, slurped up and eaten with chunks of Acme bread--unbelievable. Plus, Eric nearly ate a piece of plastic that one of the oysters must have filtered in so we got 8 more oysters. Seeing as how each oyster came out to nearly 3 dollars, it's defnitely a pricey meal. However, the fresh bread, perhaps my new favorite, and the cellars of homemade butter seem to make the bill lighter when it comes.

Saw that they had french macarons at Miette, a bakery in the plaza. I've been dying to try them, but apparently they're a specialty of France and France only. At least I thought. Now, these macarons were tiny--silver dollar sized, unlike their cookie-sized counterparts in the homeland, but the small wonders made me whimper as I bit into them. See, a french macaron is like 2 meringues that are made with crushed almonds, hazelnuts, or, my fave, pistachios. In between the meringues is some type of cream filling. The meringues are only baked until the outside is slightly crisp, and the inside is chewy like a caramel. The second you bite into the pistachio macaron, there is an intense flavor of toasted pistachios embedded in the luxurious, marshmallowy flavor of meringue. The cream between the two meringues seemed to be nothing more than slightly sweetened unsalted butter, which I found an elegant touch. The cool, smooth cream melting on the tongue tastes heavenly with the nutty, sweet, chewy meringue. I went back to the bakery immediately after I scarfed down my first two.

I'm hoping to get a camera by Christmas. Then, I will try to photograph everything I've missed these past months.

The Elegant Comice

I had gotten sick of pears.

As we are fully into Fall, I felt that I should celebrate and immerse myself into the season by eating plenty of our beautiful Autumn fruits. I made my list to stock up on glistening, garnet pomegranates, honey-sweet persimmons, and of course, pears. However, when I got to the produce aisle at Berkeley Bowl, the pears were so stunning (not to mention cheap) that I bought pounds and pounds of pears.

I brought home Bartletts and Comices. I love Bartletts because they are so sweet and fragrant, though they quickly become grainy and overbearingly perfumey once they've passed their peak. I had read that Comice pears were wonderful from the Chez Panisse cookbook, so I thought I'd give 'em a try. The Bartletts were ready to eat within a few days of their purchase, but the Comices needed more time. That said, I was pretty damn sick of pears by the end of last week.

Somehow, randomly, my mind returned to those Comices as I drove home. I hadn't even wanted to look at them since my overdose on the last grainy, mottled Bartlett. I should try to make a french toast with warm pear compote and fresh whipped cream, I thought. I picked up the pears as soon as I got home and prepared them for the compote. I was amazed at their beauty as I diced them, they were tender and juicy, and the knife went through their fine, custardy flesh like butter. I popped one of the ivory morsels in my mouth. Oh! It was magnificent. Silky, tender texture, intensely juicy, and, oddly enough, with a slight hint of cardamom in the first bite. I began slicing more flesh from the blossom ends as I prepped them, shoving the rounds guiltily in my mouth.

I'm watching over the pear compote now, and I think I've just wasted a perfectly divine dessert--a fresh, naked Comice pear in all its impeccable glory.

Promisary Entry and Filipino Favorites

As implied by the title, this entry is to serve:

1) as a means to let everyone know that I intend to update this journal with everything I ate this summer...but that I'm too lazy to upload the 8,327 pics I took of miscellaneous eating events. Trust me, when I do bother to upload the pics, you'll wish you spent your summer with me.

2)as a means to tell you about my most favorite filipino comfort food.

So in the past week since my mom came to visit, I've been craving the food that I grew up eating. So, instead of making salads and pastas and sandwiches and casseroles for dinner, I've been making all the dishes I used to beg my mom to make. Unfortunately it didn't occur to me to photograph the food until they were left-overs which I thought would be kinda gnarly to take pictures of.

I made two dishes this week, which managed to last us because I cook like my mother...I make enough food for, like, a 6 person family. It turned out fine though, because I've always loved left-overs. The first dish was Kabocha Squash, Snake Beans, and Shrimp stewed in Coconut milk. I love this dish because I love all the ingredients, and together they make a luscious, rich, curry-like stew. The squash, which cooks up buttery and tender and sweet, creates a bright orange sauce when stewed with the coconut milk. The snake beans, a long, hearty type of chinese green been, have a texture that I can only describe as...toothsome(?) and I prefer their subtle flavor and dense texture to the regular green bean. The marriage of the sweet, creamy-textured squash and the slightly chewy, slightly crunchy snake beans is only improved by tender, savory bites of shrimp. My mom tended to saute the deveined, shell- and head-on shrimp in with the garlic and onions in the beginning of making the dish, but I always found that the shrimp was far too tough by the time the squash and beans were cooked. Her tactic was, of course, to impart the flavor of the shrimp to the vegetables as they stewed in the coconut milk. Instead, I peeled the shrimp and sauteed a few shrimp heads in with the garlic and onions. This creates a fragrant and billiantly orange mixture that is not unlike curry paste. After the heads have released their flavorful juices (mmm...shrimp-head juice) I pick out the heads and add the coconut milk and cubed Kabocha Squash. If the whole process of shrimp-head-sauteeing makes you queasy, a good dose of fish sauce, which is essential to nearly all Filipino dishes, should add enough flavor so that you can just use pre-peeled shrimp. When the squash is semi-tender I add in the snake beans. The peeled shrimp goes in at the very end when the vegetables are just about done and the sauce is rich and thick. As shrimp are so delicate, the heat of the coconut milk should be just enough to cook the shrimp through. Give it about 5 minutes with constant stirring. When the shrimp are evenly pink and firm (but not tough) the dish is done. Serve it over big bowls of rice...oh, and I forgot, it's even better if you cook the stew with some spicy chillies. The heat of jalapeno peppers, or whatever hot pepper you like, lends a nice contrast to all the rich, comfy ingredients.

