Recipes, Real Estate, and other Ramblings: A Quick Trip to Cali

1994 and I hurt. I am not going to smile. I am not going to smile, I am not going to smile.

This wasn't my first trip out to the San Francisco area. I've been going once a year since I was a teenager. When I was fifteen, I got braces. Wait, a couple of days before Thanksgiving when I was 15, spacers (aka painful rubber bands) were put between my teeth. We flew to SF the day before Thanksgiving. Excruciating headaches ensued and a lack of chewing abilities followed me through the weekend. My options for nourishment included such delicacies as mashed potatoes, applesauce, and pudding. I'd like to take a moment to thank my mother for scheduling that horrific and painful procedure 2 days before Thanksgiving.
So, my siblings and I flew out to Cali. This was pre-9/11, so I had an ice chest with jello and pudding cups to sustain me on the flight across the country. A passenger across the aisle asked me what I was carrying in my blue Coleman ice chest. Feeling mischievous, I told her that I was a courier for an organ transplant company and that there was a heart inside the ice chest. I didn't think she would take me seriously. Apparently she did, and spread the word about my "job." Upon landing in California, the people seated in the 3 rows in front of me parted ways, so that I could exit the plane before them with "the heart" in my Coleman.

Fast forward to 2011. With teeth somewhat straightened out and no headaches, I set off for California once again. This time I visited a dear friend from college. My friend, my 2 children and I began our adventures in San Francisco. The first stop: to get focaccia bread. My 4 year-old says fah KAHtch yuh with a slight Southern twang.
Not just ANY focaccia bread, but this kind comes from a bakery in the North Beach area (Little Italy) of San Francisco. Each heavenly slice measures 168 cubic inches (12x14x1). The light and fluffy bread serves as a canvas for the robust tomato sauce and green onions. Only somehow it doesn't feel light and fluffy 3 hours later after I've, I mean you've consumed a mere 84 cubic inches of focaccia. It is necessary to go in the morning. Business hours are posted on the door, but when they run out of glorious goods, they close up shop for the day.

When we arrived back at my friend's house, she removed the remaining slices from the butcher's paper and put it in a plastic container. We rationed it over the next 3 days. On the day that I left, she offered to put it in a Ziploc for me. That was after she cut off a portion of the rationed amount to keep for herself. A ziploc wasn't going to help this focaccia make the long trip back to Tennessee in a suitable manner. I came prepared and had planned for this moment. I disappeared, but quickly emerged from my guest room with a circa 1972 Tuperware meat marinater in hand. This antique piece of American plastic was the perfect piece to protect and transport my focaccia.

This is the precious cargo.

This is the indestructible container that carried the precious cargo.

On Saturday we went to the Farmer's Market that surrounds the Ferry Building. There is a Sur La Table store in the Ferry Building. (sigh) I feel about Sur La Table like most people do about IKEA.

oranges picked that morning

Then, Phillip and I walked down Pier 39 to see the seals.

Next, we ate a late lunch at a restaurant in Ghirardelli Square. I ate crabs cakes topped with fried parsnips while seated at a window that overlooked the Bay. It was a lovely view.

I don't like parsnips. But then, I had never had one fried and on top of a crab cake.

Shari and Alexandra played and we all enjoyed the view.

Then we stood in line for 45 minutes to ride the Cable cars to the end of the line and back.

we were able to see the workers turn it around

Two days later, we went to Napa. We walked through a few expensive stores, bought a toy airplane, and went to the park. It was a beautiful sunny day and a nice park, but I forgot to take a picture. Oh yes, and we got a few goodies from Bouchon bakery. Alexandra ate her first madeleine, I mean ate my madeleine, and Phillip chose a chocolate eclair. Shari ate the most divine tarte au citron. I wish I had transported a few of those back to Tennessee. By the way, the owner of Bouchon bakery also owns the Bouchon Bistro and The French Laundry. His name is Thomas Keller and if you watch the extra selections on the Ratatouille DVD, you will discover that the cooking scenes were created based on his cooking methods.