Morality: An Irate Cab Driver, Heaven & Voyeuristic Priests

“Your drivers are liars. None of them will go to heaven.”

This is what my West African cab driver screamed down the funnel of his radio this morning.

A few days ago my older sister sent me an email.

“I’m working on a paper on morality. What do you think are the moral rules we grew up with? So far,

For Papa:

1. Family comes first.


2. Religious commitment is of the utmost importance.


3. Always give to the needy.


4. It’s ok to plunder the earth for man’s comfort.


5. Don’t trust anyone not of the same ethnic group or governments.


6. If you don’t get caught then it’s ok.

For Mom:

1. Always follow the rules.


2. Do as I say not as I do.


3. Men are to be respected, but are inferior.


4. Never lie.

I ended up adding to her list:

For Papa

1. Anything that achieves the greater good is irreproachable.

For Mom

1. Excess resources should be given to those less fortunate.


2. People should be judged by the content of their character.


3. People should be judged for any negative action—even if they undeniably serve the purpose of a greater good.

And so morality, heaven, incongruous ideals of parents and an angry cab driver fill up the space between my ears.

I grew up in a religious house. Church was attended on Sundays and after my mother’s conversion we found out just how orthodox Orthodoxy can be. We had up to that point had a more lenient version at our disposal. I remember sneaking food before the dinner prayer. I remember how I felt like it was poisoned and was going to kill me. I remember thinking that God was watching and by default that meant the priests with the darkest beards were probably watching me too, like some movie they would put into their minds of all the bad things I would do, playing for them to watch at any time. I remember all of this fondly. When I decided that religion, specifically church, wasn’t for me, I packed up my proverbial red wagon and piled these memories on top. I knew I wanted them, but I wasn’t sure for what.

Another memory: one night at dinner my mother said “If we have a little bit less so someone else can survive then we must do it.” She sounded so right, so confident. I still believe this. And if you want to make your kid a liberal then try this exact line on them, preferable before age 8, Jesuit-style. It will help if they have huge reserves of empathy, because it will place a yoke on them. You have to help people. You don’t have any choice in the matter so figure out how to be useful in the world. We are all in this together. “This” not being explained beyond the fact that “this” just is. If that’s not a morality lesson devoid of religion—and, of course, also a place where religion could easily be inserted—then I don’t know what is.


No one talks about morality anymore. It’s not how we operate. We consider very few things as “moral dilemmas” even if they are. Why is this? Is it because moral is baptized in religion for many of us? It shouldn’t be that way. I think maybe we do need to think about morality—and not in that Fox News way, but to take back that word from the judge-y hands that have been massaging it into their submission. The only other alternative I can think of comes from some snippets I remember from my maternal grandmother. Grams, a good friend and a user of comedy and wit to excise herself from complicated or messy situations, often invoked with regards to organized religion, “Just try to be a good person—that’s hard enough.”

Naughty Gluten-Free, Fat-filled Macaroni & Cheese with Broccoli

I need to lose 15 or 25 lbs. I’m not sure because I stopped looking at the scale. Anyways supposedly I am on board and committed to this. Supposedly. I had a crappy work day today and thought maybe I could treat myself with something...um...heroin, cocaine, barbiturate sedation are all not options so I decided on a little macaroni and cheese. Yes, of course, it will be gluten free, but tonight I do need dairy. Just a little crème fraîche. And if I add some greens then maybe that will assuage the guilt. Maybe? Here’s what we got:

 

1. 2-medium or 1 really big stalk of broccoli (heads only—use the stalks for a soup puree as they last in the fridge for a few days)


2. 1-1.5 c of sharp English cheddar (ERIE! I used the Irish stuff to represent the little man, which—see above—I am not.)


3. 1 package Bellwether farms crème fraîche (Go Sonoma!)