Traditionally, this dish is called ginataan, which is the word for any stew made with coconut milk. One of my mom's favorite desserts is a sweet ginataan that uses sweet potatoes, purple yam, corn, and mochi-like rice balls. It's really comforting on a cold day. I however, will just call this dish by its ingredients since my tagalog grammar is pitiful.

The second dish I made this week is one I always clamored for whenever my mom brought home eggplants. The roasted eggplant torta is like a thin, slightly crisp fritatta that is intensely flavorful. The key to making a torta with tons of smoky flavor is roasting whole chinese or japanese eggplants (their flavor is sweeter than the European aubergine, and the flesh a bit more dense) until the skin is completely charred. The burning of the skin essentially smokes the tender flesh inside, and the dry heat helps eliminate a lot of moisture from the flesh. Furthermore, this method of cooking eggplants seems to be the only one that really does this awesome vegetable justice. This is because roasting the eggplant develops and intensifies the otherwise subtle buttery, nutty, and sweet flavors. I usually just put the eggplants under the broiler until one side is totally black and then flip the eggplant and do the same to the other side. After the eggplants have cooled, the brittle, charred skin should come off easily, like a shell. Traditionally, the peeled flesh is slightly flattened and dipped in a beaten egg. The stem is left on so that you can lower the eggplant into the pan with the "handle" of the eggplant. This method, however is less than ideal in my opinion because parts of the torta or overly mushy with too much eggplant, while the edges, where the egg bled onto the pan, or totally absent of the main ingredient. My solution is to cut the smoked eggplant into chunks to mix into the torta batter. However, before making the batter, a quick giniling has to be whipped together. Giniling is basically ground, seasoned meat. It's very simple, and different versions of giniling are made specifically for use in tortas. Mine is made simply by frying onions, garlic, and tomatoes until all ingredients are thoroughly cooked and the pan is dry before adding some ground pork and a good measure of fish sauce. When the meat is ccoking, and even after the giniling is done, the pork will smell very, well, fish saucy, but don't worry. When mixed into the torta batter and fried, the meat should be a fragrant, savory complement to the roasted eggplant. Now that all the hard work is done, simply combine the chopped flesh of one whole roasted eggplant, about a third of a cup of giniling, 3 eggs, and salt and pepper to taste. Pour half the batter into a pan with a thick layer of oil in the bottom, this is important because the deep layer of oil ensures that the torta will fry up thin and crisp. Cook until the underside is a deep brown color, then flip and do the same to the other side. That's it. Once the eggplant is roasted and peeled, the rest is simple. Thus, I like to roast a good deal of eggplant at a time. It maybe wierd to eat eggs for dinner, but I promise that this roasted eggplant torta will have you hooked on the breakfast-dinner switheroo. And for such a seemingly simple dish, the flavor is intense, sophisticated and utterly sublime. Listen, I've been eating these tortas all week and have just come back from a fancy Rockridge dinner at Olivetto, but I'm still craving a smoked eggplant torta as I write this. It's that good.

Butternut Squash Fiorentine

I had to finish that bag of hand-made pasta that I used for my Oyster mushroom and spinach fiorentine, and while I was dreaming of food in class today, I thought I would experiment with the absorption pasta technique and use a pureed soup thinned with broth instead of just pure broth.

I picked up a carton of butternut squash soup at Trader Joe's and added that and some chicken broth to some onions I had caramelized in a pan with butter. Then I added the fiorentine pasta to the mixture and stirred it all until the liquids evaporated and the pasta was tender, 10 -15 minutes. After the pasta was cooked I took the pan off the heat and tossed in some parmesan cheese.

The result was beautiful, al dente pasta in a gooey, cheesy butternut squash "sauce". It was very much like butternut squash ravioli and brown butter in flavor, maybe even better, and a lot easier to make. If I had thought thouroughly about the dish ahead of time, I would have bought some fresh sage. I love crispy, fried leaves of sage on top of anything with butternut squash. Maybe succulent pieces of roast chicken in the pasta, or on the side. Yum!

I know it's not squash season quite yet and that everyone's big on eating local, seasonal foods, but I sure as hell wasn't going to wait till late summer to buy a squash to roast and puree myself. No, I am a hungry person with needs. Needs for the kind of comfort that only comes from a plate of squash-y pasta.

Found Food

Eric insisted that we go hiking on Friday afternoon. Hesitant as I usually am to get any sort of exercise whatsoever, I obliged because I had seen slides of people mushroom hunting during my Anthropology of Food class. I figured I should get out and look for some spring mushrooms: almondy agaricus, giant horse mushrooms, maybe even the rare morel. We ended up at a wooded trail off the winding 9 highway. I wasn't expecting to find anything to write home about, but as per Murphy's Law, I found a rotting log with what looked like large lilac-brown blossoms on it at the steep edge of the trail. I slid down the slope as carefully as I could and collected a few large, pristine oyster mushrooms. After filling my basket, I had to devise a way to get myself and my basket back up to the trail. So, I raised my basket up with a huge forked redwood branch, and then had Eric pull me up the hill with an even larger branch. I felt quite proud of myself for being so adventurous.

Anyway, it's a good thing I found food on my hike or I would have gotten pretty ornery when Eric insisted that we follow the railroad through the woods nearly 4 miles back home and come get the car later. By the time we had gotten home we had skipped stones at the most idyllic swimming hole, made friends with a very cordial biker, marvelled at oversized ferns and clovers, and crossed 2 railroad bridges comprised of widely spaced wooden ties nearly 30 feet from the ground. After a much needed nap, I diligently cleaned the oysters to remove dirt and any little bugs that might be hiding in the gills. Almost anyone will tell you that you're not supposed to wash mushrooms, but I read an article in cooks illustrated saying that mushrooms don't absorb water more than any other vegetable. Whether or not that's true, I'm not going to risk eating a bit of grit or a grub, and besides, I dry saute my mushrooms, which removes excess moisture and concentrates the mushrooms' flavor. To dry saute mushrooms, simply put them in an open pan on high heat with no oil or butter. Sprinkle the mushrooms generously with salt to help draw out moisture and define the natural umami flavors of the mushrooms. Toss constantly to prevent burning. When the mushrooms have stopped leaking, add a bit of butter or olive oil and toss with fresh black pepper. The mushrooms should be full of flavor, even if they're domestic button or crimini mushrooms.

