Boating in Cabo

One day we took a boat out to Cove to snorkel. Everything was so relaxing and calm, it was strange when they started cranking metal.



I was a little apprehensive since I haven't been snorkeling since my 20s. I was worried I would flail and swallow water and have to stay right next to the boat. But as soon as I looked down into the cool water the world disappeared and I felt as if I could swim for miles. I felt so close to my father, remembering the times he took me snorkeling. I also feel close to him every time I'm near the water, as if when we lowered his ashes we released his spirit into the sea.

There were angel fish, both large and small, and I even saw a white-spotted black puffer fish. The further I allowed the tide to pull me, the more fish I saw. At one point the brain coral beneath me became rock and I realized I was dangerously close to being smashed into the rocks. I turned to start swimming back and saw a boatload of people waving me back in panic. So I started swimming overhand instead of the breast stroke so they would know I was coming back. But I wish I never had to stop.

Back at the harbour I wandered around Cabo some and glanced over the touristy 2 for 1 margarita restaurants.

I don't know if this is child exploitation or if it is adorable

Then I started asking the employees where they ate. Everyone pointed me towards a vacant lot behind a mall. There I found a taco truck where I ordered octopus ceviche.

The man insisted I mix the octopus, so I added shrimp. It wasn't the best ceviche I've had in Mexico, but better than anything in the US.

I also enjoyed three baja fish tacos.

Everyone was really surprised to see me there, but very friendly.

Mariachi Night

I spend so much time as an observer, taking pictures and documenting events of other people's communities, sometimes it is nice to get a reminder that I am part of a community too.



For my mom's birthday the family got together for the local church's Mariachi Night. The church I grew up in, where I went to school. The steps I sat on when I had detention. For 20 bucks you got a taco plate, a few drink tickets and lots of family fun.



I like watching them make the carne asada





And then I like eating it.





Later we realized you could get additional tacos and beers for a dollar each and that made it a much better deal. I noticed they hadn't punched my nephew's ticket, and I said, "Hey, you could get another plate." He turned it over and showed me the reverse side





Then there was the entertainment. Ballet Folkloriko was a lot of stomping and big colorful butterfly skirts when I was younger, but I am seeing more and more of these simple flirty dances lately



It's too dark to see the lasso, but at least you can hear the mariachis



The mechanical bull was a popular attraction for the kids. Why is it so funny to see a little kid fall down? We should all be ashamed of ourselves.



But the important thing is that my mom had a good time.

La Super Rica - Redux

We woke up Sunday morning to a breakfast of leftover steak and freshly-laid eggs, courtesy of Johnny. Actually, the eggs were courtesy of the hens, Original Recipe and Extra Crispy. After breakfast, Johnny went outside to the BBQ and started cursing, "Oh no! I burnt the goat! I wanted to surprise you!" So, no cabrito for breakfast. I'm game to try goat, but I'm not sure if breakfast is the meal for that.

We hit the San Luis Obispo swap meet, where I bought:

Soul on Ice by Eldridge Cleaver

The Man who Shorted out the Electric Chair

Aretha Franklin: This Girl's in Love with You

and

Milt Jackson: Bag's Bag

Then we headed down the coast, with plans to meet friends for lunch in Ventura. But as we neared Santa Barbara, the siren song of La Super Rica was calling. The other Roguefooders had mentioned they were stopping there for lunch, but I assumed they would be long gone by then. Still, I could not resist the memory of the Tacos de Hongo. We pulled up to La Super Rica, and this time there was definitely a line. While I waited, Bob went to snag us a table.

I was saddened to discover that Tacos de Hongo are only available on Friday. Curses! Why can't it be Friday every day? I comforted myself with their Sunday special - posole. As I brought the drinks over to Bob, who did I see, but Patti! Jeff! Ed! What timing! We all ended up at the same place. Ed encouraged me to try his chorizo tacos, which really opened my eyes to the wonders of chorizo. I had not been a big fan before, but this was really good. Good enough for me to order next time. Beneath the garnishes in the posole lay huge chunks of pork and hominy in a rich, spicy broth.

Bob had ordered the #4 marinated pork tacos again, and once again they did not disappoint.

I had also ordered another daily special for us to split - shredded beef tacos in a chile cream sauce. They were almost like upscale taquitos. The corn tortillas were lightly fried, and the cream sauce was like a richer version of guacamole.

We stopped off at Taqueria Vallarta in Ventura on the way home as planned to meet up with our friends. But we were too full for anything but their refreshing watermelon drinks. They just fill a blender with perfectly ripe watermelon, a little sugar, and blend away. It is one of the most refreshing drinks in the world. Even though they have a menu full of other fruits, the watermelon is the one that always makes us come back. Unfortunately, we will no longer be back to Taquerita Vallarta for lunch. From now on I will happily drive that extra hour to get to La Super Rica, especially on a Friday.