4. 1 package brown rice elbow pasta (I had some Tinkyáda who gives you ultimate confidence when first starting gluten-free cooking as it says, “The good texture of Tinkyáda can withstand quite a bit of over-cooking” and then there’s the two rabbits shouting “Not Mushy!” which is fairly enjoyable too.)


5. 1.5 cups fresh basil


6. 1.5 Tb of fresh shallots, onions and garlic (wah? Yeah, they have a package at TJ's with this. And now that I am fat I also think I should be lazy. Otherwise I’m un-American. Right?)


7. 1Tb olive oil

 

 Get two pots of water boiling. One will have pasta and the other place a basket or better yet have it be a steamer. This is a good time to open some wine. Now, think about the moral lessons your parents taught you. If you had two parents in your life—how contradictory were their ideals from each other?

Ok, water’s boiling. Pay attention. Steam broccoli until it is a bright vibrant green and when you place a fork through the flesh it doesn’t go through easily but can make it to the other side without Michelle Obama arms. Stop cooking the broccoli. Let sit with lid off.

Place some salt in the pasta pot. Cook the pasta until it is done or even overdone if it is Tinkyáda. This is about 15 minutes to 30 depending on what kind of brown-rice pasta you purchase. Follow the package or just sit and drink wine and stir when it over-boils. Whatever feels more comfortable to you. Once the pasta is done, drain it.

Get out a pan, over a medium flame pour in the olive oil. Add shallot, onion, garlic mixture. Tend it until it is golden. This is the one part where you may have to really pay attention. Once they are golden brown, turn down the heat to low. Add in the broccoli. Add in the crème fraîche a tablespoon at a time and after two tablespoons start to add in a handful of cheese with each crème fraîche addition. Keep stirring. You will be a piggie and use all the crème fraîche. You do not need all the cheese though so stop throwing that in like confetti at a birthday party. Add the pasta to the pan and continue to gently fold in ingredients. Stop adding cheese if it gets too stringy. Add in basil last. Some people may wish to salt and pepper.
 
Look at the pan. Turn around make sure no one can see and eat out of it for 1 minute. Get a bowl. Pour more wine. Decide that you like chubby things—like babies—and that being chubby makes you cuter. Everyone likes babies. This will serve 2 people as a complete meal or if you add a big salad then you could stretch it to feed 4.

Let's Get Nutty: Do Roasted Brussel Sprouts & Scallops Work Well Together?

 
 
I didn't know the answer to this and I had a flood in my kitchen a few days back which laid claim to many of the spices I kept in a big bowl on a shelf. So I was going to have to try to answer do Brussels spouts and scallops work well together—and I was going to do it with minimal seasoning. And I also thought—what if we keep it simple? Roasted Brussels sprouts with only salt and pepper and scallops done Koka Vera style. Koka Vera, was one of the most amazing forces of nature I have ever met, and she was my aunt. She died from cancer, but before she did she cooked up some amazing meals and gave out lots of questionable advice. She was a true matriarch. So this is her scallops recipe and it is easy (as long as you don't over cook the scallops), and is low-effort and high-reward. As it turned out, Brussels sprouts flavor overpowers the scallops even with the added liquer. Both were tasty but not exactly best friends this time around. So I suggest doing them separately. Aren't you glad I messed up so you don't have to?


Recipes: Cooking Scallops Vera Style
 
 
Vera, rarely if ever, gave you a recipe with true measurements. So in that tradition I will share this one. It might sound more authentic with a slight Russian accent so try to have one when reading this aloud.

Clean scallops, making sure to remove any of the tough foot should it have been left on. If you are using frozen scallops, defrost slowly. It is best to let them sit in the fridge for a day. So you take them out of the freezer in the morning, go about your day and come home at 5,6,9 and then if needed run them under cold water to detach any ice. I used the Japanese frozen scallops from Trader Joe's this time. They are bigger than the other version available at the store.

