food, and other musings

Some Lovely Food Writing

Last Sunday I went to a celebration for some friends who'd wed in a private ceremony on Friday. Before hitting the par-tay, however, Mr. Food Musings and I met up with E. and B. for a cocktail at Farallon. While I was waiting for the other three (late arrivals) and sipping a glass of Bianco Veronese, Quintarelli, Secco Ca' del Merlo 2003, I perused the cocktail list. I found this description particularly delightful, don't you agree?

Old Overholt Rye Old-Fashioned ($8) Sugar. Orange. Cherry. Angostura Bitters. Muddled. Old Overhold Rye Whiskey. Ice. Twist. A well built cocktail. Period.

Isn't that refreshing? I almost ordered it and double-fisted my drinks, but then decided that wasn't a very lady-like thing to do, go and get all sloshed before a wedding reception. (Tsk, tsk went my inner maiden aunt.)

But I wanted to share the good  writing with all of you. Cheers!

Recipe: Peanut Brittle

I was flipping through Living the other day and stumbled upon a recipe for peanut brittle.

"Aha!" I thought. I could make my own personal crunchy-munchy slice of Americana, a treat I used to chomp on as a kid and looked at longingly during the braces phase of life. She who can master boiling sugar can master anything.

Turns out it's incredibly easy to make, and even easier to eat.

Peanut Brittle
Yield: How do you determine how much peanut brittle a person can put away?

Unsalted butter (to oil jelly roll pan)
2 c. sugar
1/2 c. water
Pinch of salt
1 1/2 c. salted peanuts (I used dry-roasted, not cocktail which are greasier)

1. Butter a jelly roll pan or rimmed baking sheet. Spray a plastic spatula with gobs of cooking spray or coat thickly with vegetable oil. Place your tools on a flat surface for later.
2. In a medium saucepan over high heat, combine sugar, water and salt. Cook for 3 minutes without stirring. (Mixture may boil vigorously and appear as if, at any moment, it may boil over the pan. Have no fear. If you get really freaked out, though, you can turn the heat down till some of the water has boiled off, and then turn it back up to high.)
4. Once sugar has begun to melt and turn golden (after 3 minutes) continue to cook, this time stirring occasionally, until sugar has melted and mixture turns golden amber, 8-10 minutes. I would err on the golden side rather than the amber side, since just a touch too much heat can make the sugar taste burned. It's so easy to make, though, that if you don't like it just do it over. Mine, of course, came out perfect the first time.
5. Remove pan from heat and stir in peanuts. Leap over to the buttered jelly roll pan and quickly, immediately pour the mixture in. Grab your handy-dandy pre-greased spatula and pat the brittle down.
6. Let cool all the way, 15 minutes or so. Then do your damndest to break the brittle and remove it from the pan. As I hacked away, first with a spatula, then with a knife, I thought, "Hmmm. This a good project for someone who's boss/spouse/neighbor/child has just really made them mad." But I was getting nowhere fast. I considered writing up an algorithm to help me determine the best angle at which to hack at the brittle, and finally my feeble, can't-see-the-forest-for-the-trees mind realized that I could just turn my greased pan over and the brittle would slide out. Voila! Then I just broke it up into pieces.

Meme Me Up, Scotty!

Here's the second meme that Tara tagged me. With. (Ugh, hate that "never end a sentence with a preposition" rule.)

How many cookbooks do I own?
I just counted (which is hard to do because they're spread out all over the house) and it's not that many -- a mere 31. Unlike many people, I do not collect cookbooks. I rely on a few good ones and then supplement with the occasional "can't resist."

The last cookbook I bought?
David Thompson's Thai Food. I bought it because I was researching Thai food and I'd heard that Thompson's book was the authority on the subject. I've only cooked from it once, and the dish turned out pretty well, but I don't like the way he writes the recipes. You can tell he's a snob.

The last food book I read?
A Cook's Tour by Anthony Bourdain. How can you not love the guy? His prose hits you like a comic book fist ("POW!" "ZING!" "BAP!") and his irrepressible sense of adventure, undying hatred of vegetarians and undisguised romanticism make for a fun ride. Who else would drink a live still-beating cobra's heart or eat lamb testicles in the desert?