The mushrooms were indeed delicious, except for on thing. I couldn't chew them! Nearly the entire body of all the mushrooms, large and small, were tough and rubbery. It was like eating savory bits of sugar cane: I'd chew and chew and suck all this lovely mushroom broth out, but I couldn't cut the flesh with my teeth. I figured I'd just make broth out of them, but I had no idea what to make.

As it turned out I was reading one of my favorite food blogs this morning, Chocolate and Zucchini, when I stumbled across the perfect recipe with which to incorporate my oyster mushroom broth. It was a recipe for absorption pasta. Not a very appetizing name for a dish, I know. It's basically pasta that you cook in just enough broth to cover the noodled...kinda like risotto. The result is tender pasta that is full of flavor, and has a silky sort of "sauce" as a result of the broth, butter, and residual starches on the pasta boiling down.

So what I did is I removed the thin, frilly edges of the mushrooms (the only parts suitable for eating), diced them finely and put them aside. I then sauteed some minced shallots and garlic in butter until browned, and added the tough remainders of the mushrooms, covering the mixture with water and a splash of vodka. After simmering for 5 minutes or so, I was left with a broth worthy of serving as its own course, but I had a mission to complete. I removed the tough mushrooms from the broth, allowing them to cool before wringing over the pot so as not to waste any of their tastiness. I then added the diced mushrooms, chopped spinach, and pasta to the pot.

When all the liquids evaporated, I tossed in some parmigiano and a dash of cream to round out the "sauce" that covered the noodles. The result was perfect. The fiorentine pasta that I bought at Trader Joe's looked like little chanterelles, which made me feel that much better about having to throw away a large portion of my musrooms. I was happy with the dish. Savory, buttery, earthy, and of course, nutty (my favorite adjective to describe foods); it was all that I could hope a mushroom dish to be. This absorption pasta is so easy and so good, I'm going to have to consider it a quintessential comfort food.

Salami Sandwich

Sorry about the pic, I always begin to eat my food before I remember to photograph it.

My current lunch/afternoon snack-to-eat-on-porch of choice is this simple, tasty little salami sandwich.

It consists of crusty, chewy bread, like Il Fornaio's slipper bread or a ciabatta, olive tapenade, salami, arugula, and a bit of spicy mustard. The sandwich on the left doesn't have tomato in it, but I think it would be a nice, refreshing touch.

Here's why this sandwich is so special: the garlicy-fragrant-oily tapenade is a pefect match with thin, briny slices of salami. The spicy mustard and slighty bitter arugula complement, and stand up to, the saltiness of both the olives and the salami. The fresh, toasted ciabatta provides a nice bit of chew while the fatty salami and tapenade melt together on the palate. Arugula and tomato add a cool crispness that refreshes the palate after the initial flavors of olive and salted pork are tasted.

I love simple treasures. Don't you?

Restaurant Minutes

Photos: The new pineapple upside-down cheesecake, and fried shrimp with remoulade and fries. Cheesecake Factory's batter is pretty brilliant--light and crisp, not doughy and greasy. Oh! and the ranch...to die for. The garlic content in the ranch will make your breath reek of death for a few days, but the ranch should never be passed up when ordering fries.



There needs to be an official increment of time called the "restaurant minute" in order to bridge the miscommunication gap between diners and waitstaff. Eric and I had the waiting time misunderstanding twice today. Once at Walnut Cafe in Santa Cruz, another at Cheesecake Factory in San Jose. Imagine how much calmer customers would be if they could know exactly how long the wait for a table would be.

Customer: Hi. Table for 2 please.

Hostess: Name?

Customer: Bobert.

Hostess: Okay, 2 for Bobert. The wait for a table is about 20 restaurant minutes.

Customer: Restaurant minutes? Did you just say restaurant minutes?

Hostess: Yes. A restaurant minute is equivalent to 3.2 regular minutes.

Customer: Great! I'll just hang out on the patio and try to stave off auto-digestion.

...or...

Waitress: Thanks so much for waiting. Your food should be out in about 10 restaurant minutes.

Customer: ...but what if my car doesn't start when I get back outside?

Waitress: Hahahaha. Complimentary cheesecake?

Fried Foods and Beer

This is a pic from one of the best nights I've had in a while. I was at Robin Hood British Pub in the valley having beer, seasoned curly fries, and fried mushrooms. The mushrooms were awesome because they tasted like they were covered in pork rinds. The batter was airy, crisp, and rich. The ranch didn't do the mushrooms justice but I didn't mind, I just drank up my Hefeweizen and soon found myself in a very smile-y state.

It was one of those auspicious evenings where we ran into old friends and their posses and everyone, well, mostly everyone, was laughing and having a good time. I hope to have lots of days like these in the future.

I Pity the Fool

It never occured to me how much I take Mexican food for granted until I took my new British buds, Jake and Joe, to a mexican joint and they asked me what "poll-o" and "tor-till-uhs" were. I first explained the 2-Ls-in-Mexican-Spanish-equals-"y"-rule before describing the basics of Mexican food. After watching them devour their tacos and burritos with more gusto than I have seen in quite some time, it occured to me that I pity the fool who does not live within driving distance of a good, authentic cabana or taqueria. A good mexican place should have salsa that is hot, tangy, and freshly made, beans that are creamy with the flavor of lard, and clearly not from a can, a wide selection of meats listed in Spanish so that you have to look up the word to know what part of the animal the meat is from, and home made beverages like horchata and jamaica. Oh, and if the corn tortillas are home-made, then you know you've got a pretty authentic place.

