When Strangers Share A Bowl of Ramen

As Richie Nakano, chef-owner of Hapa Ramen, prances around Japan, stuffing his face with deliciousness (over pictures of which I can only drool via his Instagram feed - @linecook, if you want a treat), the other members of the Hapa Ramen team are more than just holding down the fort, dishing out some killer meals from the Ferry Building to the Lower Haight.  No surprise, really, because when you experience the care and passion that goes into each dish they serve, you quickly realize just how talented is each member of the Hapa family.

After a few weeks of gorgeous weather in the city, the familiar overcast skies and cooler weather are creeping back in.  As I stepped out of my car after an incredibly long day at work and a seemingly longer drive home, I was issued a prompt slap in the face by the brisk breeze whipping through the streets of Hayes Valley.  Granted, coming from college in Michigan, I might as well be on a Caribbean cruise and to be quite honest, I can't complain too much about the temperature.  Still, after being spoiled these past few weeks, I just wasn't having any of this nonsense.  My whole body took on a chill, and all I wanted was a hot, steaming bowl of ramen to warm my soul.

Lucky for me, Hapa Ramen just so happened to be popping up yet again at Wing Wing, just two blocks from my house.

As I rounded the corner of Haight and Webster and pushed my way through the orange and black door, I could already begin to smell the glorious broth that was about to fill my stomach.  I was greeted by the pseudo-familiar face of Finch Linden (who, among other things, is a phenomenal photographer - check her out @finchlinden and http://finchdown.tumblr.com/).  She took my order - Spring Pea Miso Ramen, English Pea & Mushroom Panisse, Sugar Snaps, Snow Peas, Konbu - and we "officially met" after knowing of each other through Twitter and Instagram.

Torn on which of the two options to order, the woman behind me asked if I had tried them both before, to which I explained that I was pretty sure these were all new, limited edition trials (Finch confirmed)...so no.

I offered, however, to split mine with her if she would do the same.

"All for halvsies," she agreed, and when our orders came, Finch looked a bit puzzled when we asked for two bowls.  Now normally, we would both have agreed, save for two key factors.  First, she was on the tail end of a cold and didn't want to get me sick.  Second, we had just met about two minutes prior.

"Wait, you two don't know each other?"

Well, we do now.

As it turns out, Lauren (I learned after we both decided to dig into each other's food), is originally from Arizona, went to Northwestern undergrad, spent some time in Italy before going to grad school in Virginia and moving out here to take a job with a marketing firm which, just as my luck would have it, she just quit to take a new job in L.A.  We had been complete strangers just moments earlier, yet I already felt as though, by her moving, that I had just lost a (potentially really great) friend.

Lauren, best of luck with your move and new job: if you're half as good at your job as you are at keeping a conversation with a complete stranger, you're going to be a star.

On our perch at the end of the ordering counter, we bageled a bit (see my previous post for a definition), and ran the gamut of conversation from how we spent the Jewish holidays to the horror stories of trying to find a place to live in the city.  Turns out, we may also have some mutual friends.  The food itself was incredible as always: the spicy broth of the chicken ramen was a perfect strength for the cool evening, the garlic sausage and garlic oil were an ideal paring.  However, I think this was the first time in my life when I preferred the veggie option to the meat, as the miso broth and snappy peas were killer good, and despite not knowing from a panisse, it was fantastic.  And that slow egg...oh that slow egg...

Forty-five minutes later, she decided it was time to head back home and pack up the rest of her belongings.  And there I stood, alone with two half-bowls of ramen, wondering what the night would have had in store for me had it not been for this chance encounter.  Finch and I shot the shit for a bit until, full and warm from bottom to top, I made my way back home.

The logistics of splitting a bowl of ramen are a bit tricky - long noodles are not easily cut with chopsticks, bowls filled to the brim with broth that are not conducive to pouring, chicken sausage and pea and mushroom panisse falling apart (in a good way)... However, all things considered, I think our execution was pretty impressive, and we had a lot of fun trying.   And it was a good thing we each got our own slow egg: that would have been a disaster.

But isn't that just a damn-near-perfect metaphor?  We're all made of experiences and features that make us unique - some of which we can share easily, and others that take a bit more prying to let loose.   But if you at least make the effort, when all is said and done, you get to try a little bit of something new each and every time.  

I've always contended that food brings people together, and this exemplified that sentiment to a T.

All because of two bowls of ramen.

Nosh on,
Josh

Happy Birthday, Ritual!

Whenever I run, my mindset is that each step I take counts as two, because eventually, I’m going to turn around and head back home. 

That logic loses its charm after five miles when it dawns on you that you actually have to get back home.

Regardless, after ten miles out to ocean beach (and back…) I found myself wanting to stretch at Patricia Green.  Always a hub for dog walkers and picnickers, I find it lively enough to be ideal for people watching, but calm enough that I don’t have to worry about taking up too much space and breathing in the pot-smoke of Dolores Park. 