Five cookbooks that hold a place in my heart?
How to Eat by Nigella Lawson. She's the one who made me realize that I needed to learn to roast a whole chicken, and her bountiful bosom and wicked smile make me think she's the kind of girl I'd get along with quite well. (Not that all my friends are big-breasted, it just implies a certain joie-de-vivre and sensuality, n'est-ce pas?) Plus she's English, and I've been accused on at least one occasion of being an anglophile.

The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rodgers is probably the most gorgeous cookbook that I own. The pages are thick and creamy and your fingers slide over them so smoothly when you turn the page that they almost slip between your fingertips, lost. Her writing, too, is gorgeous, and the recipes simply put forth. Some of the ingredients are hard to find, and the techniques can be laborious, but if you pick and choose there's something for everyone. Plus, it's my favorite restaurant in the City (most of the time) and it's lovely to have it on hand to remind me that it's time to go back.

Joy of Cooking A classic and a must have in any kitchen. My go-to when I want to make anything new from a paella to a pavlova.

The Cook and the Gardener by Amanda Hesser. Though Hesser herself elicits strong responses from the food world -- like herring, you either love her or hate her -- there's no denying that the way she puts down words on a page, gently, elegantly, makes you yearn for something not right in front of you. This book is Hesser at her best, in an idyllic French countryside trying to make friends with a crusty, gnarled old French gardener who'll barely give her the time of day, much less a bunch of baby carrots for her supper. How gratifying, then, to watch him soften to her friendship as the seasons pass.

Moro the Cookbook by Sam and Sam Clark. Perhaps because the food they cook is a sexy, exotic blend of Spanish and Turkish cooking, perhaps because the introduction sucked me in with expressions like "hairy-chested matadors" and "hedonistic sultans", perhaps because the coarse paper resonates so perfectly with the simple peasant food, perhaps because it was a gift from an English friend -- this is the cookbook I have put down all the others for. I haven't yet cooked from it (it's still too much a treasure for anything so mundane) but the "poached eggs with yoghurt, sage and chilli flakes" and "lomo con leche" (pork cooked in milk with bay and cinnamon) whisper to me. Soon I'll heed their call.

(sigh) Everyone I thought to tag has already done this. Any volunteers?

Recipe: Mr. Food Musings' Birthday Cake

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday Mr. Food Musings,
Happy birthday to you!

Old-Fashioned Chocolate Cake
Yield: 8 pieces

Thank you, Nigella, for this oh-so easy recipe. If you have a food processor, you couldn't ask for an easier thing to bake -- but remember, it'll still impress your friends. Mr. FM and I enjoyed a thick slice for his birthday and then, with our upcoming trip to Hawaii in mind, gave the rest away. (sigh) It was delish.

For the cake:
1 1/2 c. flour
1 c. superfine sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/3 c. best-quality unsweetened cocoa
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened outside the fridge for 20 minutes or so
2 large eggs
2 tsp vanilla extract
2/3 c. sour cream

For the frosting a.k.a. The Best Part of Any Cake:
3/4 stick unsalted butter
6 oz. good quality semisweet chocolate, either morsels or bars broken into small pieces (Yes, Nestle's counts.)
2 1/2 c. powdered sugar
1 TBSP light corn syrup
1/2 c. sour cream
1 tsp vanilla extract

To make the cake:
1. Preheat oven to 350. Take all the cold ingredients out of the fridge for a half hour so they come up to room temperature. Butter, line with parchment paper, then butter again two 8-inch cake tins.
2. Dump all the cake ingredients into the food processor and whir away till you have a thick, smooth batter. (If you haven't got a food processor, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? Go buy one immediately! If the stores are closed and you're having a mad cake craving, however, you can mix flour, sugar, baking soda and baking powder in a large bowl, then beat in the butter until all is combined and creamy. Whisk together the cocoa, sour cream, vanilla and eggs, and beat that into the dry mixture.)
3. Using a rubber spatula (and, most probably, clean fingers) divide batter between two pans and smooth it out. Bake 25-35 minutes, till a toothpick comes out clean (mine took only 25 but Nigella says hers usually take 35. All depends on your oven, time of year, altitude, price of tea in China etc.) Cool cakes in pans on a wire rack for 10 minutes before turning out.