Never Eat Anything Bigger Than Your Head

Saturday morning I woke up around 6am and went to the Nipomo swap meet with Johnny and Rene. In addition to scoring a set of fantastic 1970s beefcake playing cards and an album of creepy, turn-of-the-century photographs, I was able to check out some really cool installation art.

The swap meet land is owned by a doctor who has made a hobby out of decorating the place with scrap metal art and setting up a giant model train village. Rene wanted to show me the outer space installation that runs Star Wars movies on a little television screen in the wall. As we tripped on the milk crate "stairs" Johnny admitted, "It probably doesn't meet OSHA standards." We had Pastor tacos for breakfast from one of the many vendors. I order mine "con todo", in which "everything" usually means salsa, onions, and copious amounts of cilantro. The swap meet even had a truck selling Filipino food. I was sad that we were going to miss what promised to be a very surreal puppet show beside the Filipino lunch wagon, but we had a group of people waiting for us.

We picked up Bob, and discovered that one of Johnny's egg-laying Rhode Island Reds, Original Recipe, had gotten out. We had to wait for Johnny to catch it before we could meet the crew from Roguefood.com, one of the food forums in which I participate. We found Ed, Steve, Patti, and her husband Jeff waiting for us in the lobby of the Santa Maria Inn. I was pleased because I got to say, "Sorry we were late. One of the chickens got out." A friend of the family once told Johnny, "You know how I can tell you're a hillbilly? You have a chicken on the table and it's not dead yet."

Our plan for the day was to cruise along the main street, sampling BBQ from the many vendors that set up in parking lots on the weekends. Santa Maria's local specialty is barbecued tri-tip, cooked over oak. The meat is grilled on huge, specially designed barbecue wagons that are towed behind trucks on trailer hitches. The large grills hang directly over the open flames. The grills can be raised and lowered by cranking a large wheel, which enables you to control the heat.

As we caravaned down the road, we noticed a strange lack of BBQ wagons. It was like a ghost town. Ed was completely baffled. There was no tri-tip anywhere. We thought it might be due to the overcast weather. Or maybe the rapture. So we headed over to the annual IFOPA fundraiser, which was set up in a grocery store parking lot. The case of the missing BBQ wagons was solved. Over thirty local vendors had volunteered their time and barbecue grills to raise money on behalf of a local charity. Hundreds of split chickens smoked and sizzled on dozens of barbecue grills. Plumes of smoke filled the air, making the parking lot look like a battlefield in an old war movie. One grill was dedicated to toasting up French bread, and we drooled as we watched one of the volunteers dunk the halved loaves in melted butter and garlic. Rene and I caught ourselves staring and realized we were watching him like he was a stripper, "Yeah, baby! Dunk it!"

Most of their business was drive-up, and traffic was disrupted around the block as volunteers hurriedly handed chickens through car windows. We sat down at one of the empty picnic tables, and shared lunches since they were so large. Steve went to pick up a drumstick and pulled out only a bone, which had slid right out of the chicken. He said, "You call that meat tender?" The chicken was moist, and smoked right through. There was a nice rub on it with plenty of flavor but no heat. Probably a lot of paprika and garlic salt. The garlic bread was alright, and the pink Santa-Maria style beans were bland, as they are supposed to be.

Since all of the rogue tri-tip experts in town were busy making chicken, we headed over to Johnny's recommendation, Rancho Nipomo. It is conveniently attached to the Santa Maria Brewing Company, our next stop. Recently opened by husband and wife team, Richard and Brenda Cowell, Rancho Nipomo serves both barbecue and Mexican dishes. It advertises its special menu as "A taste of California". It is known amongst locals for its pulled pork sandwiches. So all of us were looking for barbecue. But Richard is extremely proud of his chile dishes, made with his own home-grown chiles. When he started pushing the chile verde, I asked him if he had a combo plate. He said, "No. But I've been thinking about it. I tell you what I'm going to do for you."

He lowered his voice, and we put our heads together conspiratorially.

He started describing his food in whispered detail, using subtle hand gestures like a French waiter, "OK, I'm going to make you a plate of the pork ribs and I recommend you get the small pork sandwich. Then I'm going to make you a little plate of chile colorado and chile verde, with our homemade flour tortillas. Then you know what I'd like to do? I'd like to give you my wife's special potato salad." He ended with a flourish, the spell was broken, and I stepped away from the counter.

Johnny and Bob returned from scouting out the brewery. They suggested we get our food to go and eat it on the patio. Although Rancho Nipomo had beer and a patio as well, it was not the Santa Maria Brewery's home brews. I was perusing the variety of sodas in the drink cooler (They had Mexican coca-cola made with cane sugar!), and goofing around with Patti when I noticed Bob standing at the counter ordering. I called over, "I already ordered for you!" He looked so crestfallen, I just said, "Never mind." So we ended up with a huge plate of ribs and two pulled pork sandwiches.

The owner, Richard, produced the sampler plate and we all gathered around, taking little bites. The pork chile verde was good, the tortilla was excellent, but the beef chile colorado kicked ass! There were layers of flavors, deep and complex, smoky and spicy...pure heaven.

