Iyow - in your own words

Just off the Rue Yvonne-le-Tac, and no less unsettling, is the Fondue Refuge. ‘Fondue’ and ‘Refuge’ are two words not often seen together, and—even independently—a cause for mild concern when used in the name of restaurant….

Down along the wall from us was an American ski bum with his new girlfriend, trying to look swarthy while latched onto a nipple. No adult looks cool sucking on a nipple. Quite the opposite: It can be quite uncomfortable watching your aging friends across the table sucking rapturously on a bottle.

“This restaurant is something you won’t see in England,” Joe said to my visiting friends, Tom and Helen. He was right.

It was called Café Gratitude. More than just a raw, vegan restaurant, it was a self-
actualization seminar. The staff all had that ethereal, slightly unhinged look of the unconditionally loving, their eyes wide and innocent like herbivores without prior consciousness of their natural predators. Their motto was: ‘Our food and people are a celebration of our aliveness.’...

...The waiter brought over our meals. “You are Flourishing,” he said to Helen and put her plate down.

He turned to Tom. “Are you Elated?”

“No. I’m Accepting.”

“You’re not Elated? Well,” he said to Joe, “you must be Elated.”

“I don’t think so,” Joe said, “I know I’m a side of Generous.”

“Well, who’s Elated?”

“I’m Fulfilled,” I said.

“Yeah, I know you’re Fulfilled,” he snapped.

“And Efferverscent.”

“So you’re not Elated?” he said to Joe. “You’re not Insightful, are you?”

“No,” Joe said, “I think I’m Celebrating.”

“You wanna be Elated?”

“Okay. I’ll be Elated.”

“Whatever. Or I can take it back to the kitchen and I’ll be Elated.”

My parents have a cabin in Canada. It sits by itself on a small, nameless island, near where the St. Mary’s River flows into the North Channel. This time of year, as I look out on the soot-black snow and those low winter clouds that smell like pollution – the way old curtains smell like cigarettes – I think of that cabin in Canada, with the sun pouring in and warm, pine-scrubbed wind rushing to fills its rooms. I think of the clear water down by the dock, and the place where I can wade into it, my bare feet gliding across the rocks one by one until there are no more rocks and I sink completely in and feel the shock of the cold biting through to my bones.

It takes about an hour to swim the full distance around the island, or maybe a little more if it’s windy. First I swim against the current, in the open waters on the south side of the island. The waves slap against my face and once in a while I gulp water instead of air and taste minerals and plants and fish. If I see a big wave coming soon enough, I dive into it and listen to the weird, underwater roar as the water rushes past my ears. I pretend I’ve fallen into the water from a great height, and that somewhere above people are looking after me, thinking that I cannot have survived the fall. I blow out the last of my breath and sink further down, not wanting to resurface; to disillusion them and begin the long, humiliating journey back.

I get tired quickly at first because I’m trying to move fast and stay high in the water, out of reach of things unseen in the green depths below. Lamprey eels, for example, have been known to mistake a human thigh for the white underbelly of a Lake Trout. When they strike it’s like being struck with a barbed arrow. There is no removing it without making a second wound far more grievous than the first.

When’s the last time you saw a spork? Grade school lunches? Better yet, when’s the last time you used one?

For better or worse, I used a spork a few weekends ago at Vik’s Chaat Corner. This Berkeley institution, chosen by SF Chronicle as one of the best bargain bites, is popular even on a rainy Saturday. I was hoping to miss some of the lunch crowd by arriving at 2pm, but no such luck. The place was hopping as the regulars staked out empty tables. The line moves quickly, and we were lucky enough to snag a table near the open kitchen. I didn’t realize how lucky until each dish we ordered came out at a different time.

I’ve long been a fan of Robert Moses’ Kin – a San Francisco-based modern dance troupe – for their committment to art that’s unafraid to address the philosophical problems of our times, without ever sacrificing the beauty and joy of dance and music.

So when I went to see them on Friday night in SF’s Jewish Community Center, I was happy to see my high expectations were delivered on – and more.

This is the rare modern dance company that can entertain and evangelize its cause even to non-dance fans. If you have the opportunity to see them, I highly recommend it. They are performing through Sat. and Sun, Feb. 17 – 18 8pm in SF; and at Arizona State University, Mar. 2 – 3; and have just returned from an engagement at Dance Amsterdam in New York last month.

