Flash Fried: The New Face of San Francisco is Seared and Braised
Welcome to Flash Fried — a recurring column where I take a look at food in the news.
In a recent article, San Francisco Chronicle political columnist Debra J. Saunders took a break from admonishing assisted suicide to take aim at the city’s restaurant scene. Saunders pulled off quite a feat by bashing elitism with exquisite snobbery.
Saunders was unimpressed by the descriptive nature of the unnamed restaurant to which she had been invited. She responded to the offering of chicken liver mousse, spiced pear marmellata and balsamic gelatina with, “Are there really people who want to eat liver with pear jam and vinegar Jell-O?” Her over simplification of the dish pairs perfectly with her child-like palate. It’s obvious to me that Ms. Saunders does not understand the work behind making “vinegar Jell-O” as well as the foresight to pair such classic flavors in an original way.
Unlike the world of politics, where the same old rhetoric is continually pushed through generation after generation, the culinary arts is a place of innovation. Yes, many classic dishes are just re-assembled in different ways, but all across the Bay Area (and the country, and the world), chefs are pushing themselves and each other daily to take the industry to new heights. I wish I could say the same about the government.
Saunders went on to compare gnocchetti to SpaghettiOs, mocked the use of nettles in fonduta, and referred to offal as food “that used to be leavings for the poor.” Well, Ms. Saunders, you are correct in that matter. From feudal Europe to the grand plantations of the Confederacy, the privileged masters feasted while the kitchen staff (AKA servants and slaves) were left to fend for the scraps. So, for generations, delicacies were perfected by the destitute with what they were given. As is still tradition in kitchens today, family meal is often built from what is not fit for service. I remember the first time I ate chicken hearts. It wasn’t some hazing ritual, but a welcoming to the brotherhood, as if to say, “Let them eat what they think is our best. We know better. We can make anything delicious.” To this day, I’d prefer to eat the face of any animal over its loin.
Ever the world traveler, Saunders touts that even foreign cuisines are no match for her bumpkin palate. She at least acknowledges her juvenile attitude toward food, saying, “I have the taste buds of a 6-year-old.” I wonder if she’s tried Homeroom?
Now, I’m not here to force Saunders to enjoy pig’s feet or foie gras. Eat what you like. I don’t care. But, her words resemble those of an aging curmudgeon who is fighting the inevitable. Change is afoot in San Francisco and Saunders wants none of it. Her mockery of the SF food scene is beyond satire and pushing fear-monger territory. Instead of welcoming the breadth of new flavors, Saunders is grasping tightly on to the slipping image of “her” city. Beneath the guise of clowning wordy menus and trendy dishes lies the truth of her inability to deal with change.
If Saunders truly wants a taste of old San Francisco, both literally and figuratively, she should just head down to Tommy’s Joynt.
Saunders did hit on one good point in her diatribe: the effect of the influx of affluence on the existing working class of San Francisco and the Bay Area as a whole. The staunch Republican takes jabs at her liberal counterparts by pointing out the hypocrisy of championing social inequalities while dropping wads of cash on extravagant dining experiences. In the passing paragraph, Saunders coins the term “Ingest Inequality,” before getting back to her rant against deliciousness. Too bad she missed a great opportunity to make an actual relevant point, as those on the wrong end of that inequality are often those making and serving the food.
Research from the Economic Policy Institute shows that over 40 percent of workers in the service industry live at or below the poverty line. As minimum wage continues to rise all around the Bay Area, so does rent. Living comfortably as a service industry worker is a stretch — minimal (if any) health coverage, no paid time off, and heavy reliance on tips can leave a person in dire straights if forced to miss work for any reason. Retirement plans are non-existent and saving is near impossible, as living check-to-check is commonplace in kitchens, bars, and cafes.
While Ms. Saunders may scoff at the beef cheek sugo, I at least hoped she tipped well. Someone’s livelihood is dependent on it.
Kansas City Royals fans have been riding high since the team’s unexpected run to the World Series last season. The magic has carried over into the new year, with the team currently sitting atop the American League. If only the Kauffman Stadium vendors were as talented as the ball players.
Aramark-operated vendors were found to have been serving inedible hot dogs during Dollar Hot Dog Night at the stadium. Before you can say, “You get what you pay for,” the pictures say it all. Burnt beyond recognition and squeezed between moldy buns, these dogs never should have seen the light of day. It’s obvious someone (or everyone?) needs to be fired. Too bad it was Jon Costa, Aramark’s district food safety manager, who first brought this to his superiors’ attention LAST YEAR. Vendors also served similar food during the World Series.
The way the Royals have been acting on the field as of late, it seems likely the rancid dogs have found their way into the clubhouse.
A deal between burrito conglomerate Chipotle and stoner saviors Postmates will now have fast-food Mexican brought to your door. Sixty-seven cities across the nation now can have Chipotle brought to the doorstep, including Bay Area cities Berkeley, Oakland, San Francisco, and San Jose. I still don’t understand the allure of Chipotle in the Bay Area. It’s not hard to find good Mexican food here. I can fall down the steps of my apartment complex and land in front of a solid taqueria. McTacos just don’t appeal to me. But, for those who love green bell peppers and white rice, you can get a foil-wrapped piece of heaven without leaving the couch. And, yes, guac is still extra.
H/T to SFGate, Deadspin, ESPN, and Mother Jones.