The pics above are of a fried fish taco, and a slightly deconstructed sope from Tacos Por Favor in Santa Monica. A sope is a thick shell made of corn that is fried until crisp, then filled with meat, beans, lettuce, salsa, and in this case, lots and lots of wonderfully tangy crema, or sour cream. They're similar to the chalupas they used to serve in public schools, except the shell is thicker, kinda like an open-faced pupusa. The sope above was the first I had ever eaten. It was made with chorizo which was sliced and fried. This method of preparation, as opposed to being crumbled and fried, brought out the smoky, resiny flavors of the sausage and rendered the slices crisp and slightly chewy. The spicy, garlicky chorizo, with the hearty, corn-y shell, crisp lettuce, and buttery-tangy cream combine beautifully in every bite.

Paired up with a tall glass of horchata on ice, the sope makes a cheap, filling, and delicious meal.
Horchata, FYI, is a drink made with ground rice, sugar, and spices. No two horchata recipes are alike. The one I get here in Santa Cruz at a restaurant called Los Pinos is almost bubble-gummy as well as cinnamon-y. One in Echo Park is very vanila-y, mildly spiced, and has the rich sweetness of condensed milk. The horchata at Tacos Por Favor is dark, heavily spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, and mildly sweet. As it is always served over a generous scoop of ice, horchata is perfect for extinguishing the fires of intense chilies and refreshing the tastebuds.

Mashti Malone's

I got addicted to Mashti Malone's over the winter. For one thing, I love that it's called Mashti Malone's. The owners, who are Persian, kept the sign from the former shop, but replaced the first name with "Mashti" which, I think, is the name of the older brother in the fraternal duo that started the place. So there's this great sign with a scoop of ice cream, a 4 leaf clover, and some arabic on it that advertises this humble L.A. legend on La Brea Blvd.

My favorite, after much sampling of the lovely and exciting flavors, is the pistachio. Boring, I know, but it really is good pistachio ice cream. There's a generous smattering of pistachios in a fragrant, milky ice cream that is neither too waxy nor too sweet. The yellow cone in the pics is rosewater saffron ice cream. Also delicious, this particularly floral-tasting flavor is not for the faint of heart, and indeed it's flavor has been likened to perfume, but it's great for refreshing the palate after a heavy or spicy meal. I promise that if you learn to like the rosewater and orange blossom flavors you will develop a severe addiction, as I did earlier this year.

Despite their ambrosial ice cream, which is made on-site at the shop, I think I love Mashti Malone's because it reflects the eccentric, and infinitely diverse atmosphere of L.A. It's establishments like these that make me proud to call L.A. home.

remind me

nepalese food
-buttery, sweet "naan"
-buttermilk-y korma, cardomom, cashews
-collard greens and potatoes
-chicken curry (like sweet, smoky tikka masala)

delfina
-crusty bread and homemade butter
-fresh papardelle, duck sugo
-gnocchi with wild nettles, chantrelles, pine nuts
-rare flat iron steak, rosemary-sage frites

dottie's true blue
-blueberry corn-meal pancakes
-black coffee

swan oyster depot
-boston clam chowder
-hood canal oysters
-olympia oysters
-fanny bay oysters
-blue tortoise folks..."stalking the blue-eyed scallop was my bible!"

Marshmallow Mateys

This is just a frivolous post so I can post a pic from my new camera. I'd post more exciting pics of more exciting food, but I'm pretty much broke for the rest of the month.

Anyway, Shiri and I have a ritual everytime I return to L.A. She breaks her nearly perpetual diet and we spring for a giant bag of Marshmallow Mateys, Malt-o-Meal's version of Lucky Charms.

Mateys, as we lovingly call them, are far superior to Lucky Charms for many reasons. First, the oat cereal pieces are nicely frosted so that one is spared of tasting anything remotely healthy. Furthermore, the pieces have a crispness to them that is not unlike the crunch of the delightfully colored "marshmallows" which makes for the most harmonious marriage. Secondly, the cereal is pirate-themed so that the oat pieces look like anchors and the marshmallows...well...they mostly look like amorphous blobs. I know what you're thinking, what does an orange penis have to do with pirates? Actually, that marshmallow there is a shovel for digging treasure so get your mind out of the gutter. There are other imaginative blobs of marshmallow-confectionary-goodness such as the parrot, sparkling gem, leaping dolphin, and misplaced peg-leg. Okay, the peg-leg is something I just imagined, but hey, it is kid's cereal, I think I have the license to be imaginative while eating it.

Besides all of these superior characteristics, Mateys are cheap and come in a plastic bag that fit's nicely in a giant purse for when you just have to munch on sweeties.

Shiri al;most always eats her Mateys with a bowl of ice-cold milk, but I'm content to eat them out of the bag...or throw them at Kelley.

Did I Tell You About Those Shrimp?

My apologies for my laziness in updating. I've been too busy eating cereal and chips and ice cream in bed and wondering why I can't fit into my jeans anymore.

Finally, I have found a thouroughly satisfying shrimp dish besides my favorite Salt and Pepper Shrimp at Royal Capitol Seafood. A couple weekends ago my folks were in town and Eric took us to PJ's Oyster Bed, a New Orleans-style seafood house here in San Francisco. I was pretty skeptical ,as usual. The sad excuse for "New Orleans" style decor inside the place was so trendy and over the top (in a non-French-Quarter kind of way). And, as usual, I accurately predicted that the food would be mediocre. The gumbo was watery, the barbecue beans syrupy, the roasted mussels puny and the baby back ribs ridiculously lean. Everything was, as I smugly expected, sub-par; that is except for the sizzling skillet of Voo Doo shrimp which my mom immediately zeroed in on when we walked in the door.

These shrimp are roasted whole, shell-on, with cajun spices, cream, garlic, sherry, and worcestershire sauce in an iron skillet just long enough so that the shrimp come to you piping hot, juicy, and succulent. The fire-roasting ingeniously cooks the shrimp at a high, dry heat to keep all the sweet, shrimpy flavor in every savory morsel. Furthermore, the use of high heat ensures that the shrimp can be cooked quickly so that they don't come out overdone and rubbery.