Place a thick layer of flour on a plate. I use rice flour as I like how "soft" it is and I avoid gluten in my diet more often than not. Add in salt and pepper. How much? Well, I do about three to four shakes of a La Baleiene bottle, and enough pepper until it looks like Abraham Benrubi's beard.

Place scallops on the plate and get each one covered by flour then shake off the excess.

Get a large pan and fill the bottom with olive oil at a medium temperature. Let the pan sit for a few minutes and warm up. Start placing the scallops into the pan. Once you have all the scallops in the pan then go to the first ones you placed down and flip them. Once you have flipped each one once you then count "one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one thousand, four one thousand, six-one thousand, seven-one-thousand, eight-one-thousand" before you touch them again. It is easiest to use tongs to flip them. If they are sticking move the oil in the pan to loosen them up. If that doesn't work, take down the heat a smidge. While you are turning them eventually they will feel like they have less give. Cut one open and take a look if it's a bit soft in the middle then the time is right to pour in enough Grand Marnier to cover the bottom of the pan and put a lid on it. Turn the heat to low. keep the lid on until the sizzling/popping sounds stop. If you can't hear the noise start then just give it one minute. Take off the lid and plate, serve or eat straight from the pan if you live alone and like doing that.

Roasted Brussels Sprouts
I don't like Brussels sprouts, but roasted they taste delicious. If you have never liked them try this Brussels sprouts recipe and just see if it changes your mind.

Turn the oven on to 400.

Trim off the end of the sprouts and any leaves which are not a version of light or dark green.

In a bowl, mix Brussels sprouts with a tablespoon of olive oil.Add in salt and pepper.

If you have a Wolf range then you can stick your food in now. Everyone else, sit, relax, pour yourself a glass of wine while your oven heats up.

Roast the sprouts for about 20 minutes then open the door and see how quickly a fork will go through them. When done, they will be charred on the outside, but should be able to have a fork slip into them easily. It can take up to 40 minutes to cook depending on your oven, your pan and whether or not you believe in unicorns.

Hotel Biron Wine Bar

Happy Belated Birthday, San Francisco Stylephile. I was lucky enough to be able to pop in on this amazing lady the other night as she was settling into Hotel Biron.

I would also like to say—Hotel Biron, you make so happy. Although I do like you better when you have less people inside, but your staff is always gracious. That’s the thing about wine bars in the city you either get bad service from the too cool for school set or they are oddly formal. The oddly formal murders me as, c’mon people, this is Northern California. You can wear jeans everywhere and have great food and wine. This makes us better than the East Coast. They have so many more rules there and mostly those rules suck so why are we following suit?

Anyways, the staff here is nice and even when they are slammed. They will walk you through getting a wine that you will like and they don’t make it intimidating at all. Plus they let you try stuff. And not in that sneaky “I will give you a condescending look if you try more than one wine” way. They really mean it. Big kisses, Biron, and I guess it sucks that so many have come to love you, but that’s what happens when you’re so likable. (Ah, but we will always have those less crowded evening in early 2005 when I first found you when I was doing freelance reviews for Shecky's here in SF.)

Also, if any NY transplants haven’t heard about this place they will be happy to know that they have the brick exposed walls and couches so you feel East Village.

Four Star Experience (can be a Five on nights when it becomes a "perfect bar" which is filled with people but has seating for you)

Recherche: Exotic, Pretentious & Basically French

How often do you get a new word? A prize to hold on to? Thank you to my older sister and Michael Chabon for my new word as big sis bought me his book, The Amazing Adventure of Cavalier and Clay, in which he used the term. And in a little switchblade of events I once was interviewed by Michael's wife and met him also briefly when they were looking for someone to update their website and be a PA. I probably would have sucked on the PA part, considering at my job now I actually unplug the phone so that "I won't be bothered" which did not go over well when explained. I even did it in that matter-of-fact tone that office mats (not a typo) enjoy and sometimes pre-suppose is a person who "knows things" and "gets the job done."

