San Francisco: Chinatown and a Li'l bit o' Nothin'

San Francisco

November 2012

Chinatown

Walking around Chinatown is almost like walking around a place not part of the U.S. My husband and I began our married life in Yokohama, Japan, which, incidentally, has a Chinatown, too, and I felt as if I had imperceptibly stepped through a liminal port into a world far away from my own. And yet, it was so familiar. Though I do not read many kanji (the Japanese word for Chinese characters), they are a comfortable part of my consciousness.

The pouring rain that had put me off adventuring (see previous post) had decided, at last, to leave the area for a good stretch of time, and I thought I would make a run at the local scene before it decided to return. So I left the hotel, umbrella in tow, and struck out to find something unique, I hoped, for lunch. I’m not quite as adventurous as some of the famous foodies who run around the world looking to eat things unimaginable to vast majority of humanity save during a severe shortage of food, but I didn’t want to settle for anything I felt I had already eaten within recent memory either.

Deja vu. Fish mongers with their fresh catch (smelled fresh anyway), produce stalls with exotic fruits and vegetables, apothecaries, tea shops, and general dry goods, frequently punctuated by the sight of a purveyor of fine baubles aimed at wide-eyed tourists (who seemed to be conspicuously absent while we were there)—all seemed as normal as they had when we were living in Japan. Meanwhile, the occasional whiff of cigarette smoke teased my brain until I realized that the tobacco fumes were dancing with the aroma of patchouli and ginseng. It is said that the sense of smell is the most powerful at invoking memory. I believe it.

As in Japan, I noted a number of establishments that required either ascending or descending a flight of steps from street level. And, as in Japan, if I couldn’t tell what they were about, I instinctively avoided them. I’m not a glutton for trouble, after all, just mild adventure. And I was not in the mood for Dim Sum, which is meant to be a social experience as much as a menu offering. I wanted something warm, soothing, interesting, and vegetarian as my personal preference then dictated.

I must stop a moment here to discuss the word “synchronicity,” which, by general definition, is a particular moment that requires a person be available at just the right place, at just the right time, for just the right opportunity.

As synchronicity would have it, I had wandered into a small but busy street that appeared to be in the middle of Chinatown. I had nearly determined to go back to the first street I had entered to have lunch at a Thai restaurant (of all places), when a shop window caught my eye. There was a menu, and I could read it, and the dishes looked interesting. An attractive Chinese woman came through the door and invited me in to have lunch. Of course, I don’t mean she invited me to be her guest, but she pointed out to me that they were listed as one of the top ten places to eat in Chinatown. Interesting, as there was hardly anyone inside, but then, as I said, the tourists were all at home, having celebrated Thanksgiving and returned to work or school.

Why not? I had never had “Hong Kong Clay Pot” cooking, and I had been looking for something new, hadn’t I? Bingo. A vegetarian dish consisting of tofu, gluten “meat,” broccoli, and a few assorted veggies, simmering in what appeared to be a cross between a broth and a sauce, brown and bubbling in a clay pot (not unlike a deep fajita dish) when it arrived in front of me. Synchronicity. I am so easy to please sometimes.

I don’t recall doing much more in the afternoon that day. I imagine I window-shopped. I know I passed by schools, a hospital, parks, and professional offices, and I did purchase some fragrant jasmine tea from a sweet, shy gentleman who spoke little English. As far as I was concerned, the afternoon had been a success. I went back to the hotel in the later afternoon, because I could. I watched anything I wanted on television, because I could. I put my feet up and browsed the internet, because I could. I know it’s been said before, but it must be said again. Occasionally doing absolutely nothing is highly under-rated. Would that I could grab a bit of “do-nothing” time during the average week at home. Minus the guilt, that is.

Join me next time for Tea Time with Kenny…

 

I Left My Blog....In San Francisco

San Francisco, CA

November 2012

It’s always so much better to get thoughts down as they occur, but there are times when this is simply not feasible. Like when you’re carrying an umbrella,  shopping package, purse or small backpack, you’re waiting for the cable car, multi-day pass in hand so that you don’t have to fumble for it while sitting, or possibly standing, on the moving car for the conductor to see that you do, indeed, belong on the vehicle in the first place. There is not much access to writing or recording implements in that case, due to the lack of a third, or even fourth arm/hand combination.

So. That leaves us with the slight challenge of remembering the feelings, sights, sounds, thoughts, observations, etc. that we attempt to recapture days (or even longer) later in the effort to re-create for the reader, who may (or, let’s face, may NOT) be interested in helping you to re-live.

Enough of the apologetic introduction. On to the experience. (One thing for which I do feel the need to apologize, however, is the lack of visuals. I simply MUST get my camera together and in good working order so that I don’t have to do without again.)

The first half day of our trip to SF was gorgeous. We arrived in the late morning, west coast time, the weather was fine, the sky mostly blue, and the temperature was only a wee bit on the cool side. We caught a taxi from the airport to our hotel, treated to the incredible energy of our disarmingly self-deprecating driver the whole way. He ran down a list of English/Irish Pubs for us and where those might be found, though I had already done a bit of online research from the familiar surroundings of home. We chatted about families and place of origin, and before we knew it, we had arrived. Two bits of pertinent information: 1) It’s amazing how taxi drivers can both get you where you are going in record time and not get pulled over by the authorities for recklessness in the process, and 2) We never did make it to a pub during the trip simply because we had so many other choices staring us in the stomach.

We checked into our hotel early. The Renaissance Stamford Court Hotel was very accommodating, and honestly, if you had to get stuck in a place with no possibility of going anywhere else, this would be a perfectly acceptable place to get stuck. Gosh, I sound like a reviewer, which I'm not, but I do think that a great service or product deserves a pat on the back and a shout-out.

First stop after check-in: Café de la Presse, a fantastique (heh) 1930's bistro serving true French cuisine. My post-Thanksgiving nutritional resolutions were absolutely wrecked. Even though we didn’t order any wine.

We sat outside in the mostly fresh air. My husband had Steak Frites (steak & fries), his general favorite, while I ordered Confit de Canard Maison (a REALLY AMAZING leg of duck, which as of this writing is a featured image on their lunch menu page). Both were exquisite, though mine was “the bomb”. I won’t even describe it as anyone who has a tendency toward weight gain and/or high cholesterol will need to run to the gym immediately. I don't dream of many dishes after I've left them—I'm more of a live-in-the-moment sort of person—but this would be one of them.

Suffice it to say that any discomforts or inconveniences I may have suffered leading up to this point in the trip were entirely mitigated by this meal.  Our waiter, a very cute 20-something young man with both a perfect American accent and a perfect French accent was terribly smooth for someone his age (probably because he is French), not in a smarmy way at all, but in a calm, collected, accommodating way. The way a waiter should be. And I already told you he was cute, so…smooth.

We never did get to have a breakfast there, but that's okay. There's always next time, oui?

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Next up: Adventure at the antiques and collectibles emporium across the street on the verge of Chinatown.