Despite the fact that the shrimp themselves were perfectly done, the sauce they were roasted with was absolutely beautiful. One might think, as I did upon reading the description of the dish, that the shrimp would be covered in this overwhelmingly thick and rich cream sauce. Actually, quite the opposite was true. It seems that the cream, along with the sherry and juices from the shrimp, sort of caramelized as a consequence of the high heat. The product is this light, buttery substance (the fat from the cream) with little browned tidbits of garlic, spice, and the cheesy solids from the cream. Delicious! I know I use the word "nutty" to describe too many foods, but I really can't refrain from using it here because it's the only way to describe the special flavor of those golden crumbs of cream-spice-shrimp encrusting the hot skillet. After I had finished all my shrimp to dab in that wonderful reduction and the busboy tried to take the skillet away I frantically reached out, like some sort of starving, feral monkey, because I wanted to eat the sauce on my corn-on-the-cob and rice pilaf.

It's funny, because I'm usually far too anal-retentive to eat food with my hands, let alone peel the skin off of whole creatures. I hate having grubby hands and smelling like food, but these spicy, buttery, slightly smoky Voo Doo shrimp really put a spell on me. By the end of the meal, I was sucking my fingers clean as passersby stared through the window at the barbaric girl who had gotten butter all over her hands.

Old Friends

Photos: right, Saint Agur blue cheese, I like it more than Cambozola (below), but it's harder to find.
I have this horrible habit of eating the same thing for 2 weeks straight because I've fallen in love with it, and then not eat it again for months, years even, because I've grossed myself out.

Thing is, when I return to my former addiction, it can be a beautiful thing to re-discover all the reasons I loved it in the first place. Today I had Cambozola, a luxuriously creamy blue cheese, and baby New York Empire apples. This is a snack that I enjoyed regularly until I moved up to Santa Cruz and would eat it for every meal when I was too lazy to shop for groceries. I soon tired of it and eliminated Cambozola from my weekly grocery list.

Perhaps I'm a plebeian for liking this cheese, whcih is mass-produced by machines in Germany, but it is such a delight that I am willing to accept my status as an unsophisticated cheese-lover. The beauty of Cambozola is the way in which it's creators artfully paired the mellow, buttery qualities of camembert with the tangy, fragrant qualities of gorgonzola. The result of this unlikely marriage is a mildly nutty, intensely briny, meltingly smooth cheese with a slightly bitter after taste. I used to eat this cheese with fuji apples, but I found that the New York Empire apples, being slightly more tart and less sweet while having all the crispness and juiciness, allowed the delicate flavor of the Cambozola to develop and stand out on the palate. Furthermore, the cool, juicy apples help to cut through the pronounced briny-bitter flavor of the cheese so that there is a perfect balance of sweet, salty, buttery, nutty tastiness.

Ah, the beauty of fromage.

Best Spots for Griddle Sweets

Despite my humongous sweet tooth, I have never considered a sweet breakfast a real breakfast. Perhaps this is because I grew up eating Filipino breakfasts of garlic fried rice, fried eggs, bacon, and fresh tomatoes every weekend. However, in my recent "research" on breakfast joints in the Bay Area I have come to realize that a breakfast without sweets, whether it's fresh bread with seasonal jam or a stack of pancakes, isn't a real breakfast either. In fact, I feel oddly incomplete if I eat a completely savory breakfast, unconsciously searching the cafe-lined streets for my sweet fix.

What has prompted me to write about our favorite dessert-like creations from the griddle is a recent, and rather sudden, embrace of pancakes. I have never really liked pancakes. Too often they are lifeless, mushy rounds, overwhelmed with baking soda, and drowned in cloyingly sweet syrup. The thought of such offensive concotions is enough to make my stomach turn as I write this. But how can a confection whose name brings to mind a buttery, fragrant, cake lightly fried in a pan possibly turn out bad? Whatever the reason, it is far too common, for a few experiences in the darling city of San Francisco have shown that the pancake can not only excel, it can be so beautifully done as to convert savory breakfast-eaters like myself.

When it comes to pancakes, I usually like a bit of fruit to break up the intensity of all that buttery goodness, but for those of you who are purists, Mama's in Washington Square serves up a plate of silver dollar pancakes tasty enough for me to order as a side, which I'll split with my very obliging dining mate. I usually opt for their artful omelettes as the main course such as the Farmer's, which is made with pancetta, leeks, spinach, and chevre, or the Dungeness Crab omelette with scallions and creme fraiche. They also have an impressive selection of fresh muffins, pastries, and breads which they incorporate in their extremely popular french toast dishes.

As I had mentioned, I like my pancakes best with a bit of fresh fruit, and I have had two amazing examples of fruit laced pancakes in San Francisco. For light, elegant pancakes in a fittingly swank bistro-bar setting, Absinthe in the Hayes valley makes banana and blueberry souffle pancakes so delectable that I can skip the eggs and potatoes, which are admittedly mediocre. Conversely, for a wonderfully dense, yet tender, cake with tremendous flavor served in an equally hip, yet eclectic-friend's-home setting Dottie's True Blue wins hands down for their blueberry and cornmeal pancakes. These pancakes are my favorite because the cornmeal adds heft and bite to the cake while lending a subtly nutty taste. When paired with the juicy bits of blueberry, these cornmeal cakes are heavenly and need only be dressed with the slightest amount of butter and maple syrup. I must add that their hotlinks, eggs, and homefries nearly had me tearing out of joy. These hotlinks were the real thing: smoky, spicy, and delightfully salty. Paired with slightly runny eggs and crispy-creamy potatoes, the hotlinks nearly had me singing praise, vaudevillian style, atop our tiny table.