My name is Sachie, and I’m a coffee addict. I love my cup of joe. I fill my stainless steel Zojirushi thermos with delicious home-brewed coffee Monday through Friday. Though our Cuisinart Grind & Brew is a pain to clean, it’s well worth the effort.

But on the weekends, I am free to roam. Brunch and strong coffee can’t be beat. Among the best in the city are Universal Café and Boogaloos (when you don’t need to wait an hour).

Expanding our coffee radius over the holidays, my husband and I finally went to Blue Bottle Coffee in Hayes Valley. It’s hip. It’s cool. It’s somewhat hidden. The lines are long. And the individually brewed coffee gives you a strong buzz. So strong, in fact, that it has led to inane arguments. And yet we still went back for more.

As for the best of the brews, this past weekend we decided to try Philz Coffee (the Castro location). I had heard about this place from a Mission hipster and was skeptical. But my husband insisted we give it a try. And I’m so happy he did. The coffee at Philz is transcendent. Brewed “one cup at a time” (like Blue Bottle) you need to wait for your coffee. I ordered mine with sugar and cream. Fantastic. I want to try every blend, but I don’t know if I’ll make it past the Tantalizing Turkish coffee with my current cardamom obsession.

The coffee is so good in fact that we gave it a shout-out last year. But when most of us are headed to work 250 days a year, sometimes we need a reminder to start the day with ‘the kind of thing that will get you excited about life’.

Nothing like getting out of your own home to understand its good – and bad – qualities in a better light. This past December, we followed some friends out to Jamaica and partook in a little Red Stripe, a lot of jerk chicken and even some Christmas Day goat curry. We spent the bulk of our trip in Port Antonio, an unaffected seaside town that is thisclose to becoming another resort, but for now is still a great find for the independent traveler.

For Americans, the place is paradise, where daytime can slow to a trickle of balmy weather and watersports – and English has long since been established the common tongue. Nightlife guided by knowledgeable locals can be jumpin’ with echoes of dancehall reggae.

Sadly, all its character and beauty doesn’t stem the flow of young adults making their way out of the country for better jobs and opportunities. For the educated elite that remain, entrepreneurship or management gigs in the tourism industry are the mainstays.

I’ve been meaning to go to Nopa for months. My husband and I saw it one day when we were driving though his old neighborhood. “That used to be my laundromat!” he exclaimed.

In fact, this is just one of numerous changes I’ve witnessed since we started dating eight years ago. As this “North of the Panhandle Area” continues to gentrify, it is now harder to find parking here than SF’s popular Castro district and easier to find foodie gems.

But I digress. I feel like I’ve read about Nopa in every food magazine – Gourmet, Bon Appétit, Food & Wine. The last straw was seeing it described as one of San Francisco’s “cool” restaurants in O Magazine (a gift from my mom, OK?). Wondering how much longer it would be cool, now was the time to make it happen. I was determined to get reservations on Saturday night.

Why did I wait so long to experience Pizzeria Delfina? It opened last year on July 19th and it is now one of my favorite places in the city for delicious, thin-crust pizza. And I owe it all to Pizzetta 211 running out of pizza dough.

I’m not vegan (or even vegetarian), but I love this quick, healthy recipe for a super, quick supper. And so does my meatetarian husband Vince! So give it a try on a warm summer evening (or even a foggy San Francisco one).

I found the original recipe in Vegetarian Times, but I have made three modifications/suggestions:

1. I prefer to use Soba noodles. I think the Soba Noodles from Eden are delicious.

2. I do not recommend cooking the grated carrots. They are great raw! Just toss them in at the end.

3. I like salt. Maybe it’s my Japanese genes, but I think this recipe tastes better with half regular soy sauce and half low-sodium soy sauce.

Dressing:
1/8 Cup Soy Sauce
1/8 Cup Low-sodium Soy Sauce
2 Tablespoons Rice Vinegar
2 Tablespoons toasted Sesame Oil
2 Tablespoons Water

Noodles:
8 Ounce package of Soba Noodles
1 1/2 Cups frozen, shelled Edamame (If you want, you could even use fresh soy beans. But these are more economical.)
2 Cups grated Carrots
1 Small bunch Watercress (6 oz), coarsely chopped
1/2 Cup Green Onions, chopped
2 Tablespoons toasted Sesame Seeds* (See Sachie’s Cooking Tips)