Last Saturday morning we headed downtown to check out the new Blue Bottle Cafe, which was written up in the New York TImes last week for its fancy new $20,000 Japanese siphon bar. Thingy. The coffee was good. Possibly the best coffee I’ve ever tasted, even. But I’m not much of a coffee drinker, and I doused it with cream and sugar out of habit. That was a mistake, but there’s more coffee where that came from.

A couple things: It’s really fun to watch the coffee being made. Really. That’s not something I ever expected to say, but there you go. I could try to describe it for you, but instead I’ll just link to the Times’ slide show. It could only be improved by putting the coffee bartender in a lab coat, goggles, and big leather gloves. Also, the little salted caramels they served with the coffee were amazing. Without question the best caramels I’ve ever had.

Last night, we headed down to Fisherman’s Wharf and got on a boat (for about two minutes) bound for Forbes Island. Which is a restaurant. And a floating island. Or a really fancy houseboat. Owned by a batty old man (that would be Forbes). Whatever, the food was mediocre, but they have a lighthouse and are near the sea lions. It was fun.

On Saturday we hit up the universally adored Saigon Sandwiches. We both had roast pork+pate combo banh mi. I’ve never had bad banh mi, and I didn’t feel like these were either disappointing or mind-blowing. They were totally yummy and totally satisfying which is, you know, just what banh mi are supposed to be.

Notes:
1. I’ll have to try the same sandwich at Baguette Express and Banh Mi Ba Le so I can compare.
2. I’ll also have to remember to take pictures of my eating companion(s) eating their foods.
3. I’ve been neglecting my important dessert-consuming duties.
4. I’m seriously considering moving to the TL so I can have easier access to all the banh mi and lahmacun I can cram in my greedy face. Did I ever write about lahmacun?

Friday evening we tried to go to the Helmand (which is my favorite restaurant in the area so far), but they’re temporarily closed because a landslide demolished their kitchen. After trying the cheese-and-kirsch-smelling Matterhorn, we ended up at a place in the Marina (!) called the Brazen Head (which makes me think of sluts giving blowjobs; apparently this makes me a pervert, according to someone who really shouldn’t be pointing their perving fingers). They do, you know, upscale American, but, like, casual. We split a baby spinach salad. It had dried cranberries, ‘crispy’ prosciutto, caramelized walnuts, goat cheese (I fucking live for goat cheese), and some kind of vinaigrette, probably. D had filet mignon. I had a pork thing with mango mint chutney. The pork was fine, the chutney was rad. Both dinners came with mashed potatoes and creamed spinach, which were good, and something garnish-y. I didn’t get around to sampling D’s meal, but the general consensus was that it was good, not mind-blowing.

Oh, towards the end of our meal, some kids came in, and one of them was totally wasted and said things about a handjob and $17,000. Then one of the laydeez said something about something being “like crack to me,” which isn’t worth much on its own, but she was just so clean-cut and perky-sounding, it pushed my awesome buttons.

I’ll continue tomorrow with Saturday’s pork dose.

The first few places we tried either had a ridiculous wait (two hours?) or were uninspiring. We finally settled on Ramblas, which only (haw!) had an hour wait. So we decided to go across the street to the Bombay Ice Creamery to have dessert first.

I had a double scoop, coconut and mango-strawberry. Delicious, but the mango-strawberry was definitely the tastier scoop. Next time I should try one of the more exotic flavors. D had the Falooda, which is rose noodles, rose syrup, basil seeds, possibly milk, and your choice of ice cream flavors. He chose chai tea.

After gorging ourselves on frozen treats, we went back to Ramblas, did some waiting, and got seated. We ordered shrimp sauteed in olive oil with garlic and sherry, a baked broccoli-cauliflower-manchego thing that didn’t come with enough dipping stuffs, and sangria. After the ice cream, that was all the tapas we could handle. It was yummy, but I’ve been more impressed. The atmosphere was also kind of bland and slick and uninteresting, and, AND, as I got up to leave, I stepped on something wet and fell on my ass. That too could have been more spectacular, as one foot stayed firmly planted on the ground throughout the wipe-out, and there was no flailing or knocking over of tables.

Later, when we got home, D hooked me up with a comp account for the “backroom” of the gay porn site he works for. Now I have all the clips I can handle, and I eagerly await the day when “the dungeon” launches, and I can enjoy the hardcore double-fisting videos too.