Celebrations, Teatime, and Brunch 39

Before I forget, I realize I have promised an Annie to Abed scale of movies. I will do that now, because if I don't, I will never, ever do it. And really, it wasn't all that compelling anyway.

In short, I think movies have an Annie to Abed rating scale. Oh, and yeah, I mean Annie and Abed from Community, which is one of my favorite shows ever (it's up there with Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Daria, which clearly makes sense). Most "good" movies will get an Abed rating. It will probably be in his DVD collection, and he may or may not talk endlessly about it, but for the most part, if Abed likes it, then it's all right. Then we have the Annie side of the scale, which I believe applies to many a sequel. The "Annie" definition is derived from the well-known "Annie aww", a sound emitted when things are cute, pitiful, etc. (Also, I mean "pitiful" in the way it's supposed to be meant. Not with a sneer or anything. It's just something or someone that looks like they need a bit of pitying.)

I thought of this after watching Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2. Without a doubt, I loved the first one, which is precisely why I decided to watch the sequel. While this one was cute, I found myself Annie-aww-ing more than I thought I would. All those food-related puns? Oh yes. How could I possibly resist? But it basically felt like the plot was chugging along, pleasant as punch, and eventually I found myself waiting for the next pun or for the next time Officer Earl had an excellent line to deliver. As Doge might put it: much cute, such sequel.

Anyway, enough about that for now. I really should've written about that when I actually had more to say, but now that I've got this spiffling desk job, typing more doesn't seem to be such a great deal. Well, that's a lie. I totally enjoy typing. It just means my tumblr suffers a bit. What I REALLY want to talk about is my excellent weekend, and how life at my new job is working out for me (hint: it's totally great).

First of all, it's really difficult blogging after working at a computer all day long. I really need to figure out how to balance all of this. I probably shouldn't use my work computer, simply because if I have it open, I'll be tempted to check all my tickets. What I'm saying is, if I'm on my work computer at home, I actually want to work. What the hey?! For real, though, I love my job. I haven't even finished my first week and I've never been so happy in my life.

Celebrations started with my best friends. I haven't had a Tanfo Tuesday in a long while, but it was worth it. Essentially, I got the job offer, ran around Scott's living room for a good ten minutes, and then motored home to have some quality time with my wonderful friends. This meant Red Robin and lots of Tanforan wandering. Thankfully, even after all of Scott's snobbery in terms of food, my burger still tasted delicious, though I knew I should've stopped about halfway through. I ate it all anyway due to success. We caught up with our buddy at FYE, who said that the three of us hadn't been around as one mobile group in HELLA YEARS, which is basically true. He told us about the Run For Your Life marathon, in which people run around being chased by people dressed up as zombies in order to achieve awesomeness. If I liked running and moving around in general, this would totally be a thing I would do. However, Hilda remarked that if it were to take place in San Francisco, she might consider it. Honestly, I would too, just so I could duck into places when I'm tired of running.

Note to self: I owe my brothers at least two movie viewings. It's probably going to be The Lego Movie and Mr. Peabody and Sherman.

Friday's celebrations were with my family, after my first day of work. Scott joined us for some Filipino food at Isla, which is a grand time considering it's all-you-can-eat rice. I don't know why, but it seems like every time I'm at that particular restaurant with my whole family, we always talk about the same hilarities. Not that I mind, but I wonder if it's just something about that place that makes us relive all of our silly, stupid, and ridiculous moments. Maybe that's just how families are when they all get together, and the server is your family friend. Eh, how would I know. Either way, it was a grand old time, especially when dad described crispy pata with all purpose sauce as, "Killing Me Softly", because there's honestly no other way to put it.

Scott promised me Lovejoy's once I got a desk job, so that's what Saturday was for. I forgot how crazy it could get! It's uncomfortably warm, but most people who go there seem to anticipate that. I love seeing how everyone dresses up for "tea time". You get folks who say, whatever, it's just a normal shop, and come in wearing their regular clothes. Then there are people who seriously dress up, ala poofy dresses and all that (really, I think that sort of dress is more suited to places like Crown & Crumpet, which actually seem to encourage it). You've got people who dress up nicely and all modern, as if they're going out to a fancy restaurant, and then you have those who try to mesh the two into one. The latter basically looks like, "Oh, I've got this clubbing dress, but I'll pair it with a Sunday hat and a single lace glove and pearls, because tea?" It's pretty...interesting. I guess. I'm not sure why it irks me, but it does. Hrm.

