Hearts of Saturday Night

When I got the gig at SF Weekly, I said to myself, “I’ll keep Old Snuggling forever! I’ll maintain like, my professional blog and my personal blog and never the twain shall meet. Easy breezy colorful.”

I should have taken heed of my new friend/colleague Alex’s example. Here is Alex’s blog. He started working for SF Weekly in August 2010. Please note his last post, where he said “Hey I got this new gig but will continue to write here sometimes!” Cue crickets.

To my 3 remaining blog readers: don’t be mad baby, I still love you! I’ve been busy, but you are the ones that matter. I got all caught up in the Game. But now it’s Saturday night, SK is at an art experience, and I’ve got nothing but time. Things:

-My piece on Aasif Mandvi came out and I can’t say I love it. I tried to cover too much ground in one short feature and ended up not doing justice to any of it, imho.

-My new website is in progress as we speak. I keep hearing this annoying, gross phrase: “building your brand,” aka a way of increasing name recognition as a writer. The notion of Jesse Hirsch as a brand makes me want to vom, but I also like writing for cash. Self-aggrandizement pays. (Related: Twitter, which I vowed never to join).

-I just signed a contract for a short piece in this magazine, which SK says is a yuppie mag. I would counter, diplomatically, that it is a respected magazine for a certain demographic, with a solid stable of good writers. Plus they pay wicked supah good!

-We went to a phenomenal show last night, staying out after 1am for the first time in weeks (I grow old and weary). I would like to write a concert review, which I’ve never done before. Here’s hoping SF Weekly is open to change.

Yikesa, it’s 9:37 and the taco store closes soon!

don’t quit your day job

I have a 9 to 5 job too. I go to a law firm, in a tall corporate skyrise, and I edit attorney bios, legal alerts and marketing pitches. I also write zany stories for our internal website, on pet picnics and tax attorney rock bands. But as much as I’d love to write about food all day, every day, I won’t be quitting my day job anytime soon.

Reasons:

a) Geographic flexibility. I am now working in the third office of the same law firm (Boston, NYC, SF). Next stop London? Hong Kong? Portland, Maine?

b) Stability. In these turbulent times, I’d be terrified to subject myself to the whimsy of the freelance market. I get a paycheck every two weeks, and I use it to pay rent. This is good.

c) Good people. People are what make or break your day-to-day grind, and I’ve had a fun, wisecracking crew in every office.

d) Benefits. My employer is one of those Google-type firms that gives tons of ridiculous perks like massages, acupuncture, and parties for every occasion (CEO’s dog’s birthday!) Also health and dental.

e) Work not heinous. Hey, at least I’m using my brain, and working with words, right? It’s not hard-hitting journalism but it doesn’t bore me to tears!

Food writing is the perfect complement to my 9 to 5 job. I get to be creative, supplement my income, and not introduce myself as a “Communications Specialist” at parties!

where you find me now

Hi Hi, so I will be writing at least 5 or 6 posts per week at the new gig. This will leave me less time to blog here, though I have every intention of posting from time to time.

If you have any interest reading my wee items about the Bay Area food scene, check my author page here.

Otherwise, I’ll be back atcha soon!

first blush

My first SF Weekly story is out, on the morning after our first night in the new apartment. Everything all at once!

Here t’is. Please note: confiture was not my word choice.

HIRED!

Amidst the chaos of a death and a wedding in one weekend, I got a phone call while stuck in gridlock traffic. It was an editor from SF Weekly, the San Francisco equivalent of the Village Voice or the Boston Phoenix. Before the conversation was over, I had a new job as a part-time writer for SF Foodie, the most-read food blog in the Bay Area!

I applied for this position a week earlier but after the 7×7 letdown, my expectations were low. Especially because the job opening had been advertised on SF Foodie itself, guaranteeing a trillion applications from every starry-eyed blogger from Cancun to Calgary.

I did use all my resources to get the inside track. I e-mailed an influential food writer, a friend-of-a-friend, and asked if she could put in a good word for me. I also sent the editor an e-mail and offered to do a “test” blog post. (It’s funny how aimless I used to be; sometimes I’m confused by this new-found tenacity.)

Anyway, I got the job. It doesn’t pay great but 100,000 (!) people read this blog each week, and it’s a great entryway into the SF food scene. My “beat” will be food-related events, ranging from coffee tastings to cheesemaking workshops. I’ll write short previews of upcoming events, as well as attend some of them and report back.

HOWEVER, this is a loose beat. The editor made it clear that he is open to anything food-related I would like to write about: “Just send me a pitch.”

2011 has some good things in store…

span

my traveling shoes

This week is my nine-day New York sojourn. The goal is to cram in the fullest range of human emotion and activity.

 

• I had one of the best dinners of my life at this schmancy place last night, balanced out by a $5 breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, potatoes and OJ today at this dive (we saw no brown critters).
• I got stood up by Aasif Mandvi for an interview, which made me quite glum. Then he showed up two hours late, with a sad story about burst pipes. We bro’ed out.
• I spent the snowstorm in a Turkish baked potato restaurant, interviewing the manager about his weirdo toppings (hot dog chunks, green olives, marshmallows).
• I walked two miles down Northern Boulevard in Queens to interview a Spanish chorizo maker. (Isn’t there a saying about not wanting to see sausage-making up close?)
• I went from a raging drunk at the beginning of the week to a complete teetotaler now. My serious head cold is a factor.
• Tomorrow I will go home to Massachusetts for one night, because my aunt passed away. Then I will hustle back to Brooklyn for a wedding.

