Thursday night, after stumbling home from an ill-fated bar of the past, I caught the tail end of a huge BBQ my Greek landlords had thrown. I would love to party like them when I hit 70. I often find them chilling on the stoop with their homies, well after midnight.
Anyway, they had a surplus of food, and they gave me: 1 pork chop, 1 hamburger, 1 hot dog, 1 chicken wing, 1 sausage and 1 grilled ear of corn. They offered me some lemon potatoes but when I tried to serve myself they said, “You too shy!” and ladled me a Zorba-size serving. Five minutes later, as I gnawed on the pork chop in front of my computer, I got a knock on the door. “You want salad?” They brought down a huge tupperware full of feta, cukes and tomatoes from their garden. While I was chowing on the salad, I got another knock. They thrust a half loaf of bakery bread in my hand and said “That’s it!”
I will miss the Greeks.
Inspired by Emily, I’m going to post some pictures.
Rhode Island BBQ
I’ve decided to change a post about smoking pot into a post about oversharing.
Every step of the way with this blog, I’ve been unsure where the line is. I wanted to show the reality of my new weird life as a food journalist but sometimes this pushed me into dangerous realms. Like, is it kosher to talk about the crappy writing people submit, if I don’t identify them in an obvious way? Can I criticize aspects of how the Edible mags are run, without seeming ungrateful to work for them?
I’d rather avoid such quandaries, so with my transition to the West Coast, I plan to write more about:
-Meals cooked at home, with recipes and photos
-Freelancing in a new city
–NYC is like this, SF is like that
-First-person coverage of weird food events
Also, less self-promotion on Facebook. I hope you’ll stick with me.
Crab and swiss melt, Becky's Diner, Portland, Maine
From Frank Bruni’s memoir, Born Round:
As the lunch ended, the chef appeared at my table to ask me, in a visibly nervous fashion, how I liked the potato-crusted cod, and if I thought the mustard-flavored ice cream in the gazpacho was a success. Inside my head I responded: You’re going by me? Not so long ago I was sitting on a stained futon at two in the morning watching Law & Order reruns with a large pizza and a box of chicken wings on my lap.
Recent e-mail from my old roommate Joanna:
Can we consider 2007-summer Jesse, for an even greater and thus more impressive leap between past and present? Dude, talk about reformation…. the guy I knew subsisted on F-16s from Wings Over, washed down with Old Thompson. Average 5 days a week. The sixth and seventh day were typically a meal from the corporate cantine brought home in styrofoam, balanced nicely with a Pacifico or two.
I am heading to the beach for a week. Here’s a little recap of things:
1) Last Friday I had a meeting with the food editor of this hip SF magazine. I was a half-hour late, because of a perfect storm: a) I went to the wrong restaurant and b) my Blackberry died on the way there. When I showed up, sweating profusely and totally out of sorts, the editor was finishing her soup and closing out the check. Amazingly, she was very gracious and we got along swimmingly; it went from a total fail to a win. She used to work with Alice Waters and promised to connect me to everybody I “need to know” in San Francisco.
2) I may have forgotten to mention I’m moving to SF at the end of September. Don’t worry, I still will be working on EQ from afar, and writing a bunch of stories I have stored up. Including- a feature on Darryl Strawberry! More on that soon…
3) We decided to get the Breville indoor grill, kind of an upscale George Foreman. Our criterion: it’s the thing we will use the most. Fair?
4) How did I forget to tell you we attended the very last of these crazy pop-up dinners! The food was phenomenal, I’ll tell more about that later.
5) The Voice editor had a family emergency so my story is on hold for now. Will keep you posted.
And now…I’m off! Ciao bellas.
I’m in the middle of writing another piece for the Voice, more posts here soon…