To make the frosting:
1. Melt butter and chocolate in a double boiler, or in a metal bowl set atop a pan of simmering water. Stir constantly and remove from heat once melted.
2. Sift the powdered sugar, or (great new tip!) whizz it around in the food processor to remove the lumps.
3. Once chocolate/butter mixture has cooled, add corn syrup, then sour cream and vanilla. Add powdered sugar, OR add to food processor bowl full of powdered sugar and whizz a time or two. To achieve the right consistency (Nigella says, "Liquid enough to coat easily, but thick enough not to drip off" the cake.) you may need to add a teaspoon or so boiling water. You be the judge.

To assemble the cake:
1. Set one cake on cake plate or serving platter. Dump 1/3 of the frosting on it and swirl it all around on top, ignoring the sides (we'll get to those later).
2. Top with second cake and repeat with 1/3 of the frosting on the top. At this point, you must make a choice: are you in the smooth, glossy frosting camp or the messy, swirly one? I'm in the latter. Do it up, and then frost the sides with the remaining icing.
3. Cut into 8 slices, top with as many candles as you can fit, light and sing the "Happy Birthday" song (words printed above). Then eat as many pieces as you like with a cold glass of milk. It's your birthday, after all!

Sushi, Worth a Thousand Words

Mr. Food Musings and I have been eating so much sushi lately, including Friday night, that I thought I owed you a photo or two. The photos were taken chez nous -- Osaka, one of the local places we like, delivers. We started with hamachi kama, and received one of the biggest orders I've seen. Then we moved on to the sushi: salmon, unagi for Mr. FM, spicy scallop for me (Osaka's is one of the best I've had), a kamikaze roll (tuna, avocado, tobiko and green onion ) and two kinds of tuna: albacore and bonito. Bonito is a white tuna. We almost lucked into the last order of albacore toro, taken from the prized tuna belly, but then they called us back to say someone else had nabbed it. Drat!

My First Meme!

Tara at Seven Spoons tagged me with my first meme. Yay! I squealed like a baby pig when I read her email. (Must you point out that I asked her to tag me? She wouldn't have done it if she didn't totally respect me and my writing. Watch who you're calling neurotic.)

I've decided to answer the first meme, originally from delicious days, first. Perhaps I'll do the other one later on.

What's your first memory of baking/cooking on your own?
Hmmm. Was it the time I decided to make popcorn for an after school snack and dumped about a cup of Karo syrup in the pot, set it to high and then proceeded to watch my favorite soap till interrupted by a ferocious black cloud of smoke barreling in from the kitchen? Yes, I believe it was. Thankfully my mother just laughed when she got home, and then taught me how to make popcorn.

Who had the most influence on your cooking?
Though I most often wax poetic about my mom's family, they really had more to do with my appreciation and enjoyment of food than my cooking. When it comes to cooking, hands down the gratitude goes to my best friend L. who cooked for us all through college, convinced me that I liked onions, tomatoes and mushrooms, showed me what garlic was and how to use it, and introduced me to risotto, homemade Caesar salad and salmon. I was her prep cook, often going behind her to chop or clear up the scraps and replace the butter in the fridge (sometimes before she finished with it. Oops!) She's a cooking goddess who still amazes me when she gets behind a stove, and whom I strive to impress with my bumbling attempts in the kitchen. She is always very gracious, even when I know she wants to spit out the horrible glob in her mouth. And I love her, even though she's still a vegetarian and I'm not.

Do you have an old photo as "evidence" of an early exposure to the culinary world?
Ha! Nice try. I bet my family wishes they had a photo of me eating butter, plain, as a kid. It was my favorite thing. I'd finish a pat, then ask for "more butter, please."

Mageiricophobia - do you suffer from any cooking phobia, a dish that makes your palms sweat?
I'm easily scared by meat, largely because my grandmother believed in cooking meat until it was black, tough and nearly inedible, and my mother too believes that well-done is the way to go. I have an inherited fear of poisoning my guests with underdone, salmonella-riddled pork and the like. (Plus, I was a vegetarian for 11 years.) I've started conquering my fear, first with roasted chicken, then with beef daube, and it's getting better.