Note to self: buy that excellent royal tea. Anyway, Lovejoy's now has a legit British guy working there. I'll bet that 87% of the clientele at Lovejoys are writers or writers-to-be, and of that percentage, at least half of them are young adult writers, and all of those writers are totally thinking of writing a book with this English tea shop boy as the main character. Poor guy. I'll bet he feels so objectified, working at a place where all the ladies are probably eyeing him like a Jigglypuff eyes a microphone-marker. (Bam, folks. WRITING PROMPT.)

Things I haven't yet written about? Oh, I mean, it's probably Scott's not-so-minor obsession with brunch. The man keeps tabs on every brunch he has had since he became the Brunch Baron. (At work, he's the Lunch Czar. Yeah, I know.) This is why the specific number here is 39. It was originally scheduled to take place at Radish, but the wait was two and a half hours long. Now, one thing that has been reiterated since I've started to frequent the city is that a car is both a blessing and a curse. There are reasons why things like Lyft, Uber, and taxis are so popular in large cities: they get you to where you're going as if you were the one driving, minus the hassle of parking and actually driving. I know, it should be a pretty obvious statement, but I'm from suburbia, okay? I don't know these things. Anyway, I think having a car means you can get more people to brunch. Look, for the most part, people will not just roll out of a person's car for the hell of it, so if you think about it, you've already locked this person into coming once they've agreed to hitch a ride with you to the brunch location. Anyway.

The rainy Sunday brought about a small bit of frustration, but we relocated to Mission Beach Cafe, where the wait was a mere...uh, hour or so, maybe. Misuse of the word "mere", maybe. Half of our party split up and went to grab coffee at some place that I couldn't see. After a while, we wondered what was taking them so long, especially since we were the next big party on the list. They came back looking rather chipper, and then all of a sudden, it's "Oh yeah, and he almost got stabbed!"

Let me stop for a second here, because this is exactly the sort of thing that my grandparents are always worried about when I'm anywhere that isn't home. It didn't really help that Tommy, Scott's best friend, then replied with, "Yeah, then the same guy tried to stab me afterward." Like, again, with NO FEELING. So I panicked for a minute. Let it be known that I was not entirely calm on the inside, though I think I was pretty cool on the outside.

The good news is we got seated and we had a lovely time.

Green tea chai latte. Spicy-yowza-ness.

And the food was excellent.

An egg sandwich doesn't really sound like such a big deal until you bite into this particular egg sandwich. I love how I didn't even have to ask them to make my bacon extra crispy, because the bacon was just excellent the way it was. And it really was, simply, a lovely sandwich. I must have been famished, since I was technically the first one done. I only say this because Scott was technically the first one done, but he only got two out of the three pancakes he was supposed to have. Oh, the service was excellent. They told us straight away that they'd accidentally shorted us a pancake, and didn't charge us for it. Just like that! Man, awesome. There's nothing better than awesome service. You can bet your bottom dollar that we tipped well.

It was after this brunch that I realized why so many people enjoy it so much. I'm not much of an extrovert, but it was fun getting to know new friends over delicious food. I no longer keep myself in the mindset of, "But it's just fancy eggs," because let's be real - there are few things in the world more glorious than a well-cooked omelette. Things as simple and elegant as that are often mussed up easily. Details are overlooked. Shortcuts are taken. And then you have a regular egg that you made yourself when you were half-asleep in the morning, barely into your morning tea or coffee. Just saying, is all. I stand by the fact that great company is made greater by great food. Aw yiss.

Anyway, I swear, I'm going to try blogging more often. This page has been up on my tabs for a good week or so. Argh.

The Opposite of a Bad Day

There are very few times in my life where things will absolutely always go my way. Today is one of those days where things were nothing short of fantastic.

It's almost impossible, but we'll go with improbable. This time last year, I would have immediately accepted that bad things would happen to me to balance it out. But I feel much stronger this year, and I'm thankful for everyone who helped give me the strength to realize that.