Anyways, back to the story, recherché. It's like a big well-placed scarf or a large cowl-neck sweater—you know it belongs to the French, so cool and condescending, before your eyes can focus and know exactly what you're looking at and then plummet into the realization that you could never pull that off. It sounds like a name dropped at just the right moment where instead of coming off like a jerk you sound like you know something. Recherché.

So sound is only one part. Next comes meaning, depth and some confusion as it turns out. Recherché is itself and its opposite. More French than I could have dreamt. Holy semiotics-Julia-Kristeva-Irigaray-Cixous-make-feel-dumb-leather-language, I think I am smitten:

Merriem Webster:

• Main Entry: re·cher·ché


• Pronunciation: \rə-sher-shā
  
• Function: adjective
• Etymology: French, from past participle of rechercher to seek out, alteration of recercher, from Middle French
  
• Date: 1722

1 a : exquisite,choice b : exotic, rare
2 : excessively refined : affected
3 : pretentious, overblown

Bare at The Mirage in Las Vegas: Tops-down Pool Party

 

OK, so I'm not a baller. I don't gamble more than 20 bucks and I think I look my best after I've gone for a long walk on a foggy day. But sometimes you gotta roll big. And I did a few weekends ago in Vegas with my girlfriends. We went clubbing at Bank, ordered room service at 3am, woke up and went to a "European-style" sunbathing pool party. These pool parties are thing to do in Vegas these days. You party in the daytime. And pay money to get a cabana and then some chicks take off their tops. Note to NV strippers: If you spent lots of money on them they should not be cock-eyed and if they are then why are you showing them? If they are natural I have no issue with some sag, a little wear and tear, I understand. I am in my 30s. I know about the gravity of the situation. But really, ladies, if they aren't great, keep 'em peeking out. A little mystery goes a long way.

OK, so back to the story. I started with a mojito and only got a coffee about an hour later, because I had to leave the premises to get a coffee, because they only served booze, water and some juices. Tough stuff being a baller. Our cabana required we spend $1,000 that day in food and beverage service. They did not have a rental fee like other spots. Our waitress was super cool and kept the mojitos coming--even letting us know that they were running low on mix at one point so we could get a few more pitchers into our mini fridge. Yeah, we had our own fridge and misters and fans that blew everywhere except for on my beautifully voluptuous and pasty body. Drinks were yummy and I liked their lobster tacos so much I almost made out with one of them. The music was popular stuff that you somehow know from having Pandora on at work.

So what's the deal?

Get a big group and get the cabana. If you are going with your sweetie then just reserve chairs--although girls can get free passes by just walking around and looking good at The Mirage. People are not acting up--so if you want to change the rules of the champagne room go to the other bigger pool parties. Security did give some static about me sleeping in the cabana corner. Um, it is warm and my skin is made for the tundra so yeah I got sleepy. Jeez. The people watching was fairly spectacular, especially as well some people who want to flaunt it maybe shouldn't. It wasn't car wrecks, but some could have used a different plan of attack. All in all, it was a cool way to spend the day. Oh and I did show mine...and they are magnificent!

Four Star Experience

Whole Foods & This Economy

I love Whole Foods. It makes me think of the energy from the first stanzas of Supermarket in California. I am young in Whole Foods. I am healthy. I can plié and chant and support hemp farmers. But—screech—I can't really afford it. I make decent money, but I like trips, dinners out, the occasional shopping splurge, manis and pedis, a fuzz-free upper lip and Korean spas. So how's a girl supposed to feel like she can live the California dream?

Sign up for WF newsletter. It's cheery and well-done. It sends me recipes, which admittedly I haven't tried to a T, but have been an inspirational in some dinner that were pogroms of every fridge inhabitant, tells me what's on sale that week, Value Guru tips, other money saving tips...well, are you sensing a pattern. They are hitting on me, knowing I worry about money, but have become a slave to organic, local, delicious, choice and exotic— and all in one place.