For Southern California, I can't mention much for pancakes except that Fred 62 in Los Feliz has won several awards for their cakes. Lately however, my pancake consultant and passionate pancake afficionado, Shiri, has claimed that the pancakes aren't what they used to be. It's likely that a hurried cook in the kitchen is to blame, as most recently we have frequented that joint right after the bars close at 2 a.m. and it gets really hectic. Hopefully, catching a late breakfast there on a weekday would improve the quality of the pancakes, because I have tasted their pancakes on a good day, and they are truly a thing of beauty. As for everything else on the menu, steer clear of the over-priced and pretentious items and opt for eggs, hash browns, and bacon because they don't do very well on their other breakfast items, and I've found their sanwiches and burgers consistently dry, tasteless, and generally disappointing. The waffle conconctions, however, like the Bossanova (ice cream and dulce de leche) are pretty consistently awesome.

I'm pretty famished now. Breakfast may be the ultimate comfort meal, as I crave it at all hours. Unfortunately, Dottie's is only open until 3 p.m. so it looks like I'll have to keep myself pre-occupied until tomorrow morning.

The Magnificent Shaggy Parasol

3 days of San Francisco's persistent drizzle had put me in a funk. I was getting pretty disgusted by the litter-strewn sidewalks, and since it had been raining they were soggy-litter-strewn sidewalks. I figured that if one had to endure such crummy weather they should be picking mushrooms.

So, I decided to head back to Santa Cruz to go hunting for some food. Perhaps chantrelles would be growing on the east side of UCSC campus, I thought. No luck, all I found were some gopher holes and a nearly complete deer skeleton. I didn't enjoy the idea of being a cougar's next dinner, so I headed down to some cypress groves near the beach to seek out the Giant Cypress Agaricus, a cousin of the common button and crimini mushrooms we buy at the market.

It was nearly five p.m. when I got out by the beach, and the drizzle hadn't let up. After trudging around and finding nothing but garbage under the dense, dark canopies of the cypress, I thought I'd dig around the beach instead as it lookel like the tide was a bit low. Besides, I had my garden spade, maybe I could dig up some clams for dinner.

I must have looked incredibly silly on the beach in my slicker, a giant hat, and my wicker mushroom basket in hand. I had gone down to the dog beach and it was right around that time when people get off work and take their dogs to the beach to run around and sniff each others butts. I immediately put my basket down and set out on the glassy shores with my spade. I dug patiently in the remarkably smooth sand. Occasionally one of the dogs would come running up to sniff me and shove their curious heads into the empty basket before running off again. After digging in several spots and finding nothing but two very worn clam shells I began to feel very stupid. Surely one of the natives would have told me that there are no clams on this beach if I didn't look like some scary schizo in my big coat and summer hat.

Thus, I headed back up the cliff to my car empty handed and slightly soaked from the waves. I wasn't unhappy, though, as I had made quite a few canine friends. I smiled to myself as I walked back and thought of how much I liked dogs for their jovial dispositions, curious natures, and...shit...there was dog shit on my boot. Eeeew. I hate poo. I proceeded to stomp my foot and scrape it along the grass when under one of the cypresses in the parking lot I spotted them: large white bulbs poking out of the humus. They were perfectly sheltered and dry under the low branches of that coastal conifer, so I had to crawl in the dirt to get to them. When I finally unearthed a few of the larger specimens, I began to notice that there were quite a few of these beautiful, pristine mushrooms all around me. They were not Giant Cypress Agaricus, but Shaggy Parasols or Lepiota rachodes. I gathered perhaps a couple pounds of them, and returned home, beaming. I had never tasted Lepiotas, but I heard they were delicious, and I was ecstatic to have come home with such a bounty.

When I got home I immediately cleaned them and sliced them up to be sauteed. The best way to cook mushrooms is to dry sautee them. This means that you cook the mushrooms over a high heat in an open pan with no oil or butter. Adding salt to the mushrooms as they sautee helps to draw out the moisture and define the flavor of the mushrooms. What the dry sautee method does is draw out all the excess liquid from the mushrooms and concentrate their flavor. This is a particularly good method for wild mushrooms as they tend to be dirty, and you can wash them with as much vigor as you please without worrying about the final product being water-logged. Some say this treatment washes away the flavor of the mushrooms, but I have not noticed a lack of flavor in washed mushrooms. Besides, nothing kills my appetite like a bite of dirt or grit.

As the mushrooms sizzled in the pan, their broth leached out and the steam filled my tiny studio with their faint scent. I wondered if I would like them very much. I had cooked the savory oyster mushroom, the sweet, maple-scented candy cap, and the exquistely fruity chantrelle, all among the most esteemed wild fungi out there. When the pan was dry, and the mushrooms were shiny and golden brown, I turned off the heat and sampled one of the meaty slices in the pan. There was no way I could have anticipated the immense flavor that filled my mouth! The mushrooms retained a firm, almost crisp, texture, and their flavor was quite unparalleled by any mushroom that I have cooked in this house. They were at once sweet, nutty, with a subtle mushroomy flavor. Having only been sauteed with sea salt, I was amazed at how tasty they were. I realized then, that I had the makings of a fantastic meal in the pan so I took the mushrooms out, fried some butter and garlic together and made a simple bechamel in the pan so I could get as much of the mushroom flavor in the sauce, adding the cooked mushrooms at the end and allowing the sauce to cook down to a good thickness. I ate the mushroom "ragu" over same pasta and savored every impeccable bite. The toasted garlic brought out the nutty flavors of the Lepiotas and the bechamel helped to distribute the natural sweetness throughout the dish. It was simply lovely, and impressive enough to motivate me to hunt for mushrooms throughout the rest of the rainy season.

Dining on Seafood: Important Tips on Weeding out the Bad and the Ugly

Right: the "shrimp menu" at one of my favorite restaurants Royal Capital Seafood, a modest restaurant which is always bustling, in Anaheim's Southeast Asian community. At lunch they offer most of thier dinner entrees at half the price!