I woke up this morning thinking I'd just be playing Banished and Final Fantasy VII for a bit before heading off to see my best friends back home. I did not think I would be getting a call from the one company I was really, really, really hoping for. I absolutely did not think it would be an offer to join their team. In fact, when they called the second time, just about ten minutes after, I was so sure it was to say, "Actually, never mind" or something like that. Thankfully, that was not the case.

Jubilation! I shared the news, ran around the living room a couple of times in tiny circles, and probably made the neighbors think that a madwoman was secretly being housed in Scott's apartment. I drove back home, changed my clothes, tossed on my jacket...and found $50.45 in the pocket. What?! I decided not to question it, though I did definitely question it. Eventually I'll remember why I left that very specific amount of money in my pocket. I know that I sometimes keep random money in my pockets because I know I like randomly finding it when I forget...but that's just specific. I must have had another plan. This calls for some brainstorming, but for now, jubilation.

I also got a couple of e-mails from other companies that I was furiously applying to last week. I actually had requests for two interviews! It was a lovely surprise, though I will be turning them down. I do wish I could refer my friends, though. We basically have the same skills. We're like a hive mind. Sort of. But they'd be able to do these jobs with no problem, either. Hmm, well, if anything, I can at least keep an eye out for them. If they want. Well, I'll look anyway.

Anyway, short entry today, as I'm exhausted from all the good feelings that radiated from this phenomenal 25 February. More on the Annie to Abed scale of movies later. For now, goodnight.

Mac + Cheese = All the Things

So, okay, blogging. Are there rules to this? No? I mean, I suppose there's really nothing stopping me from making several blog posts in one day, but that doesn't sit well with me. It's not that I don't like blogging. I really enjoy blathering over everything, especially since it tends to involve things like food. The problem is that almost every day, Scott and I have some brilliant (?) idea to try cooking one thing or another. Inevitably, this leads to a lot of things like, "Oh...maybe we should have added that last," or, "Wait wait wait Robbin are you sure it's -- no, that's supposed to be a teaspoon, not a tablespoon," or, "Eh, I guess we'll see what happens!"

Since my last post, we have made more than the macaroni and cheese, which I have promised for this round. In a valiant attempt to use up all the farm-fresh fruits and veggies he receives twice a week (truth: Scott isn't really even fond of salads or vegetables in general, so it boggles my mind as to why this was a good idea in the first place), he decided to stir fry some of the greens, because if you fry anything, it'll probably taste good. This led to my suggestion of stir fry, which somehow led to the idea of a spaghetti stir fry. I really wanted to make pupusas, but realized that we needed some "studying" when it came to that, so instead of making pupusas, we went down to the Mission area to look for some test pupusas. And then somehow we ended up making melon pan. Really, I've given myself a lot to write about. Oops.

But that's all right, really, because I rarely ever see anything wrong with more food, except for being unable to consume said food due to 1) being too far away or 2) being too full to eat said food.

The reason for the mac and cheese was because I was getting ready to leave for work and I had a sudden burst of sadness in the form of tears. This is something that tends to happen when a person has no job satisfaction and has been yelled at all day at work and the realization that you may have chosen the wrong profession becomes glaringly obvious. I resolved to keep my chin up, keep applying to ALL THE JOBS, and hope for that one company to say, "Yes, Robbin, you're pretty cool, please work for our equally cool company, because that would be cool." Probably in a more professional tone. Or, like, business-casual tone. Startup-casual tone. I don't know. That's my basis for hope, though. And I sniffled out all my sniffles and went straight to work, because tears will not solve anything. And on the way to work I get a text from Scott saying that he will make me anything I want for dinner.

Thus, mac and cheese. I specifically requested adult mac and cheese, though I'm still very fond of Kraft mac and cheese shaped like dinosaurs. But since I was sad about adult things like job satisfaction, it called for something with more effort and shared kitchen time.

Behold its bubbly glory!

Scott picked me up from a pleasantly not-so-bad day at work, and we went straight to the market to get our ingredients. Now, I grew up in a big, relatively poor family. I'm very much used to buying lots of things for cheap. I expected to get some elbow macaroni and maybe a block of cheese that wasn't American cheese, I guess, but no. No no no. Being half Italian, it seemed important that Scott got the correct pasta, which was cavatappi. I'd never heard of it before, but since it basically looked like dozens of spirals of cheese-holding goodness, I had no complaints. And then we bought cheese. I'd never actually seen so much cheese, except for this one time in French club back in high school when we had a cheese tasting lunch period. We picked up a hefty block of gruyere, mild cheddar, and sharp cheddar. It was going to be a cheesy time indeed.