And throughout all this frenetic activity, there’s one big thing missing- SK.

submission

Here’s the sample review I submitted for that food writer job. Might as well put it on the Internet!

What’s in a Name?

Naming your restaurant Locavore seems cynical and calculated, an obvious ploy to lure in the farm-to-table masses. Similar to Manhattan’s new bistro Foodie, you can almost hear the groan of sophisticated diners everywhere, another sign our food-obsessed culture has jumped the shark.

Yet there is an earnestness to chef/owner Jason Moniz’s new Bernal Heights venture (100% local meat and produce, no exceptions) that makes it easy to forgive the name. Not to mention, he cooks a damn fine meal.

On a recent Wednesday night, Locavore was filled to the brim. The menu rotates daily, and the kitchen had just run out of one of Moniz’s “signature dishes” (if a six-week-old restaurant can really boast such a thing), the pork chop au jus.

No matter, as the remaining options more than made up for the pork that got away. An inventive salad of char-grilled cabbage, apple, turnip and lardon only suffered from a lack of warmth on this chilly San Francisco night. Fresh fettuccine with clams and ever-so-in-season crab, with a kiss of garlic, white wine and olive oil, brooked no complaints. Locavore’s burger only lost points for overpowering its mild, house-smoked bacon topper with a heady mix of chuck, brisket and short rib. Even a simple side of collard greens, cooked with only salt and butter, had enough flavor to hold their own. All told, an excellent showcase of local ingredients, well-prepared.

Not everything was pitch-perfect, certainly. Tables were crammed elbow-to-elbow along the walls, exposing a large open area in the restaurant’s center, a layout that lacked both intimacy and personal space. The décor — black and white photos of barnyard animals and produce — again ran the risk of over-selling Moniz’s point. But with ingredients this good, and chef skills to match, you could maybe even get away with calling your restaurant Foodie.

But probably not.

keep it together

After yesterday’s rejection, I brushed myself off and tried to get back on the horse, e-mailing other local connections about freelancing opportunities. I was shot down in two instances, adding fuel to my insufferable pity party.

Me: Why did I even move to San Francisco?
SK: Shut your face.*

Needless to say, I’m feeling a bit…fragile right now. Today I e-mailed the Edible Queens publisher to say I will be visiting New York in January.

Me: Can we meet up?
Her: Uh-oh. Sure!

Uh-oh?! Of course I totally freaked out and thought the magazine was closing or I was being fired. I immediately called her at home and said “Oh my god what’s going on?!” She was like, “Um, nothing. I said uh-oh because I thought you were going to quit.”

Heh heh, oops. Time to hibernate and stop acting like a weirdo.

*not a direct quote

break-a my stride

After the apartment viewing, SK and I drove up to Petaluma for lunch with a friend. We fantasized what we’d do if we got the apartment. “We could paint the walls plaid and install a corn dog machine…” In the midst of our reverie, the phone rang- it was Linda! I freaked out and immediately hung up on her. She called right back.

“Me and Frank were talking about it and we thought you guys were a really good fit. If you want the apartment, it’s yours.”

skaljfl;asjdflsadfskl!!!!

They had started showing it to other people, then decided they liked us most. They even turned down a couple who tried to scoop it up by paying $75 more in rent. Frank said, “You can’t buy us!”

We signed a lease the next day. At the signing, Linda was kind enough to point out that I had cream cheese on my sport coat. “Honey, you’re wearin’ your breakfast!” She also showed us pictures on her cell phone, which she said her daughter faxed (read: texted) to her.

I love these people. After signing the lease, we all hugged it out. I asked to take a picture and Linda said, “Okay, but I better not see it on YouTube!” which probably means this blog.

No landlord pics, but here’s a few of our new place:

que lindo suena

Saturday morning, SK and I drove to Potrero Hill in the rain to meet the lovely landlords, Frank and Linda.

Frank wore a leather biker’s cap and his denim shirt was extra unbuttoned, which is less gay than it sounds. Linda had short, no-nonsense hair and “the big jewelry of the Southwest,” as SK described it. The couple lived in Phoenix, driving up in an RV to show the apartment.

Frank was a teddy bear. He had grown up in the house, and inherited it when his mom passed away. He charmed us with stories of making wine in the garage and working as an old-school San Francisco butcher (before Safeway killed his business). Though friendly enough, Linda was less chatty- the businessman of the pair. With her tidy clipboard and direct manner, we suspected she might chide Frank for his generous heart. “Sometimes I think you just fell off the turnip truck!”

As predicted, we fell head-over-heels for the apartment. It was quirky and huge and enormously charming. It boasted two chandeliers, a wood-paneled kitchen, a built-in terrarium, a non-functional fireplace, and a spare bedroom with sunshine-yellow walls. It felt lived-in and loved, welcoming and warm.

Or, as SK put it, “this is a home.”

We immediately blurted out our desire to live there. Linda said that was nice, and handed us a lengthy application to fill out. She said they would be showing the apartment all weekend. As we attacked the paperwork, another couple arrived to see the place. I calmly thought to myself, “Get out of our house before I cut you.”