What are your most valued or used kitchen gadgets and/or what was the biggest letdown?
The crummy old vegetable peeler my mom donated when I went off to college. It beats all those stupid overgrown Oxo tools to a pulp in the kitchen sandbox any day. Second place goes to my tongs, which are the best for doing anything. I echo the chefs on this one -- go get some.

Biggest disappointment?
My great grandmother always said champagne was the biggest disappointment of her life. I suppose she thought it would taste the way it looks -- light, sparkly, sweet, sexy. And it does, but not when you're 18. For me, the biggest food disappointment so far has been Restaurant Gary Danko. I know, it's sacriligious to say that and you've just fainted dead away. It's not that I didn't like it -- I did, I really did -- but I didn't fall in love with it and want to blow $500 there again the next night like I did at French Laundry, Manresa, or Masa's back when Ron Siegal was cooking. But I'm going to try it again one day, I promise. My great grandmother ended up liking champagne, after all.

Name some funny or weird food combinations/dishes you really like - and probably no one else does.
When I was a kid I hated all normal sandwiches like PB&J, bologna, turkey, and cheese. Finally my mom struck upon two combinations that I loved and ate alternately every day during school: cheese and sweet pickle with mayonnaise, and cream cheese and jelly. I also love popcorn with milk, broccoli on my pizza, and ketchup on my Kraft Macaroni 'n Cheese (a little trick I picked up when I lived in Moscow).

What are the three edibles or dishes you simply don't want to live without?
Easy! French fries. Peanut butter. Macaroni and cheese. No explanation needed, methinks.

Any question you missed in this meme that you would have loved to answer? Well then, feel free to add one! (These are the three that Tara added. I'm going along for the ride.)

Your favorite ice-cream.
First it was chocolate. Then it became pralines and cream. In college it was chocolate chip cookie dough, mint chocolate cookie, and chunky monkey. Now it's chocolate again.

You will definitely never eat...
Brains.

Your own signature dish...
To be honest, I'm not sure I have one. I'm a girl of simple tastes, and the things I've made the most over the years are probably tomato pie and my meatloaf (the Joy of Cooking recipe with a small tweak).

Now I'm tagging Tanvi at From the Pantry. I don't know how the tagging thing works or how many people to tag or if Tanvi will laugh a deep, throaty, evil laugh and refuse to do the meme, but we'll find out...

Kabuto A&S

Kabuto has just become our favorite sushi spot in the city. If you read yesterday's post, you know we have a list of places both "tried and true" and "dying to try" but this is a must go if you want a bit of adventure. The menu easily obliges.

We went with sushi compatriots R. and B. and ordered like mad. Kabuto is known for their unusual sushi rolls so make sure you order a few, even if you're a purist. We loved the Sammy roll, a California roll topped with salmon and curry sauce, and the shrimp and crab tartare on a sheet of nori that balanced atop a small mound of sushi rice. We chomped the garnish, too, crispy fried shiso (sort of Japanese basil). The front of the menu explains that these unusual combinations visit the chef in his dreams, and when he wakes he goes into the kitchen (or behind the sushi bar) to fashion them from memory. I couldn't convince anyone to order the Valentine (unagi, or eel, plus foie gras and chocolate sauce) but it's at the top of the list for my next visit.

Other delicious-ities that I've not seen on many other menus include soft, creamy ankimo (monkfish liver), melt-in-your-mouth sunazuri (yellowtail belly), and, when you can find it, abalone (they didn't have any on our visit). Specials that night included three fishes flown in from Hawaii. We tried the escolar, a firm white fish, but skipped the rest in favor of Tasmanian wild king salmon from Australia, which was tender and sweet and far surpassed the usual sake one can order. Hamachi kama, also called yellowtail collar, is the jaw bone and cheeks of the fish and can be found at nearly every sushi restaurant. It came to the table piping hot with a side dish of ponzu sauce. We fought with chopsticks over the succulent, smoky white and dark flesh and several who'd never had it before rolled their eyes in ecstasy. A first for me was the amaebi, shrimp served two ways. First, raw shrimp nigiri comes to the table, the shrimp glistening and pink. I had never had raw shrimp, since a typical order of ebi nigiri is actually cooked shrimp. I didn't care for it -- it was very fishy, very chewy, and just not for me. I loved part two, though: deep-fried shrimp heads. B. picked off the spindly legs and ate the head in one bite, but I ate mine slowly, savoring the nutty uber-shrimpy flavors. It was like shrimp to the nth degree, and eating the eyeballs, brains and legs delighted me so much I wondered if I'd been reborn a ten year-old boy.