Internet packrats will rejoice in the fact that you can store recipes on their site, just like Epicurious.com.

Pagaloc: Seven Course of Beef

I can forgo meat. I have done it occasionally for years at a time. One winter in Lithuania broke me of the no-meating for years at a time. Nothing like some purple bruises from a hug to make sure you re-think potatoes as your sole go-to food.

A friend of mine was celebrating her birthday and a bunch of us were having some issues with, well, having to shell out cash for dinner and drinks. Something about the universe ensures that all of my ladies and I seem to have monetary issues all at the same time. Anyways, what are hungry ladies on a budget who need to celebrate their long-time friend's arrival in this world to do? Go to Pagaloc. It's in the TL, cheap and mildly upscale—so when you are waiting for a table and half the group is outside you feel under-dressed and cold and that your shoes are too high and once inside you think, "Man, I look good tonight," after you sit down and the door stops flapping. Anyways, the raison d'être is the Seven Courses of Beef. Or at least we thought it was until the nicest man on this earth introduced himself to us. I had mentioned while on my way to using the loo that we had a birthday girl in tow and therefore needed a little candle on something. The chef came out and thanked all of us for coming. He was such a sweetheart. But I can't be bowled over my personality alone—I am nothing if not judgmental so let me tell you about his food.

It was fantastic. I know it sounds hokey, but I have always felt that you just can taste love in food. When I have been unhappy, stressed, or worried, it always comes out in my food. Always. When I am happy and feel love I am such a good chef. This man has the cook-style down with getting orders on the table in a timely manner, but you can't fake being a chef and that is what he is. A creative force that is doing what he does best. The food is simple, fresh and tasty. Go here and cram some meat into your mouth.

Five Star Experience

Basics
Pagaloc.655 Larkin Street,(415)776-3234. Open 5pm-10pm, Fri & Sat 5pm-11pm. Closed Monday.

Imperial Spa: Koreans Scrub You Clean

The first time I went I just wanted a spa day because I was nursing a broken heart. Like real broken. Like my boss gave me a book titled "How to Heal Broken Heart in 30 days" because she could see how sad I was. Anyways, I needed some time with a friend and some spa—and I alas needed to make about an extra $400 each paycheck to make it happen. So, my friend, San Francisco Stylephile, told me about a spa she had tried out and that they man-handled you and you saw lots of lady bits. As she was telling me about the traumatizing event I knew I needed it to happen to me. Lady bits is right. Never have I seen so many lady bits. My father is from Japan and I have been to bath houses all over that country and even seen stranger-man bits, had my lady bits poked at my older ladies with smaller bits, tried to cover my bits unsuccessfully with small towels and XXXL robes. I thought I couldn't be shocked.

Well, I was.

First they yell out your number and you trudge upstairs. They smile and then you lay down. They scrub every single last inch of your body. It is rough. They have you on your front, back and each sides. They scrub behind your ears, between your toes and your inner thighs (woo!) One of the ladies is rougher than the other one, but I never remember until her wee hands are scrubbing me into submission. Both women though are tiny and wearing black Cross-my-Heart Playtex type bras and black granny panties with a touch of lace. Why do I keep talking about both ladies? Because you are in the same room with someone else. Someone else also has to move their legs to the side or up or to the left. When legs move—you got some lady bits. IN YOUR FACE. So, you learn quick to close your eyes. Then they heave buckets of water on to you and you get back on the table for the massage. I have come home bruised from these massages, but I am squeaky clean and super relaxed too. It costs about 100 bucks which is pricey, but considering how much spa days cost at a normal boring facility without lady bits, Korean gossip and a general sense that being womanly is awesome it is quite a steal. Go early and clean your dirty body before the Korean ladies scrub you and then plunge in the cold pool. Also, there is no greater hangover cure than this should you have imbibed too much.

Five Star Experience.