on that research

I actually wrote the bulk of the last post almost two weeks ago and only went ahead with it because it greatly influenced my trip to San Francisco this last weekend. Truth be told, I decided to take the trip up there mostly to hang out with friends and forget about my 26th birthday (gulp), but also because I wanted to eat some of the kick ass food I've been reading about over the last month. If you've never been to San Francisco or never read David Lebovitz's book or blog, and you haven't heard about Tartine, well, uh... it's fucking awesome. My friend Eva took me there a few years ago when we drove down from Portland for a week. She told me to prepare myself for the best croissant I'd ever have. I know this is blasphemous, and any and all French visas I possess or will possess in the future should be automatically revoked, but I'm not a huge fan of the croissant. I appreciate its gorgeous texture and color, but I'm just not lady enough for that much butter. When butter is a dominant flavor in something other than... butter... it just doesn't do it for me. So to be frank, I don't remember the croissant. But I do remember sitting at a table on a Sunday morning drinking a latte out of a bowl. And I don't even like lattes much. What really sold me on Tartine, however, was the owner's bread book gifted to me this past Christmas. I don't own many cookbooks and don't spend a lot of time cooking out of those that I do own, but I peeled the wrapping paper off of Tartine Bread and spent the night reading it. From cover to cover. Yes. I spent hours reading the recipes. Which are beyond involved and use the words "starter" and "feed" and "wait" and "rise" and "patience" and "bath" a lot. Chad Robertson's introduction is just incredible, and to summarize, he talks about wanting to make bread with soul.

Bread with soul.

Yes please.

So I wanted to make my birthday about bread with soul, and food with soul, really. I asked my friend and lovely hostess Katie to accompany me to the Ferry Building so we could visit the Cowgirl Creamery shop there, as well as Acme Bread and some of the other ridiculously famous foodie hotspots. I wasn't disappointed. But Tartine on Sunday! Holy fuck. I ordered an Idiazabal and Membrillo jam sandwich, which just shouldn't be allowed. Idiazabal is a Basque sheep cheese and Membrillo is a kind of Spanish quince. Katie ordered a Pecorino and almond sandwich, which she surrendered after eating 2/3. Like the glutton I am I offered to take it offer her hands, and ended up eating the leftovers at SFO the next day. I'm not going to regale you with descriptions of "mouthfeel" or flavors because that would be simultaneously cruel and boring, but I just want to say that regardless of filling, that bread had soul. Major soul. And sitting outside enjoying that food with some friends I hadn't seen for a while - that was pretty nice too. I want to enjoy my life. I want the little moments to be the big moments. Because they're so much better than the rude customers and the hot-as-an-armpit days and the anxiety beating through me. Knowing that places and people like Tartine and Mast Brothers Chocolate exist gives me hope. Integrity and success aren't mutually exclusive. That's pretty fucking cool. Life can have soul, too.

It's almost 1.30 in the morning, so I'll have to save this for another day, but expect pictures and descriptions of the INCREDIBLE/WOW-ISH/HILARIOUS/EXTRAORDINARILY AWESOME gifts I received for my birthday this year. We're talking a hot pink boustier hanger. A card my alter ego made. Marbled paper. Books in foreign languages. More cupcakes than I could shake a stick at. Raspberry pie filling*.

GET EXCITED.

*for your continued happiness and mine, photos will not be included of this item.