Yet as I took my final strides toward the Green, I could immediately sense that something was different.  A large white tent across from Ritual in the former AetherStream spot; amazing music from the ‘60s and ‘70s blaring; and a ton of people – separate from the never-ending line at the Biergarten. 

9 Darling Road - A Ritual Dance Party

What that what was happening?!

As it turns out, Ritual Coffee was celebrating its first anniversary in the Proxy (seventh anniversary since inception), just in time for SF Made Week.  As I stepped underneath the mysterious white tent, my eyes were drawn to a slew goings-on.  To my immediate right, a bar serving beer and three (I can only imagine delicious, yet I can only attest to one) "punches" - lemon lavender, cucumber mint, and grapefruit something-or-other.  

The Bar

A little farther up on my left, boxes of delicious and beautiful Black Jet Baking Co. cupcakes (http://www.blackjetbakingco.com/) with tiny Ritual flags were available for the taking, as well as mason jars of espresso-laden custard.  Across the way stood Aaron, teaching lessons on how to brew a shot on the "Rolls Royce of Home Espresso Machines."  

                        

   Aaron (Purple) Teaching The Perfect Shot                  My Very Own Espresso!

But the main attraction was no doubt the dance floor.  Fantastic DJs spinning the likes of Simon and Garfunkel, Sam Cooke, ... and for their founder Eileen Hassi, the Dexy's Midnight Runner classic, "Come on Eileen."

                             

              Greatest Hits of the 60s and 70s                  Eileen Hassi - Dancing in a Blur!  

A dance party theme at "9 Darling Road," named for their espresso blend, the free event served as a celebration and a thank you to all of the employees and customers of Ritual, according to Hassi. 

"I wanted to elevate the level of coffee in the Bay Area, but also create a sense of community."  

And indeed she has.

Among the people I met were Paul and Ben, Hayes Valley locals and owners of a well-known cockatoo named Casper, who actually has his own Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/casper.cockatoo).  Originally from Australia, Paul has been in San Francisco for about 30 years, and couldn't be happier to be part of the Hayes Valley community.  When I mentioned that I felt out of place, doused in post-run sweat and donning my Vibram five fingers amidst the skirts, dresses, suits and ties, of those who actually knew about this shindig, he alleviated my stress.  "No way!  That's what makes San Francisco man!  It takes all kinds." 

Thanks, Paul.

Marianna and Casper: The Friendly Cockatoo

All of these people rallied around coffee.  Well - most of them.  When I told Hassi that the people to whom I'd spoken were definitely having a great time, she was curious as to one thing:

"Do people even know what this is for?"

Most people did, but some were unsure.  Two girls thought it was a private party, but were waved over by some strangers who invited them with open arms.  Given how classy an event this was, I would have been skeptical as well.  But I know one thing - everyone in the community was in for a damn good party.  Drinks, dancing, and desserts made for a killer time.

By the time I left, the party was still going strong.  From hipsters to suits to cockatoo owners and everything in between - the people of Hayes Valley, the staff and customers of Ritual, and lucky passers-by were treated to a fine time.

Each step that every person took to attend this incredible extravaganza counted as two, because eventually everyone would have to end up back at home.  But I guarantee you that each person in attendance will continue to make trips to Ritual, no matter how far: not only for the delicious coffee, but for the sense of community it creates. 

Happy birthday, Ritual!

Nosh on,

Josh

Schlemiel; Schlimazel. Schmendricks Bagels, Incorporated

First, a few definitions:

Bagel (n) - 1. a dense, round bread roll that is boiled before being baked.  Traditional in Jewish cuisine.
"I ate a delicious bagel with schmear at brunch with my bubbie after Passover."
2. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.
"Those ferkakta Dodgers posted a bagel last night.  Lost 0-2 to the Giants."

Bagel (v) - to discover the religious beliefs of another through indirect means.  To find out if someone is Jewish without asking outright.
"Does that boychik know he's trying to bagel a shiksa? What a putz."

Tonight, I ate bagels and bageled with Schmendricks - whose bagels are anything but bagels (and to be perfectly honest, whose founders are anything but Schmendricks).

Dan, Deepa, Dagny and David didn't dive directly into the doughy domain after Dartmouth.  After heading out to the west coast, the D4 took respective positions in the "real world" - David as a school psychologist, Dan as a partner at Trinity Ventures, Dagny in the education sector, and Deep as a corporate lawyer.  Somehow, all of them manage to keep their current jobs while providing the city of San Francisco with the first fantastic bagel this side of New York City, all with undying chutzpah.

That is, except for Deepa, who quit her job to invest herself fully in Schmendricks: and that takes some serious bagels (alternate definition? Check.)