I personally see no reason to continue making mac and cheese after it's reached this state:

Seriously. Just give me a spoon and I will have at.

Is this not all ready to eat? Why must I wait longer? But no. Apparently adult mac and cheese involves a lot more effort. Since this extra effort involved sliced tomatoes, which I love, and also bread crumbs from a loaf of a fresh baguette, there was little complaining on my end. It's always good to know that the sous doesn't complain. Mainly because I'm just hungry anyway, and I know eventually, the food will be in my belly. Cooking has taught me that patience pays off. Although the food would taste good now, it could potentially be exponentially tasty after the extra steps have been applied. I am so okay with that.

I do not argue with the man who holds the knife and is incorporating two of my favorite things into one of my favorite dishes. That is just silly. And also, I can't really wield a knife all that well.

Mac and cheese is excellent in all aspects because it's easy to make. I tend to like meals that are essentially, "Hey, let's put all this good stuff in a pot, bake it for an hour or so, and then, yeah, it should pretty much taste amazing either way, right?" And it's just so warm and filling and so comforting that...okay, so Scott and I didn't really realize what we were getting ourselves into. I mean, we're just two people, and we ended up making this huge freakin' casserole dish of mac and cheese.

Did I mention we added chicken to the recipe? Because we did. This was a giant Pyrex casserole dish of mac and cheese, the sort that you'd probably bring to a party where lots of people will be consuming all sorts of different kinds of food, thanks. Except that it was for just the two of us. Needless to say, there's a helluva lot of leftovers in the fridge, and I'm pretty darn glad that Scott and his many minor neuroses mean that he likes packaging everything for individual consumption before putting food away. Smart man, that one.

Ah, yes. The recipe. Since we hardly changed anything in the original recipe, I'm just going to link it here. All we really did was add chunks of uncooked chicken breast that we'd had left over from when we were making baked chicken nuggets before popping the cheesy mass into the oven. Here's the recipe:

Mac and Cheese

Aww yeah. That's from Food Network, ala the Barefoot Contessa. It's been a long time since I've mindlessly sat in front of the television watching cooking shows, but I distinctly remember shutting it off when this show came on because I found her voice too lulling and I'd just end up taking a nap on the dining table. Not attractive, I assure you.

Up next: my Community scale of movies and sequels, by use of Annie and Abed, plus...whatever food I happened to take a picture of. For now, I'm going to get ready for the Yelp Literati party this evening. But before that, it's time to play some Banished. The Hamlet of Robbinshood cannot wait that long.

Actual Conversations, #1

The hectic week finally gets a lull. For me, anyway. This is the first random weekday I've had off in a long, long while, and it feels good. So good that I am finally starting The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which I'm sure will be an excellent time. There's not much to be said about a good day when it involves conversations like this:

It's a general requirement that Pokemon comes up on a regular basis without question with almost everyone I interact with. If I get a puzzled look, it's a sign for me to turn off the Pokemon switch, which is decidedly less entertaining, but okay, I have to sound like an adult sometime, I guess. Even my parents will get some Pokemon references. They at least know that Pikachu is not the only existing Pokemon in the world. I assume they've gotten to the point where, if my brothers have some sort of cartoon-anime-animal poster on their wall, or if I have a little cartoon-anime-animal charm on my keychain, they will just say, "Ah, it's another Pokemon."

Anyway, enough about Pokemon. For now. Because I like doing little recaps of my long week.

So, pizza didn't work out for Pizza, Pajamas, and Python. Or whatever I'd put that in before. Apparently, Scott's order and name and everything that relates to him had disappeared entirely from the Patxi's record that evening. He ordered four hours ahead for that pizza, and expected it to arrive promptly at 8:30pm. Fifteen minutes passed. He called and confirmed that pizza was happening. Half an hour passed. One hour passed. Two hours. And partway through The Holy Grail, that was the answer to the mystery. Except it's not really an answer, because we don't know what happened to it. The poor lady on the phone sounded so stressed out that I expect it was happening all evening, and man, I know how that feels. He was promised a gift card, but even if it doesn't come, it's no big deal.