If you have ever longed for a time or place that no longer exists, or never did exist, then perhaps you will share in the deep despair that drives me to write today's post. I caught a glimpse of my fantasy land once as a very young child. Swimming in the warm China Sea, I fought the sting of brine in my eyes in order to watch hundreds of gorgeous fish and mollusks swirling about me. To some it would have been the most delightful sightseeing experience, but to me it was a heaven, the freshest seafood buffet I had ever seen. That day I only stopped swimming after the sun had set and an approaching storm threatened the calm waters.

Since then, I have tried to maintain my vision of the perfect world by listening to my mother's stories about growing up on the lush, tropical archipelago of islands known as the Philippines. She usually tells these stories as we shop in markets among tanks of live seafood. "Oh," she'll say as we pass a variety of lively, purple-tailed prawns, "we have this shrimp back home that we call jumping shrimp because it snaps its back and flies in the air when you try to hold it. The flesh is soooo sweet and good!"At this point she smiles, glowing and giddy as a little girl, thinking of the lively shrimp with meat unparalled by any shrimp in this country, and gestures at the excitement of catching such a prize.

Of course, superb seafood is not limted to those living in tropical climes. In this country we are fortunate enough to have access to two oceans with very different, equally excellent, inventories of seafood. I have always read and heard stories of how our shores were once brimming with the delicious species of ocean-dwellers that are so rare today. In California there is the legend of the abalone, once so abundant that its shells were used as currency by Native Americans residing along the Western coast. I have never had abalone because it is hard to find and dishes containing it can run upwards of twenty-five dollars, but I hear that an abalone steak is unmatched by few other meals. I have also heard that lobsters were once so plentiful along the New England coast that the first settlers used the delectable crustacean for the lowly purpose of fertilizing their fields! Does your heart flutter as loudly and desperately as mine to imagine such a time?

You can imagine my excitement when, a couple weekends ago, I happened to stumble across a book that I was almost certain was written to comfort and inspire me, Stalking the Blue-eyed Scallop. This book, written by a very brave and ambitious Euell Gibbons, describes a variety of frutti di mare that can easily be found, and captured, in the wild by even the least equipped amateur fisher. I have stayed up nights chewing my nails out of excitement as Gibbons described tidepools of chattering scallops, impeccable shoals of deep-blue mussels, and silver shores of spawning grunion, among other magical landscapes. Amid the fervor of imagining the days of shellfish-gathering to come, I had a sober moment long enough to check the publishing date of my faded book. 1964, the title page read. My heart sank like an anchor into cold, dark depths of sea. Of course this book described places that no longer exist, for many of us know how we have devastated the populations of so many species in recent years.

In order to overcome one of the most stunning and shattering experiences of my life, and to satiate a craving that had been growing from deep within my gut, I decided to seek out a restaurant that would serve me a few fresh, sweet, meltingly tender sea scallops. I decided that they would be seared in order to create that nutty, golden brown, carmelized crust on each flat side and served on lingine with a light, tangy, slightly spicy tomato sauce.

Being fairly new to the Bay Area, Eric and I opted for seafood restaurant chain McCormick and Schmicks for its impressive offerings of freshly caught fish and shellfish. The restaurant proudly showcased the various fish, and their respective habitats, at the top of each menu. This display of confidence signaled to me a particular command over these beautiful ingredients, so I ordered my dish of scallops and linguine with more confidence than I am likely to muster in a seafood chain. Eric's positive remarks about the specimens in his oyster sampler kept me hopeful (to the dismay of many fish lovers, I am not a fan of oysters for I am quite sensitive to their metallic taste, but perhaps they will grow on me). However, my enthusiasm waned when our calamari arrived. Not even a good batter could disguise the rubbery, watery-tasting morsels of squid. My optimism waned and ushered in my usual cynicism. When my plate of (mostly) linguine and (hardly any) scallops arrived covered in a homogenous, dark red sauce, I felt my mouth water...not out of anticipation but out of the feeling that I was about to be ill. As I tossed the pasta, I realized that the pudding-like sauce must have been made out of tobasco and a processed tomato product like tomato paste. Upon tasting it I found that I was quite right, the overly sweet sauce hinted at the taste of tomato even less so than ketchup. In fact, as Eric sampled the dish to see if I was grimacing out of exaggeration, he pointed out that my pasta tasted like cocktail sauce. I immediately put my fork down.

The story above describes the crisis of seafood dining that we face today: overpriced and badly cooked. Our seafood is overpriced because we have over-fished it only to haphazardly overcook it or combine it with a mess of other poorly matched ingredients. So, while the scallops in my pasta were fresh and probably delicious, their glory was squandered away in the carelessness of their preparation. Thus, I will finally disclose to you (after all this bitching and moaning) the secrets of savoring these dwindling gifts of the sea.

As with all naturally delicious foods, the tenet that less is more holds true especially because the complex flavors of seafood are very delicate. Besides the importance of optimal freshness, fish is best less cooked and with less additional ingredients. Overcooking seafood tends to render the flesh rubbery, and stinking of off-flavors. For this reason, sushi or sashimi is a fantastic way to enjoy seafood, for the simplicity of preparation perfectly presents fish at it's freshest. Because most sushi is uncooked, it is crucial to eat only at the best of sushi restaurants. True, the best sushi restaurants may be more expensive, but I must argue that sushi that is not made of the freshest fish is not worth eating, even if it is discounted at "half-price". Also, half-price sushi restaurants tend to make smaller rolls and nigiri that are often overwhelmed by rice and vegetables. Hirosuke in the San Fernando valley of L.A. is one of my favorites for the quality of fish and perfectly combined ingredients. The food is tasty, the atmosphere is warm and welcoming, and there is something for everyone. For the more serious sushi eater, there is Nozawa, also in L.A. Known because of the chef's strict discretion in choosing fish, Nozawa is one of the most popular sushi restarants, despite the drab, strip-mall location . The preparation is unfussy, but the fish is exquisite. Some have even called the fish ambrosial in order to describe its godliness. I have not yet been to the famed Matsuhisa in L.A. or Nobu in Malibu, but Nobu Matsuhisa, founder of both restaurants, is supposed to be this country's premier sushi chef.