Dessert offered a wider variety than I expected, and we enjoyed deep-fried tempura green tea ice cream, the ice cream inside still cold and solid and the tempura sweet and doughy. My absolute favorite dessert is a Japanese-American hybrid: green tea cheesecake. Though I think Blowfish does a better version, Kabuto's was creamy and soft and rich with cheese, and I loved the heap of kiwi, strawberries and grapefruit that accompanied it.

We brought our own wine so I can't comment on the beverage selection. Corkage is a ridiculously reasonable $6, and Beverages and More is a mere ten blocks away. Mr. Food Musings and R. zipped to and fro in a taxi while B. and I held down the fort on the sidewalk outside. On a Saturday night at 7 pm, we only waited twenty minutes after signing our names to the wait list -- but as we sat down, the sidewalk was getting crowded with hungry patrons.

Kabuto is a small space that seats 40 stretched between the sushi bar and the smattering of tables. Mellow, yellow paint and artfully displayed Japanese pottery and knick-knacks decorate the wall behind the sushi bar, and a kitschy clock amuses with plastic sushi, the kind many Japanese restaurants display to advertise their wares, where the numbers should be. Service was pleasant and quick and our server was happy to recommend house specialties. Besides the food, I noticed something there I've never seen anywhere else: a female sushi chef.

Next, the fearless foursome take on omikase! R. and B. have a relationship with a sushi chef in town, and we've gotten a few tips from others in the know on how to get a chef to cook just for us. Wish us luck!

Kabuto A&S, San Francisco, 5121 Geary Blvd, 415-752-5652

Sushi

When Mr. Food Musings and I are dying for dinner out but need to be virtuous, we go for sushi. Those little protein bombs pack quite the anti-hunger punch, but are light on calories and fat and all those other bad things that make a gals' thighs jiggle. (Not mine, bien sur, but the gals who eat more french fries than sushi know what I'm talking about.)

We don't have a favorite sushi restaurant, but we have a stable of regulars. A girl in every port, so to speak -- that's us. A few months back I read an article that explains sushi etiquette -- bet you didn't know that eating with your fingers is okay, but dipping your nigiri in soy sauce rice side down is not -- and since then I've tried to practice proper form as much as possible.

Here's a rundown of our favorite sushi spots and some of the things I like about each one. Some boast great atmosphere, others fun cocktails, still others haven't got much going for them other than the fish -- but the fish has never let us down at any of these places. There are still tons of sushi restaurants we'd like to try -- Kyo-Ya, Sausalito's Sushi Ran, Koo, Kiss -- so if you have a favorite, post something about it in the comments and we'll try to make our way there. Hama-Ko is also on our list, but I have to work up the courage to call again and inquire about the omikase (kind of a chef's choice). Last time the chef pretended he didn't know what I was talking about, but I've heard since that only regulars are invited for the special treatment. Harumph. Anybody know anybody who knows somebody?

Blowfish Sushi to Die For Yeah, I know, you're rolling your eyes and thinking I'm not a real sushi lover. But come on! Who doesn't love the Ritsu Roll (two kinds of tuna, avocado, tobiko, nori, fried tempura-style and served in a martini glass with ponzu sauce)? Or the Pyramid of Tartare, a towering homage to the Egyptians fashioned from soft salmon, tuna, avocado and garnished with homemade waffle potato chips to scoop it all up. Plus the cocktails and TV screens showing animé are fun. 2170 Bryant Street, 415-285-3848

Ebisu When the weather is nice we head to the Inner Sunset for lunch at Ebisu, and then on to Golden Gate park for a tour of Stowe Lake in a pedal boat, or to read in the wind-sheltered Shakespeare's Garden. We've learned a lot from sitting at the bar, and one of our favorite things to order is the live scallop served nigiri-style in an opalescent shell with a fresh, razor-thin slice of lemon on top and a spicy dipping sauce. It's followed by a plate of sweet onion tempura. Their aji (Spanish mackerel) is amazing, with a sprinkling of scallions on top, and next time we go we plan to order an entire fish: the chef will offer nigiri, sashimi, and the skeleton deep-fried. CRUNCH. I've heard that expert sushi chefs show off their skill by flaying the aji alive. I suspect I'll have to go to Tokyo to see that. 1283 9th Avenue, 415-566-1770