Yeah, okay, we ended up making okonomiyaki #19. And we did it right this time! Thin pancakes, and we added some finely chopped rainbow carrots into the cabbage mixture. Instead of coconut oil for the pan, we totally used bacon grease. I mean, hey, I think it tasted extra good this time, but I like to think that bacon grease from the extra crispy bacon I cooked minutes earlier makes anything savory taste better. And anyway, we had to find some way to use up that strange eggless mayonnaise.

Scott's, as per usual, looked better than mine.

I really need to learn how to write text with food.

We didn't get to finish Monty Python that night, as we discovered that eating bacon seems to make us strangely sleepy every time we consume it. Besides, actual Valentine's day was upon us - 15 February! Joy! I still had no idea what he'd planned, but I knew for sure that it wouldn't be a bad surprise, as I am not very partial to bad surprises. I mean that I don't startle very well, and I startle very easily. As in, I am not responsible for any injuries I cause when someone startles me, because I WILL probably freak out and drop something. Okay, I inevitably end up injuring myself, but that's beside the point.

It turns out that Scott's idea for Valentine's day is taking me out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all defined very loosely in terms of time. Breakfast was at 10:30, at Curbside Cafe, where I first felt the need to weep because I never knew food could be that delicious. More specifically, the French toast. I'm currently trying to figure out if my Yelp review actually comes up first, or if it's just Google's way of saying they know I'm here, and they're watching me eat my French toast.

Glorious, wondrous French toast.

This French toast is so, so good. It's good to the point where I can't eat any other form of French toast. If I'm going to have French toast, I will get my ass over to California and Fillmore and have French toast. I love how the server brought our plates around, announced the French toast, and knew immediately that it was for me. Of course, the first time I was here, he also thought the French toast was for me, except that time it was Scott who ordered it. Oops. Do you feel like eating French toast yet? Ohhh, I sure hope you do.

After getting pleasantly stuffed with the French-American brunch, we walked back and finished up the Holy Grail. I seriously don't know why I haven't watched that movie until that day. I admit that I have missed out. Immensely. And we promptly entered a food coma for three hours.

When I finally found myself awake at around 2pm, I woke to the sound of Scott trying to make reservations for dinner. This was promptly rejected, as the mystery place was already full up. I have never been to a place where it's so popular that you actually need to make reservations in advance, so frankly, I was pretty relieved. To me, that sounds like I need to be extra-fancy, and that is not something I know how to do. Instead, I decided to figure out what was on the agenda. Groggily, I correctly guessed our next venue: a tea shop. I had assumed this earlier and brought my tea-drinking dress, though it was not Lovejoy's as I had expected. We were to go to a place called Taste Tea, a place I would surely appreciate, as it combines tea and wordplay into one location.

Unfortunately, this place was barred down for some reason. We still have no idea why. We were on Hayes and Octavia with no tea shop, but I knew of a different sort of place: Schulzies. I had no idea that Scott had such strong feelings for bread pudding. I was certain for a moment that he would leave me for the fantasy land of this bread pudding temptress, but thankfully he instead went straight to pointing out that I did not have actual bread pudding because I didn't opt for the whisky sauce on my s'mores bread pudding scoop of yumminess. This scored me a place that 1) Scott did not know about and 2) Scott has thanked me for, which makes me feel like a god.

Apparently, tea shops are not uncommon in San Francisco, and we happened to be a few blocks from Samovar on Page and Laguna. It was my first time there, and it was a lovely place. I really wanted to take a picture of the bathroom. Uh...yeah, forget I wrote that. That's really a note for me. Dark hardwood floors and a perfectly muted blue on the walls. Ahem. Anyhoo.

The Moorish tea service and two types of herbal teas. Ooh, no caffeine.

The Moorish tea service called out to us. I'd never heard of halloumi cheese before. If you haven't either, it's really a thing you should consider getting behind, because it's smoky and awesome despite having a weird rubbery texture. I'd never actually had anything on this plate before. I also ordered the Ocean of Wisdom tea, which was fantastic. The Moorish mint tea was nice, though for some reason, steeping it for a really long time makes it oddly sweet. Still can't figure that one out. Oh, and even though this dish had no meat, we were both incredibly full as a result. And we split it. It's always nice when food makes you full when you least expect it - for me, that means "even though it has no meat".

