Yearly Archives: 2006

Chevy’s for lunch

Leave a reply

My mom was over today and the three of us needed a lift in the afternoon so we headed to Chevy’s in Emeryville (1800 Powell Street)  It’s a nice place on the water with an after-work margarita and beer vibe and the whole Mexican theme going on.  Chevy’s is a small chain with decent food.  They pride themselves on their “no cans” policy, but I’ve never had the nerve to ask about jars.  I always get the tortilla soup, chock full of chicken, corm, tortilla strips  and fresh avocado in a rich chicken-based broth.  Since Chevy’s keeps the warm nachos and salsa flowing, you can make a meal out of this soup by crumbling additional nachos into it as you go.

Lunch at B in Oaktown

Leave a reply

Matt’s first day of school at Berkeley City College is tomorrow, so we thought we’d head over to Oakland and have a nice lunch as a sort of pre-celebration.  He’s nervous, and there’s nothing like a good meal to help make it better.  We parked in Old Oakland and perused the pickings.  Having never eaten at B, 499 9th Street, we figured we’d give it a go.  It’s in a wonderful space — an old retail store with huge windows and a tile mosaic floor.  Bistro-ish things typical of what is served in this kind of place in the Bay Area make up the lunch menu:  herbed fries, organic greens, the ubiquitous all-natural burger.  They use Acme bread, which is always a plus.  We both ordered the smoked New York steak sandwich, which, according to the menu, was served “open face.”  What arrived, however, was akin to the old joke about looking for the lamb chops under the mint jelly:  these were not sandwiches and there was precious little steak involved.  What we were served would properly be called smoked New York steak crostini.  There were two slim slices of toasted bread topped with a couple of slices of steak, blue cheese and a fruit puree of some kind.  The crostini were served with a mound of fries and a bit of microgreenery.  When our plates arrived, Matthew proclaimed them “lame-ass.”  I believe he was talking price ($11 on the menu, but we were charged $9) and overall value at this point and not taste.  We agreed that the crostini were very good, and the fries were excellent, but felt misled by the menu and were already eyeing Ratto’s deli across the street, which we made a B-line for when we left.

PA sweet corn schlepped to Cali

Leave a reply

Pennsylvania sweet corn

We boiled up twelve ears of sweet corn from Pennsylvania today.  The well-traveled corn tasted down-home and it was nice to eat something that had nothing to do with agribusiness.  We sat in the backyard and ate three ears apiece and that was that for the corn supply.  Sweet corn is one of those things that  makes me think of how different the concept of seasonality is these days.  During the 1960’s and 1970’s, we had sweet corn only during the height of the summer and it was highly anticipated.  The same with beefsteak tomatoes.  Sure, you still have to buy in season to get the best at the lowest price, but things are not quite the same given the wide availability of produce.  Back in the day you would have had a hard time even finding corn on the cob in the winter.  Now, if you are willing to sacrifice quality and pay a bundle, it’s there for you.

Back to CA

Leave a reply

Matt and I got up at 3:45 a.m. to drive the 80-odd miles from Binghamton to Syracuse to return a rental car and hop a plane to a plane to Oakland, CA. There was so much fog on 81 North that I was white-knuckled by the time I pulled into the rental car return at the airport. Anyone who has driven on a highway in dense fog at night with nothing but tractor-trailers on the road knows what I’m talking about. Only after I pried my fingers off the steering wheel did I feel a sense of happiness about the two of us remaining alive. We schlepped our bags to the United check-in and tried to, well, check in. Turns out our flight from Chicago to Oakland was cancelled and they took the liberty of putting us on another flight that would trap us at the airport for over four hours. “Nay.” said I. “Get us to San Francisco instead!” They did, and it was on a 747, to boot. Oh, the joy of those large planes with their multiple lavatories and wide aisles! I became nostalgic for the days when there were lots of large planes in service on US routes, and one would encounter them often. United also upgraded us from Economy to Economy Plus, giving us 5 glorious extra inches of legroom. Things were looking up, indeed. How we got those dozen ears of sweet corn from Pennsylvania through security twice I’ll never know.

More eating out in Binghamton

Leave a reply

We got up late and had a bite at the Red Oak, a seriously inexpensive diner on Front Street that we pass on the way to my Dad’s place.  The Red Oak is, in my opinion, a better value than the Spot.  Lunch specials at this working class establishment are rock-bottom and quite decent.  I had a hot pot roast sandwich, cup of chicken orzo soup and onion rings for $4.99.  The onion rings were actually onion rings — not chopped up onions pressed into a circle.  Matt had, surprise!, a gyro.  The large dining room to the right when you enter is rustic and comfortable.  Go there and avoid the tight booths at the opposite end of the building.  After the chowdown we went to my Dad’s for a few hours for some strategic planning and goodbyes, as Steven was leaving later in the day and Matt and I were heading out tomorrow.  At about 3:30 p.m. we drove Mr. Man the 8 miles or so to the Binghamton airport (Edwin A. Link Field, officially).  He had no problem getting through security, thank God, and Matt and I headed back to the city to rustle up some grub.  After a bad Marty routine (“Where do you want to go, Matt?  I don’t know, Mom, where do you want to go?”), we settled on The Bulls Head, which looked from the outside at some distance like an Irish pub.  It was in an almost deserted strip mall on Front Street, which did not give me lots of confidence.  After I parked in that sad lot, Matt got out to see if there was any there there.  He gave me the high sign and we were soon in the place.  It was incredible — a total non sequitur.  We walked into a crowded fine dining establishment, more or less a steak and seafood affair.  We were too late for the early bird and somehow did not notice their weekday special of all-you-can-eat Alaskan crab legs when we ordered my steak and Matthew’s tilapia.  How the hell did we miss the crab special?  When it comes to food, we are on the stick.  I do not know what to attribute this lapse to.  Even now, several days later, this really makes me mad.  That’s not to say that what we did order was not top-notch.  First off, I had the best baked potato soup of my life.  It was not the pureed stuff with chives that gets hawked in most places, rather a chicken stock based  soup with chunks of tasty and firm baked potato throughout, and topped with a large dollop of sour cream that insinuated its way down into the broth, giving the whole thing just a bit of creaminess.  My sirloin steak was cut thick and cooked to perfection — rare, the only way to cook a steak to perfection, as far as I’m concerned, and so tender the interior tasted like steak tartare.  Matt’s tilapia had been lightly breaded and then baked with butter and spices, somewhat reminiscent of a Dore preparation in texture.  He loved it, and there was more than enough for him, which is saying something.  The twice-baked potatoes on the side added to the meal.  They were served blisteringly hot, meaning creamy rather than congealed inside.  It was nice to have had a serendipitous meal to soften the mood brought on by those difficult moments earlier in the day.