Godzila It's got zero ambience and it's always chilly with the door whipping open and shut, but I went two weeks ago with low expectations and the fish was damn fine. The sushi chef was young and hip and happy to recommend his favorites. The sake (salmon) was soft and sweet and perfect, and the hirame (halibut) pleasant and light. Cheap prices usually make for long lines so go early or be patient. 1800 Divisadero Street, 415-931-1773

Kabuto Though I've only been once, it was enough to know that this is a gem of a spot and now tops my list. I've planned a longer write-up for later this week...so stay tuned. A teaser: the chef, known for his special sushi rolls, is said to see the unusual combinations in his dreams and, upon awakening, trots off to recreate them. One I'd like to try is the Valentine, with unagi, foie gras and chocolate sauce. More tomorrow... 5121 Geary Blvd, 415-752-5652

Osaka This is our neighborhood favorite. The same waitress works every shift, every day, and it's nice that she knows what I mean when I ask for that "sesame tuna" thing. It's only on the dinner menu, but it's great for lunch: lightly seared ahi tuna with sesame seeds, seaweed salad and a dipping sauce. The fish is great -- some of the best sake consistently and I love their crab and asparagus roll. 1923 Fillmore Street, 415-346-6788

Sushi Groove South I know, it's another "hip" spot, but I swear we always have great sushi there. My advice is to make a reservation, otherwise the too-cool-for-school staff will treat you like a leper. They do a great job pairing wines and champagnes to the fish, and they usually have wild salmon sushi on the menu that trumps everything else. <1516 Folsom Street, 415-503-1950

Tsunami Our friends R. and B. ("they've got rhythm...") love it and finally R. took me there. I have strong memories of sake both floral and dry -- and little else. Nevertheless, a good time was had by all and when Mr. FM and I returned last week, we nibbled on sawagani, Japanese freshwater popcorn crab that are flash-fried and served standing on their teeny little legs in golden-red shells with ponzu sauce on the side. I've never felt so naughty as I popped one in my mouth, making sure none of the legs dangled out. CRUNCH CRUNCH. Great selection of sakes so try some when you go. And the best aji I've had in the city. 1306 Fulton Street, 415-567-7664

Walzwerk

I'm not going to be coy -- I love Walzwerk.

I've been meaning to try it since it opened in 1999. My then-boyfriend, Mr. Anonymous, had lived in Stuttgart until he was seven, read German as his first language, and loved all things schnitzel and wurst. We'd eaten at Suppenküche so many times that our love of the place had grown tired and we were tempted to stray. And then Mr. Anonymous and I parted ways romantically, our split the result of the same ennui that plagued our relationship with Suppenküche, and I never ended up going.

Fast forward to last Friday night. Mr. Food Musings and I met our friends T. and E. at Walzwerk for dinner. Mr. FM, T. and I arrived at the same time, and stupidly waited outside for E. who was, meanwhile, sipping her weiss bier at the cozy bar and madly waving at us to come inside. (Perhaps not madly. Perhaps half-heartedly. We'll never know.) "Our table isn't ready," she told us. "They've got some stragglers in the back, so I've been talking to Christiane." Christiane Schmidt owns Walzwerk along with Isabell Mysyk. A sinewy East German transplant, Christiane takes orders and slings beer with a wry smile in painted-on Diesel jeans that look so good they had me wishing I'd grown up Communist. Style-wise, there's a kinship between Christiane and the restaurant around her. Walzwerk, which means 'steel works,' is all gritty chic, from the metal office chairs to the exposed brick to the often punky clientele.

Christiane handed me a wine list. Next to German wines, it said "ask your server," so I asked what sort of whites she had up her sleeve. She produced two strange looking bottles from the bar. "I've got two for you to try." The bottles looked more like flasks or straw-wrapped chianti bottles than wine bottles, squat and short with thick necks, much like East German weightlifters or shot putters. We sipped, considered, then chose a Franken 2004 Müller-Thurgau. Müller-Thurgau is a hybrid child of riesling and sylvaner grapes, and is typically on the dry side with floral overtones. We bought two bottles before the night was through.