Another food coma later, it was dinnertime. I quickly discovered the foolishness of wearing heels when walking north from Laguna towards the Marina. I probably would have tripped if I weren't being exceedingly cautious with every step, but it was essentially an accident waiting to happen. Our journey brought us the the bro-filled land that surrounds Umami. My camera decided to crap out on me, so there is nothing to entice anyone with, but I will say that the Montecristo burger was terrifying and delicious all at once. It was this beautiful thing, made with a bun dipped in vanilla bean something or other, dusted with powdered sugar, and served around a burger that was accompanied by prosciutto...and a small ramekin of maple syrup. Good gracious. It doesn't sound appealing, but it was beautiful. Like reading The Catcher in the Rye for the first time, minus the angst.

All in all, a glorious actual Valentine's day. I didn't get to go to Sunday brunch due to work, which was a bummer, but all was well after a short and sweet game night with our game night friends. Next up: the macaroni and cheese adventure.

Galentine's, Valentine's, and Actual Valentine's

Ahoy there, people who like people. And people who don't like people. Apparently, today is the day of the imaginary St. Valentine, who basically gives us all a reason to have chocolates on sale on 15 February. As the daughter of a florist, I have grown to associate Valentine's day with evil and lots of thorns making my fingers bleed. To this day I find the smell of roses rather awful and disgusting, though it seems I like a bit of rosehip in my tea from time to time. Huh. I don't really get it, either. Here's something I picked up from my awesome Ate Maoi: "Let's all remember that romance isn't about obligation, and that love is a decision you make willingly every day." She's a pretty smart lady, so I have no trouble in following her advice.

The one thing I love about Valentine's day is that any day of the week of V-Day can be claimed as "Galentine's Day", which I had trouble reading at first (I thought it was some combination of Gallifrey and Valentine's day, which caused an extremely delayed reaction on my part). What does one DO on Galentine's day? For Ren, Hilda, and I, it involves a lot of food, a lot of books, and a lot of movie feels. I was stuck in traffic so I didn't get to participate in the cooking, but it was a glorious symphony of fried rice, snap peas, bean sprouts, and perfectly cooked chicken. They didn't seem pleased with their work, and I'll be honest - I was stark ravin' mad with hunger that I polished off two plates without blinking an eye, and I don't even like bean sprouts, so who knows what actually went down? I brought a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, as my task was to bring dessert, and I wasn't about to get another pie from Shari's again (Note: No, okay, I really was, but being stuck in traffic means I get doughnuts, since it's on the way and I'm already late, due to things like traffic), so we ate the confections swiftly and happily. Purposefully equipped with an adequate amount of sugar, we ran upstairs to see Ren's loot.

Allow me to explain. I used to work at an independent bookshop, where I managed the kids and young adult section along with Ren. Part of the responsibility meant that we got to attend ridiculously awesome meetings, where we basically sat around, talked about cool books, ate free food, and would be subject to a buffet of free ARCs (see: advanced readers' copy - books that will be coming out soon, but here, have a look at them, read them, LOVE THEM, so you can spread the word, book seller, SPREAD IT). We run a book blog called den-oh-mwah, so it helps to have some content on there, I guess. I have the stupid excuse of being "too busy" to read/write reviews now, but seriously, I need to get on that immediately, because have a look at Ren's haul:

I mean, WAT, SRSLY? The squeals of joy could not be contained in that room that evening as we perused through the back of the books, trying to figure out which ones we wanted to read first. Some tug-of-war definitely happened, regardless of the fact that we all share the books anyway, but it was well-worth it. That is what books should make a person do, honestly. Once we'd finally calmed down enough, we watched Austenland, because it is the greatest treasure Keri Russell could give to the world. I swear, I will never get tired of that movie. Or Pacific Rim. Yeah, that's right. Current top three movies? Pacific Rim, Austenland, and either Ikiru or Frozen. That's the sort of classy I am.

Today is Valentine's day. Scott sent me a doge meme'd version of the first picture we'd taken together, and it was pretty amazing. I have drawn my reaction.

Can't get any better than that. Now, since Scott is highly against going out on Valentine's day proper, we've reserved the evening for pizza, pajamas, and Python (ala Monty Python, which may be a candidate for one of my top movies, but I can't say yet as I've never seen it before) after getting some Costco time out of the way.

