Le Colonial: Maybe Colonialism Wasn't So Terrible After All

Location: Kosmo (awesome!) and Taylor, San Francisco

First of all: have you noticed how we've diversified, oh 5 readers of this blog? From San Francisco to Berkeley to London, oh my!

Second: Kosmo will be the name of my second son. I feel like the K gives it a niche.

So it's restaurant week here in San Francisco, an biannual event that I always manage to miss in New York. But we all know that it's the rare occasion on which we can go to places with simple names like Butter or Loft or Bread and afford it. The more basic the word, the higher the price of the entree. Like death and taxes, it's a certainty.

The female components of my family are notoriously bad at managing their time. Like colorblindness but not quite. At one point, we would tell my sister that events started an hour earlier than their actual start time just so she would make it on time. It worked. But then someone blew it and she found out, so the bliss of punctuality was short-lived. Regardless, dinner started late, and by that time, we had already managed to yell at one another and subsequently apologize. Another successful family outing!

Le Colonial is located in a well-lit alley, and it stands alone and apart, like the white man among his oppressed colonial counterparts. Architecture, kids, tells a story. Granted it was dark and rainy (ugh.) but this is what the entrance would have looked like IRL, not this ersatz of what life in California should be like (always sunny, just like Philadelphia).

Since the roof was made of glass in this section, it felt like the Great Hall at Hogwarts if the Great Hall also had the ground mirror the conditions of the ground outside.

Past this pathway was a a tall entry with a giant mirror that they probably shipped in via elephant (What can Grey do for you?). But enough about the decor, although that is the main reason for this post considering I don't think I'm very good at describing food. But it's not like the blog is all about that, right? Anyway, being there just made me want to go to the Africa of the 30s, wear breeches and those round hats, ride an elephant, orientalize, get malaria, and become a rabid racist oppressor. But I need to learn not to dwell on missed opportunities.

We sat down, ordered, and argued about the quality of healthcare in the Soviet Union. A worthwhile debate considering

1. we haven't lived there for 20 years

2. this country is no longer in existence

In the meantime, our food arrived. I got a pork belly (is that a technical term? really?) topped with quail eggs, some caramel sauce, pineapple, I think. The pork was super tender, and quail eggs are surprisingly small. Behold:

Those small bits of cheese in the background should give an idea of the size. Or you could just use your imagination. DAMN.

Then the entrees came, and I made a huge mistake ordering the curry so I refuse to discuss it. The other members of the party ordered a pork chop--delicious, and lemongrass chicken, also excellent. For dessert, we all have flourless chocolate cake, which I would have enjoyed much more had I not had rice with my entrees which mercilessly expanded in my stomach and prevented me from gorging myself. WTF, rice.

Conclusion: order the pork or chicken, or be emotionally stable enough to live with the dissatisfaction of ordering curry.

Annoucement

I will highjack this account for any posts I would like to make about Buenos Aires. DO NOT TRY TO STOP ME.

cesar: a place for young, urban soon to be snobs. yusnies, if you will.

Location: 1515 Shattuck Ave., Berkeley, CA

Let me preface this post by saying that Connie is a hypocrite. Complaining that I don't update enough? Really?

Now, you might note that I chose not to capitalize the title of this post. Or not. Whatever, it's your life. This is because the restaurant did not capitalize it in order to communicate the general whimsicalness of this place. God knows that if you disregard rules of capitalization and punctuation, you are not only fun and playful, but also disestablishmentarian.

After a delightful day spent exploring Berkeley's campus. Here is an extremely representative photo of the day.

This is a spot that does not belong to any nation at all. Perfect site for the perfect crime.

Anyway, we watched the sunset, decided to do dinner and a movie. (I think my sister was trying to seduce Amanda. She has mad game) And so, we went to the Gourmet Ghetto (oxymoron, what up?), and stopped at cesar. cesar is a tapas place, and, honestly, the Spaniards have their act together. Not only did they conquer a shitload of countries and master the siesta (for real, what have they been up to since the 1600s?) but they have miniaturized their portions so they don't overeat (although, overeating is extremely conducive to napping. Hmmm.) but still get to taste all the flavors and textures!!!1111 Now if only the prices corresponded to the servings. An upper middle class girl can dream...

This place had dim lighting, stone floors, wood tables, people cool enough to eat dinner by themselves, others sitting at the bar definitely having cosmopolitan conversations. If you walked in, you would recognize the type immediately. Our waitress looked like a happier Maggie Gyllenhaal. We had a spicy tuna and egg (sounds dubious but trust) on baguette drenched in olive oil, manchego and some mysterious "greens" sandwich, likewise dipped in olive oil, and some yellowtail on aforementioned "greens." Everything came out really fast, and was correspondingly gone too fast, so needless to say we had to get dessert. Bread pudding FTW.

Conclusion: attend, even if it is a kinda sorta cliche.

Japanese Canteen

alas. I have returned.

and now in London, where pub food, sandwich shops and ethnic food reigns. So far I've eaten many a sandwiches, from Pret A Manger - brie with tomatoes and basil baguette? Simple yet delicious. It must be something about Europe that makes their sandwiches taste better. Ham and cheese in Paris anyone?

Anywho. Went to the Japanese Canteen for dinner tonight, right down the street from my dorm (finally the dorm life, co-ed bathrooms and everything. with showers where you have to press the knob in and it slowly releases as it stops projecting water. leaving you hella soapy, unable to see the knob, and terrified to touch any other surface in the bathroom. at least there aren't clumps of hair everywhere. UCSD I'M LOOKING AT YOU.) The canteen looked cute from the outside, very simple, white and red decor, ramen, udon and curries. The curries in a japanese restaurant should have thrown me off. Nonetheless I went with ladiezzzz at UCL, also American (desperately trying to meet some Brits. men, preferably), got the chicken ramen in coconut and lime spicy soup. Where do I even begin.

1) The ramen was overcooked. undercooked? either way it was way too chewy and doughy.
2) The chicken was really dry, and it was in SOUP.
3) the coconut and lime soup looked like it had been diluted with water, nothing like the tom yum soup like depth i had expected
4) the soup was also tasteless, forcing me to add soy sauce. to coconut and lime soup???? no.
so pretty much everything went wrong. it wasn't shitty per se, but hell no i will not be back.

maybe it's because it took literally 3 minutes for my order to be made as the cause to its shittiness. good ramen aint made in seconds baby. it's all about the day long soup process, only a n00b restaurateur would fucking fail at that.