When we sat down, I immediately had to visit the loo, which is possibly the coolest room in the joint (though tough to lock - watch out!). It's full of Communist kitsch circa 1970s: think now-defunct East German brands of toothpaste, band-aids, cleaning products and toilet paper, all displayed in glass fronted cabinets. 45s line the bathroom walls (ABBA, anyone?) and larger LPs paper the back dinning room where we sat. While the front dining room is full of pictures of Marx, Lenin and Engels, the back dining room looks out onto a patio with trees and shrubs and makes you feel like you're a guest in someone's house. Colorful placemats and bright orange sunflowers war with bleak, mismatched plates and flatware, but in the end the charm wins out over the gloom. Everywhere is the sense that you're frozen in time, reminding me of the woman in Good Bye, Lenin who doesn't realize the wall has fallen and things aren't what they used to be.

Besides a strong sense of place there is an equally forceful sense of nostalgia, and I have to believe that Christiane and Isabell's childhoods, though filled with long lines or fewer choices at the supermarket, were happy in much the same way mine was. The objects, whether carefully chosen from their families' own relics or dutifully searched out in flea markets and yard sales, were not assembled whimsically. They were gathered with a sense of humor, yes, but also with great care.

That same personal touch lingers in the service. We started with an amuse, an upper-crust touch that was, thanks to the hospitable feel, not out of place in Walzwerk's blue-collar atmosphere. We munched on small crustless squares of pumpernickel bread topped with grainy mustard, cucumber, hard cheese, a sweet pickle slice and chives while we debated our dinner choices. E. and I knew what we wanted, and T. and Mr. FM asked Christiane for guidance. She nodded when an order pleased her, and declared wisely of herring that "either you love it or hate it, there is no in between." I fall into the hate camp so I can't tell you what it was like, but the house-smoked salmon was thin and delicate. It was torn easily with the teeth, and more than a hint of dill played on the palate with every bite. Potato pancakes didn't resemble any I've ever seen. Rather than the greasy, flat 'cakes you often see, these were plump and soft and crisp on the outside, made not of shredded potato but of finely mashed potatoes. Don't skimp on the sour cream and chives; they offset the potatoes' natural sweetness nicely. I ordered "Strammer Max" because I liked the name. The slices of ham, pumpernickel bread and egg fried sunny side up were a familiar pairing at breakfast but just as welcome at dinner.

For our entrees, we aimed for a sampling of East German standards. (Perhaps this is as good a point as any for a segue into "what is East German about the food?" From what I know and have read about German food, I would venture that most of what's on the Walzwerk menu could be found on either side of the Berlin Wall. A few dishes like Thüringer bratwurst and beet soup stand out as possible regional candidates, but to me, it's more the feel of the place than the cooking that sets it apart from its Western counterparts.) I had the käsespätzle, a dish of traditional, misshapen German egg noodles with gooey layers of mild white cheese (instead of cheese sauce) piled on. The side salad was red cabbage, a sweet and slighly acidic counterpart that cuts judiciously through the noodley fat. The portion was big enough to share with everyone at the table and still take some home. E.'s marinated beef was a pot roast that had been bathed in a mixture of red wine and vinegar, which softened it into melt-in-your-mouth hunks that gave off a slightly sweet flavor. Potato dumplings (a touch gluey, truth be told) and braised red cabbage finished it off. Mr. FM tucked into his Wiener schnitzel made with pork, not veal, and the meat, pounded flat and dredged in breadcrumbs before a swift fry-up, was juicy and tender. T.'s Thüringer bratwurst, an obvious homage to Christiane and Isabell's home state of Thüringen, disappeared quickly along with a pile of mashed potatoes and sauerkraut and, though I didn't try it, I surmise it was all good.

We had decided to drink our dessert in the form of a sweet Valckenberg 2003 Gewürtztraminer, but the bald, tattooed German server who took over for Christiane suggested we not miss either the berry pie with frangipane crust or the "cold dog" (kalter hund), a dish of wafer-thin butter cookies interspersed with thick chocolate in the form of an icebox cake. The thin drizzle of raspberry sauce had me licking my lips -- and refusing to share. It was definitely love at first bite.