For those who prefer their fish cooked, I have to recommend Chinese cuisine. The Chinese restaurants that I grew up eating at had walls lined with tanks of live fish, lobsters, crabs, and shrimp just waiting to be ordered. Furthermore, Chinese dishes are often cooked quickly and over a high heat, preserving the moist, fragile flesh and sweet flavor of seafood. To top it all off, most chinese restaurants are cheap! My favorite dish is Salt and Pepper Shrimp. In this dish, the whole shrimp are lightly dredged in cornstarch or a thin batter and deep fried at a high temperature for a very short period of time. When the shrimp come out, and are still piping hot, they are sprinkled with salt, pepper, and a mixture of garlic, scallions, and chiles that have been very quickly fried. The results are mouthwatering: pink, crunchy morsels that are bursting with briny, savory, perfectly shrimpy flavor. These are eaten with the shell on, but having been fried at such a high temperture, the shell and legs are so crisp that it is a welcome complement to the juicy tenders encased within. Because this recipe is tailored to cook shrimp just enough so that it does not get rubbery, it is ideal for lobster, which I often find dry, tasteless, and overcooked from being boiled or steamed. It's quite a bit more pricey than shrimp, of course, but is definitely worth it if you can find a place that serves live lobsters. Capitol Seafood and Royal Capitol Seafood, both in Garden Grove, are two of L.A.'s best kept seafood-secrets. Their non-seafood dishes are also superb, and the variety and quantity of offerings are endless.

Italian restaurants also do seafood beautifully, though I cannot think of many restaurants on the West Coast that do a great job at this cuisine as most of our Italians reside on the East Coast. If, however, you find yourself in Manhattan, Carmine's will serve up a huge bowl of one of my favorite dishes of all time, Linguine Frutti di Mare. You can actually see the fresh ingredients in this tomato sauce! Chunks of zesty plum tomatoes and golden slivers of toasted garlic dotted with bright green ribbons of sweet basil . The portion of seafood is so generous, that a whole lobster, head and all, garnishes this bowl of heaven. The delight of finding this restaurant in one of the most touristy parts of NYC, and excitedly enjoying every bite with my seafood soul-mate and inspiration, my mom, will forever be one of my fondest memories.

In choosing a seafood restaurant, just remember that you should always pick a cuisine from a culture where fish is a primary source of food, as these people best know how to prepare these delicate morsels. Also, if you live on the West Coast, forget about finding an East Coast styled, fish market-like restaurant worth your while. I have traveled up and down the West coast in search of such restaurants only to meet repeatedly with salty, rubbery, breaded items, gummy chowders, and tasteless fish fillets.

Lastly, there is the option of cooking seafood at home, but choosing and cooking fish is a topic I would rather tackle separately as it would sure double the length of this already sprawling article.

In summation, the best things to keep in mind to ensure that you will enjoy your seafood dining experience is freshness, quality, and simplicity. If you know of a place that serves fresh fish, opt for a dish that requires the fish to be cooked quickly, and when in doubt skip the frills and order the fish pan-roasted or grilled. Afterall, if you trust the fish source of your restaurant, then it is wise to err on the side of simplicity and allow the fish alone to show you what a good meal is all about.

The Founding

University has proven challenging and lonely for me, and as challenging moments in our lives allow us to discover what we are (or are not) made of I have discovered that University has rendered me rather fat and gluttonous as I am prone to gorging myself on all kinds of luxurious foods in times of stress. Though this may seem like a cry for pity, I assure you I'm alluding to a magnificent sort of epiphany. For while I have struggled toward my degree in Anthropology and have been significantly humbled by the demands of academia, I have discovered that there is always one thing that I will excel in, and that is eating well.

Defining what it is to eat well is a sensitive topic, for it is clear by the vast range of retaurants in our cities that good food means many different things to many different people. If the variety of restaurants in either San Francisco or Los Angeles was an indication of healthy diversity of palates, I might be a content foodie, but instead I find that too many "foodies" have developed their tastes unintelligently, crowding the snootiest of restaurants to dine on oddly paired melanges of trendy ingredients.

Now, if the above rant hasn't driven you away, I don't know what will. Thus if you have read this far, I hope you will continue to join me in the discussion on what it means to love good food. I have only met a few people that do not "love food" and after close inspection I have come to the conclusion that those people are semi-robots, deriving sustenance from electrical outlets and the occasional box of Kraft macaroni.

To me, loving food is something of a desperation. This strong, basal desire is sharpened into skill through years of discrimination and deep appreciation. It is the drive that allows oneself to go through hours of L.A. traffic to get to the freshest, and tastiest seafood in all of Southern California (Royal Capital Seafood, Garden Grove). To most people, such behavior is clearly insane, which is why I rejoice upon finding a kindred spirit. My friend Shiri, for example, travels to Chicago solely to dine on some of this nation's choicest dining establishments. My Auntie Zeny, perhaps the first foodie influence in my life, used to take me and my family on a four hour drive across the border to Puerto Nuevo, Mexico where each of us would consume pina coladas, margaritas, and pounds of broiled pacific lobsters that were piled high in the center of the table. I still remember the morning I woke up rather sick, hungover perhaps, from the pina coladas that accompanied those sweet, buttery nuggets of lobster. I think I was about six. Thus, my beginnings as a foodie stretch beyond my memory.

So, in the case of food at least, my scrutiny and sensitivity to the tiniest of nuances has served me well, allowing me to eat so heartily as to be considered a glutton. How the joy of eating could ever be considered a sin is incomprehensible to me, unless one is not sharing that joy with others. Nonetheless, if my love of food has me destined for the underworld at least I can be certain that I will be in the good company of other food sensualists. I can see us now, recalling memories of the best meals of our lives among the jumping flames.