Crab roll

Food memories have been haunting me lately. Although I’ve made SF my home, there are definitely times (usually the summer) when I toy with the idea of hopping on a plane home to D.C.—Bethesda, actually—for a brief visit. The tomatoes, peaches, corn and cantaloupe that I grew up eating have not met their fresh, juicy, perfectly flavorful match here in California—believe it or not. And then there are steamed Maryland blue crabs with a touch of Old Bay. MMMMMM.

Ernest Hemingway, July 21, 1899 - July 2, 1961

As was pointed out by one of the genial, twittering, PR birds so constantly abuzz in my ear, this is the week of Hemingway's birthday (and the anniversary month of both his death and birth).

Hemingway's contributions to many fields are in no need of enumeration here. But the man did stamp his identity on the cocktail with his favored way of taking the drink.

The Daiquiri is named for a Cuban mining town where an American engineer came up with the simple formula of lime + rum + sugar (hmmm, hard to imagine that had never been done before) that worked so beautifully that it became canonical.

I have a brother and three brothers-in-law, all under the age of 32, so even though I live in a very female household with my partner Sarah and our two girl pets, I consider myself in touch with boys. Well, I guess I should qualify that—I feel very in touch with bad boy humor. It’s not something I’m entirely proud of, but there you have it.

In any case, I was walking down Grant Ave. today through Chinatown on my way to an interview when I happened to pass a sign for a restaurant advertising their early dinner special. First item on the menu?

Small homos plate.

Some people are into rice. Some like corn. I, however, am a pasta guy, through and through. Good lord I love pasta. I love it for lunch and for dinner. I’m even partial to a little cold carbonara in the morning (hey, it's made with bacon and eggs). It's always good.