Mysteriously, Saturday has become "actual Valentine's", and he refuses to give me any detail as to what will be happening on that day. He knows I hate surprises, so I'm sure it can't possibly be something like that...yeah...

Late starts are weird

I have never had a closing shift before. Well, not in my adult life. And most definitely not in San Francisco. Seriously, guys, this is THE CITY! I'm not a city girl! I'm not quite the face of suburbia, but that's essentially how I was raised! Being in the city at night on my own brings back memories of my parents and grandparents telling me how dangerous everything is and how I will probably get attacked and killed and then they can sadly say "I told you so." But it can't be that bad, and I'm going to trek through it. It does not start the weirdness of late starts.

Unlike many people I know, I am a morning person. I automatically get up at around 6-7am, sometimes earlier, and I'm generally okay with it. No one else is awake at this time and I can technically do whatever I want, but at the same time I don't want to wake anyone, so I sort of just awkwardly stay in bed and pretend I'm asleep. This is, of course, preposterous, but I can't will myself back to sleep, so it actually just sucks. It does not suck when I actually will myself to get out of bed as quietly as a mouse so I can start cooking breakfast. This is something I only do when I know there are other people who will want to eat breakfast, or can be enticed to eat breakfast if it is presented to them. Unfortunately, today was not one of those days. In fact, I woke up horrendously late (for me) - 9:10! Nine bloody ten! Scott was awake before me! How is that even possible?!

But as I said - I've got the closing shift today, which explains why I'm still here, typing away instead of trudging to work. I spent my idle morning making onigiri. I had completely forgotten how easy it is to make these, and I really have no reason to not have lunch ever because they're so simple. Since I wake up early anyway, I think I'm going to get back in the habit of packing a lunch. Yeah, one of those cutesy bento things. And that's simply because I want to do something productive with the time that no one else is awake.

The expression says it all, doesn't it?

Oh yes. Onigiri. Rice balls. With a face, for reasons of "I want another strip of nori to munch on, AND I CAN TOTALLY GIVE THIS THING EYES IN THE PROCESS" and it just seemed like a good idea. What makes me laugh is that when I uploaded this picture, part of the file path says AAAARg which is essentially what this little dude could be saying. Potentially.

So, before I slowly go about my business with getting to work, this is how you will have pretty much no reason not to have lunch the next morning, because onigiri is shamefully easy to make.

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Onigiri

Prep Time: 5-15 minutes
Cook Time: About 30 minutes, depending on your rice cooker
Serves 2. Or one, if you really like onigiri.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup of medium grain/sushi rice (I used Kokuho)
• 1 cup of water
• A pinch of salt
• 2 strips or sheets of nori
• Extra fixin's: Furikake, chunks of salmon, whatever you like

Instructions:

1. Wash the rice and put it into the rice cooker. I only wash it a couple of times because if I do it too much, I'll never get the rice cooked. Once it's drained, add the water and cook the rice.
2. Grab a bowl and a piece of cling wrap. Line the bowl with the cling wrap and scoop some nice, hot rice in the center - enough for one person, which is totally dependent on you. You'll be using this to mold the rice into a ball...triangle...thing.
3. Add a pinch of salt to the center. Mix it with the rice well. If you're adding furikake, you can mix that in as well.
4. Wrap the shapeless rice with the plastic wrap and start shaping it. You can shape it into whatever you'd like - just make sure you do it while the rice is still hot so it'll stick to the shape you want.
5. If you're adding things like salmon or a plum, poke a hole in the middle and make sure you're forming the ball around the stuffin'.
6. When it looks good to you, release it from its plastic wrap shell and slap a piece of nori around it, unless you're saving it for later - then refer to the next step.
7. Eat immediately. Or, if you're making it for lunch, wrap the rice ball tightly with that plastic wrap and take the nori separately. That way, the seaweed will still be nice and crisp when you wrap it around the rice. Note: Careful if you're using things with mayonnaise - it's probably not a good idea to let that sit in your bag for hours and hours. You could get sick or something.

Mm, onigiri. There's an excellent article on Just Bento on onigiri with a bunch of tips and tricks on how to make it extra pretty or yummy or how to make sure it keeps well. Definitely have a look. I, unfortunately, have to get ready for work.