The Schmendricks

Deepa, Dan, Dagny and David

Despite selling bagels for the past three months or so, they decided to throw a "Launch Party" at Four Barrel on Thursday night.  It was like break-fast after Yom Kippur.  Only with more alcohol.  Bagel-d'oeuvres topped with whitefish and onions, veggie-pâté and carrots, cream cheese and smoked salmon, and roast beef and a pickle were plentiful and an excellent nosh to start off the evening. 

Bagel-d'oeuvres

There were also not one, not two, but THREE open bars.  The first two were traditional - an alcohol bar with mimosas, bloodies and beers.  The second was a coffee bar, expertly barista-ed by Four Barrel.  But without a doubt, the star of the show was the bagel bar.  That's right - BAGEL BAR. 

Schmendricks Bagels, Multiple Schmears, Capers, Onions. Heaven. 

Those of us east-coasters have a standard to which all bagels must be held - the New York City bagel.  Many have tried to imitate: 99.9% have failed.  Some credit the water, others credit the air, but nearly everyone would argue that it is impossible to find a decent bagel outside the Big Apple.  (No, New Jersey doesn't count - no one cares about New Jersey).  

Until now.

Like any good Jew, Schmendricks vehemently refuses to accept what has been laid down as "fact."  Working tirelessly for two years, the D4 perfected the recipe.  Pre-orders for their pop-ups sell out in under an hour, and the lines for their individual sales on Sundays wrap around city blocks.  

And it isn't just about the taste (which is stellar), but they also nailed the texture - a dense, chewy interior with a just-right, slightly crisp exterior with a beautiful sheen.  People - this is the real deal. 

Interior of a Schmendrick's bagel - light schmear. 

Here's where things get really cool.  Apparently, you don't need to be Jewish to appreciate a good fantastic bagel (who knew?).  Schmendricks is bringing people together full-circle (or full-bagel, if you will).  I met some incredible people with fascinating backgrounds: Stephanie - a consultant for witnesses.  Hannah - PR worker and music blogger (www.indieshuffle.com).  Andrew - tech blog writer.  Rebecca - capitalist and event planner.  Some Jewish, most not.  Some west-coast natives, most not.  Some meshuga, most not.  But we were all head over heels for these bagels, and at the very least, had that in common.  

Friends, Family, Customers - The Whole Mishpucha 

Expect big things to happen very quickly.  Already providing their bagels via catering to companies around the bay, you will no doubt find them in stores sooner than you think.  Success could not come to a kinder group of people.  

Sorry New York, but your one draw back to the east coast has just been taken away.  Though I guess you still have pizza...

So here I am, 12am at home all hyped up on Four Barrel espresso (and french press...), full, happy, schmutz still on my clothes, and not nearly bageled out.  

In any sense of the word.

Nosh on,

JL

The Amuse-ing Beginning

When I moved away from my home in Florida, college-bound, I often times found myself craving all of the home-made, delicious meals that my mother makes.

All five of them.

That's not to say that of all of her concoctions, only five of them were incredible - in fact, she's batting 1.000. She ONLY makes five recipes.

Well, six, if "making" reservations counts (I vote yes).

See, as a child, family dinners consisted manly of my father grilling some sort of protein on our infrared grill (by which he swears), Chinese delivery, one of the aforementioned "signatures," or the ever popular "fend for yourself." Despite this, we almost always found time to eat dinner together as a family, and I consider myself extremely lucky for that.

Needless to say, this left something to be desired as far as my palate was concerned. So, as I neared my senior year of high school, I started tinkering with these little things I had heard of called "cooking" and "baking." They say that necessity is the mother of invention, and this was no exception. I am by no means an excellent chef - my skills have improved, to be sure, and I can make some pretty decent pastries, but more than anything this experience gave me an appreciation not only for what food can be, but what food ought to be. Food ought to bring people together. Food ought to teach you something you didn't know before.

You can tell a tremendous amount about a culture by the food they eat, and in all of my travels, I try to explore my destination through the local cuisine. That is why, when I arrived in San Francisco knowing only two other people (and vaguely, at that), I decided to turn to the wide world of food for friends.

An intense (and, I admit, slightly stalker-esque) Twitter campaign led to my first breakthrough, where I met Kai Kronfeld, affectionately known as "The Bacon Crack Guy," for a bowl of his chili outside of The Page. Since then, I had the opportunity to volunteer at the Street Food Festival, experience the "Bacon Takedown," and have even graduated to attend a Monk's Kettle Trappist dinner and an Incanto "Head-to-Tail" dinner.

Some pop-ups and food trucks even know me on Twitter - so I got that goin' for me.

A chef is an artist with food as the medium. My goal with this blog is to tell the stories of these artists - chefs and bakers, pop-ups and food trucks. I want to find out why these people put in countless hours, days, years - all to make one morsel at a time. I want to learn about food through their words so that when we finally taste their dishes in reality, we have a better concept of the bigger picture beyond the calories on the plate.

I want to learn to appreciate food for what it is - not merely a means of sustaining life, but a way to experience it.