Walzwerk, San Francisco, 381 South Van Ness, 415-551-7181

Bluepointe

I remember the first time I ate an oyster. But before I get to that, let me tell you about the first time I didn't.

Mr. Food Musings and I had recently begun dating (again. There were a few fits and starts before he, er, I realized we were right for one another). So he took me to his favorite restaurant, Zuni Café, and proceeded to order a half dozen oysters and a vodka martini -- both of which made me turn up my nose. Several Zuni trips later, I still wasn't ready to brave slurping down a slimy living creature, but on a drive north to Bodega Bay we stopped by the Olema Farm House, which is known for their barbecued oysters, and he tried again to convince me. Since these oysters were cooked -- thrown on a grill and slathered in barbecue sauce -- I decided to give it a go. And they were good. The wonderful brininess and delicate flavors I've since come to appreciate were masked by the gloppy red barbecue sauce, but I liked the smokiness and we ordered a half dozen more before lunch was through.

Since then, we eat oysters almost everywhere we go. We've enjoyed plump creamy ones at Chapeau, teeny weeny kumamotos at Zuni, Hog Islands at Hog Island Oyster Co., and all manner of other varieties at Swan Oyster Depot. Last week for lunch we dropped by the newly opened Blupointe, a raw bar with an extensive menu, on the chance this Union Square/Financial District spot might offer a cool oasis in an otherwise concrete dessert.

Alas, we were mistaken.

When we first walked in, however, I was delighted by the decor. Sleek blue and green glass panels downstairs, exposed brick walls upstairs and glossy wood floors set a swanky stage. Three chandeliers crafted from dangling discs either made of, or resembling, shell cascaded from the ceiling like a waterfall. The menu, too, had me squealing with glee! Long lists of oysters, Little Neck clams, mussels done four ways, ceviche, tartare and fresh prawn or crab cocktail begged, "Pick me! Pick me!" Ahi and other sandwiches, fish and chips, pizzas and more beckoned too, but I settled on a half dozen oysters (3 kumamotos, 3 malaspina) and a crab cocktail. Mr. Food Musings ordered three Hog Islands, and a spinach salad with grilled chicken. And then we sat back to wait.

And wait. And wait. And wait -- a good twenty minutes for 9 oysters served raw (and no, it was not very busy). When they finally arrived they showed the handiwork of an inexperienced or careless shucker: some were mangled, cut in half and thrown back in the shell, while others were not properly detached. I popped a kumamoto in my mouth -- ummm, creamy pillows that made me feel I was bobbing in cold seas. I popped another one -- BLECH! It was a bad one. So I switched to the malaspinas, and those were good, but the mignonette sauce (my preferred dipping sauce made of vinegar -- champagne, white or red wine -- finely minced shallots and some ground pepper) was lackluster, nearly flavorless. The cocktail sauce which resembled ketchup -- no horseradish bits to be seen -- suffered a similar tasteless fate.

Nevertheless, we moved on to our entreés. Mr. FM's salad of spinach, candied walnuts, blue cheese and grilled chicken was warm and delicious. But I'm sorry, if you can't do that salad well, then you don't deserve to wear a toque. My crab cocktail arrived in a fashionable martini glass sandwiched between little pea shoots and seaweed salad, with a few purple potato chips stuck in to give an architectural feel. The chips were splendid and crunchy, and the crab was incredibly fresh, but the cocktail sauce the menu promised was nowhere in sight. I am not one to eat crab naked -- either a pour of warm butter or some cocktail sauce, please -- and asked for the latter. The waitress smiled and offered to bring it right away, and I nibbled a bit here and there while I waited. I took another bite. I ate a chip. I offered Mr. FM a bite. And before you know it, the crab was gone and the waitress never did bring that cocktail sauce.

The food was incredibly disappointing, and even more so felt like a rip off: $70 for 9 oysters, a crab cocktail, a salad and a glass of wine. We may drop by for a cocktail on the back patio one night after work, but as for the eats, well, they can go jump back in the lake or ocean or sea they came from.

Blupointe, San Francisco, 239 Kearny Street, 415-986-4450