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last year to learn how to cook something new every week. I’ve been semi-keeping to it, actually, or at the least have been cooking more. Some recent experiments have gone rather well:

Last weekend, a few friends and I got together and decided to try to cook something hard together, and being of a similar “go big or go home” mentality, decided to try and tackle Julia Child’s boeuf bourguignon. With 4 of us cooking, the entire process still lasted about 4 hours, and made a federally-recognized disaster area of the kitchen, but the results were amazing. It’s waaay too much work for one person, but the food turned out great, and I at least got a great sense of accomplishment out of the effort.

This week’s recipe was Cook’s Illustrated’s risotto with asparagus and wild mushrooms (subscription required). It seemed easy on paper, but the hard part was not the prep, but judging how much liquid was enough; I was concerned for a while that the dish would be too soupy, even though I followed the recipe exactly. I shouldn’t have worried, though, because it came out wonderfully:

A few notes on the cooking:

• That’s some shaved grana padano parmesan on the top.
• I didn’t use the traditionally recommended arborio rice, but followed CI’s advice that “other japonica-type varieties” would work as well, since I always keep Japanese short-grain rice in the house.
• I used coarse sea salt instead of table salt, and I added a bit extra salt as well as black pepper to the dish at the end. The recipe didn’t call for black pepper, but I felt it added a nice bite to the dish.
• I used forest nameko mushrooms. I wish I could tell you I had enough foresight to pick this variety because of its unique properties, but the truth is they just looked good in the store, so I got them. Turns out forest nameko have a natural gelatin coating that works “to lightly thicken soups and sauces,” which is probably why the risotto thickened up so nicely. They also sautéed well and added a wonderfully nutty flavor to the dish. Very nice indeed.

So I went to Safeway during halftime today to get a sandwich for lunch, and imagine my dismay when I find out that they’ve taken my favorite sandwich, the Hail Caesar, off the menu. I don’t get it. Why? Why would you take clearly the best sandwich on the menu off the menu? I feel betrayed.

did you know that the easiest way to peel a banana is by pinching the tip of the banana? Not cutting or pulling at the stem area, as most of us have likely grown up doing. Really. Just pinch the tip, and the peel comes right apart. It’s amazing! This apparently is how monkeys eat bananas. No lie.

My colleague blew my mind when he told me about this last week. What the hell have I been doing my entire life? Man…years, wasted eating bananas the wrong way. Sigh. What else have I been doing wrong?

So I was on my thankfully final trip out to Knoxville—involving, praise be, neither US Airways nor Charlotte Douglas International Airport in any way—a couple of weeks ago, and I had another unexpectedly sublime sandwich experience.

Anyone who travels with any frequency knows not to expect too much from airport food. Your choices are generally limited to greasy junk food or dry sandwiches and wilted salads. In short, with the exception of a couple of terminals at SFO, most airport food is a fitting accompaniment for the unadulterated misery that is modern air travel in America.

Not so that day, however. I was flying American for the first time in a long while, so I was in an area of Terminal 3—one of the aforementioned exceptions—I do not normally frequent. On the lookout for an inoffensive sandwich, I spotted guava & java, which offered quite an impressive selection thereof. I selected the “Turkey Festa Americana,” which frankly I wasn’t too keen on, but I felt like turkey more than roast beef or tuna.

Let me take a moment here to praise the g & j packaging. Whimsical and friendly, all purchases come in a cheery orange or lime green paper bag, which injects a bit of brighness into an otherwise dreary day of travel.

Anyway, what set this sandwich apart from the mediocre masses was the fact that not only did it have cranberries in it (actual cranberries, mind you, not a sugary sauce), but it contained stuffing. Stuffing! In the sandwich. Brilliant! The stuffing contained just the right amount of moisture and saltiness to balance the turkey beautifully. The balance of flavors was so well judged, in fact, that I wasn’t even bothered by the presence of the iceberg lettuce (normally a deal-breaker). Good stuff.

In other sandwich news, I’d also like to praise the Sentinel’s roasted eggplant, basil and goat cheese sandwich, which I enjoyed for the first time last week. It was a bit heavy on the basil, but the absolutely gorgeous bread and the perfect texture of the grilled eggplant hits a sandwich home run. Don’t miss it!

Oh, man. Now I’m hungry.

signal-to-noise ratio at Eater SF—I mean, who really cares about the latest Starbucks news or a recap of the newest Top Chef episode? I sure don’t.—I am loving this series they run wherein the author finds and makes fun of idiotic Yelpers—which, by the way, is the popular service’s problem in a nutshell. It’s somehow evolved into an online singles’ bar, where people compete to write the snarkiest, most elitist entry in an attempt to impress others, but who end up doing nothing but impressing others with their idiocy.

Check it, yo: an iPhone app containing cocktail recipes. I am not kidding. I have no words for this awesomeness. (Via DF)

The once and future banana. Ha!

One interesting note—when your great-grandparents go on about how bananas used to taste so much better in the old days, they’re not lying.

Who knew?

two years ago, my romantic imaginings of living in the city entailed a lot of evenings like the one I spent last night.

First, I met some friends at Craft Gym for the Lotta Prints event, a chance for people to play with artist Lotta Jansdotter’s stamps and stencils^*.

We followed that up with a truly excellent sushi dinner at Sebo, and rounded out the evening with hot chocolate and conversation at the new Christopher Elbow store/lounge.

The lounge space at Christopher Elbow is cunningly designed, with the seating area consisting of one long banquette that faces a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, making the customers a living window display. The seating arrangement, along with the inspired use of lighting, makes the space magical at night. That, on top of their, oh yeah, excellent chocolates, will no doubt make Christopher Elbow a San Francisco landmark in the near future.

Luckily for us, though, Hayes Valley was very quiet last night, and we had Sebo and Elbow almost to ourselves, which lent the whole evening a rare idyllic overtone.

I love this city.

^* This was entirely too crowded, so we ended up leaving quickly, but I did come away inspired. Look for the result of that inspiration in a new blog template soon.

So I’ve been more inburrito than usual lately, for a very good reason; I was moving. I’m just about done, though, so you’ll see me online at least a bit more soon, but I had to take the time to write about this now.

Unlike some of my friends, I am not a sandwich aficionado, and do not in general consider the sandwich one of the highest forms of prepared food. However, I do agree that just slapping some stuff between two slices of bread does not a good sandwich make, and that a properly calibrated sandwich can elevate your culinary experience from the mundane to the sublime. I’m writing today to talk about one of these sublime experiences. I walked over to my local Safeway a little while ago, thinking I’d just pick something up from the deli counter for lunch, since I have very few groceries in my new place, never suspecting that I was shortly to come away with what is possibly the best sandwich I have ever had. I am not kidding.

I ordered the “Hail Caesar” sandwich, which consists of a soft baguette (the bread makes the sandwich, and this one has some heft without being too tough or tearing up the roof of your mouth) with a garlic spread (think a thicker version of caesar dressing), turkey (but not too much; turkey’s aggressive blandness can overpower everything else in the sandwich if too much is added), havarti cheese (my very favorite, and the reason I chose this sandwich in the first place), lettuce and tomatoes. A very simple list of ingredients, but this is the textbook example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts; tangy, flavorful, balanced perfection. Mmm! Ok, I’m going to go back and enjoy the second half of my sandwich.