Ramen Destiny

Blah. Just BLAH. I've called in sick today, which is a lot of suck, considering the sun has just come out and I mean, hey, I need to work, but I can't do it when I'm sick. Here I am, then, being generally useless and just typing away at Scott's clickity-clackity keyboard. Apparently, being sick means I have a lot of time to review all those ramen places I've gone to for the past six months or so.

I mean, in one fell swoop I have reviewed four ramen places, conveniently located on my Yelp. OH YEAH. In, like, an hour, and in and out of chills and coughs and half-consciousness. I believe this was a bad idea because now I just want to eat ramen. I have felt this way since about 9:47 this morning, which would be okay if ramen was an accepted breakfast thing, but it is not. Unless I make my OWN ramen, which is something I should definitely do when I'm not sick and addled.

Fun fact: a long, foolish time ago, I didn't like ramen that much. I'm not all that partial to noodle soups. It's messy and it gets everywhere and I burn my face with noodle-soup-induced whiplash. Clearly, I was in the wrong. Apparently, every guy I've dated enjoys ramen, so it was in my best interests to start enjoying it, too, or else I'd be like, "Oh, another ramen place, yay..." which is not an appropriate reaction. In truth, I started liking ramen when I realized that my obaa-chan really could not pronounce my name.

Now, I don't really know how I am related to my obaa-chan. I was told to call her grandmother, but I don't know if we're actually related, per se, or if it's another Asian thing where everyone's an auntie and an uncle until further notice. When I was casually eating my lunch back in Kyoto, some of my classmates came up to me and said, "Robbin, Robbin, did your grandmother find you??" And that's when obaa-chan went up the stairs in that way that only little old Asian ladies can do. With that sweet smile on her face, she exclaimed, "Ah, Ramen! There you are!"

I believe this is where the turning point began. By realizing that my name could sound very similar to a beloved dish when a nice elderly figure says it, I figured, well, okay, yeah, I guess I SHOULD like ramen, because my name sounds like it, and obaa-chan said so. (When she sends me cards and stuff, she writes "To Ra-ben", but for some reason she still SAYS "ra-men".) To me, this had to be some form of destiny. Ramen destiny.

The good thing is, ramen is now on my spectrum of deliciousness. The bad thing is, there are many ramen places to tackle in the bay area. It's not like I'm a connoisseur or anything. I just like eating things. But I can tell you what goes on my checklist of ramen-that-makes-Robbin-happy.

• If the ramen already includes bamboo shoots, oh yes.
• If the restaurant doesn't already include bamboo shoots but offers it, okay, sure, maybe I'll give it a try.
• The presence of kakuni. If I can add it, I will do this thing. (Another fault [?] of Scott's is that he made me try kakuni, and then I loved it. Damn it.)
• The main thing I ponder about during ramen time is, "How good are these noodles?" I like texture. Texture is good. My favorite noodles are perfectly al dente, tender, chewy, and should carry the flavor of the broth with no problems.
• I don't usually partake of ramen broth. If I start slurping the soup down, then I think that must be some damn good ramen.
• I can't have eggs that aren't fully boiled. It's a shame, because I know that boiled egg must taste REALLY good, but for me, I need it to be fully cooked. Otherwise, it goes to whoever my table mate is, assuming they're not a stranger or germophobic.
• I don't like green onions. It's very nice when the server actually remembers to say, "No green onions on this one [because what a weirdo]", and my ramen is delivered as such.
• I try to keep in mind the type of ramen broth I'm about to ingest. It makes no sense to compare ramen places when one place only serves tonkotsu and the other only serves miso, etc.

The last ramen place I went to was Ramen Yamadaya, which just opened up in Japantown. Now that was a happy place. It was the night of Super Bowl Sunday, so it wasn't busy. The folks there were super friendly, and I had to add that green onions part to my list because our server came and informed us that he'd forgotten about the green onion thing, and that they were remaking it. He sounded genuinely sorry about it, and didn't question my dislike of green onions! That is a good day, and a good server. The best part about this place was the kakuni, and even though the noodles weren't quite my style, they were delicious, and I actually wanted to eat the broth, and...oh, jeez. Seriously, I need to stop talking about food. I need to get my delirious butt to bed so I can rest up. Til next time, y'all.