By then, everyone's food was ready and we walked next door to The Santa Maria Brewing Company's patio where we found Ed worrying over Steve, who had just eaten the roasted jalapeno "garnish" on his plate and was in fits. Johnny immediately grabbed another jalapeno off of Steve's plate and chomped on it (See: "boy's pissing contests" in the previous post). Johnny agreed it was the hottest jalapeno he had ever tried, which was pretty impressive because Johnny grows prize-winning jalapenos. He also grows "ornamental" peppers that have almost put Bob in the emergency room.

The ribs were falling-off-the-bone tender and slathered in a sweet "16-spices" BBQ sauce. I was really interested in the pulled pork sandwich, topped with the traditional BBQ sauce and cole slaw. It was huge, and I was barely half-way through it before I remembered I had ordered the "Baby" sandwich. I asked Patti and Jeff about their sandwiches. Their full-sized sandwich filled an entire take-out carton. Instead of a hamburger bun, it was served on "teleta" bread, which is Spanish for "bigger than your head". The moist tri-tip sandwich, which contains a mountain of meat, was also served on the football-sized teleta bread. The potato salad was indeed a special recipe. Large chunks of potato were accompanied by bits of black olive and chunks of real dill pickle. It was damn good.

Just off the junction of the 101 and the166, Rancho Nipomo would be a convenient lunch stop when traveling down the coast. I will definitely be back for that chile colorado, and to try the Baja street-style hot dog ("Grilled all-beef frank wrapped with bacon, garnished with mustard, pickle, and grilled onions") and the tri-tip enchiladas.

The Santa Maria Brewing Company, which is in the same building as Rancho Nipomo, is owned and operated by Dan Hilker, a retired policeman. It is a labor of love. His hours are flexible, depending on his mood. These are the posted hours:

Wednesday and Thursday 4:00 PM till Approx. 9 PM, Friday 3:00 PM till about 10 PM Saturday and Sunday 12 PM - till about 8 PM

All of the beers are brewed by Dan himself. Don't ask for a Budweiser if you don't want to be kicked out on your ass. The decor is early Fred Sanford, a result of Dan trading beer to customers for random interesting items they bring in, 'That's worth about six beers. I'll take it." A bomb my brother brought in hangs from the ceiling. I have never asked Johnny if it is a real bomb, and it's probably better that I don't know. When we arrived with our take-out containers, the room was cool and dark, with just a few guys hanging out on the barstools. The back patio is bright and comfortable, but pretty dusty in the daylight. The only restroom I saw was a port-a-potty, so it may not be somewhere I want to do too much drinking. It's definitely a man's man's place.

I walked back inside to get a beer, and noticed all of the tap handles, which usually advertise the brand, had clay character's heads on them, or just random figures. I asked, "What do you have on draft? Pilot? Baseball player? Girl in a bikini?" Dan looked at me, sizing me up the way cops do when they are trying to decide if you are carrying a loaded weapon or under the influence of angel dust. He asked about my beer preferences, and recommended the India pale ale if I wanted "something like nothing you have ever tried before". I walked out back to the group on the patio with my Pilsner glass. Everyone else had pint glasses. Steve asked, "How come you got the cool glass?" (Because the bartender wanted to remember which one he spit in?)

The ale was interesting, with an undercurrent of indistinguishable spicy flavors. But the overall effect was not overwhelming. There is nothing worse than some weird novelty beer like pumpkin ale that only tastes like cinnamon. The spices were barely there, and the hops were strong enough to dominate. I also wanted to try the hefeweizen, and the blonde, but I had already gone on a political rant about the state of our social services after only one glass of ale, so I thought it was probably best to slow down. The rest of the crew headed off for wine tasting, and we returned to Johnny's to take a nap before dinner.

Rancho Nipomo 108 Cuyama Lane Nipomo CA 93444 (805) 925-3500

Santa Maria Brewing Company 112 Cuyama Lane Nipomo, CA 93444

http://www.santamariatimes.com/articles/2006/11/03/lifestyle/life54.txt

Annual "Find a Cure" Chicken Fundraiser http://www.ifopa.org/

Que Rica!

Last weekend Bob and I drove up the coast to spend the weekend in Nipomo, a small town just south of San Luis Obispo. We stopped for lunch at La Super Rica, a much-touted taqueria in Santa Barbara. It was reputedly a favorite of such food greats as Alice Waters and Julia Child. It has been featured in Sunset magazine and the New York Times. Most places would kill for the kind of press that Isador Gonzalez's little family-run taco stand gets.

Just about a mile off of the 101, and a straight shot down Milpas Street from the offramp, La Super Rica is a convenient stop on the way to somewhere else. We missed the little turquoise building on the first pass and had to turn around. There is only a small sign in the window to identify it as La Super Rica. You can usually find it by the line snaking down the block. As we waited, everyone standing in the relatively short line Friday chatted away, recommending their favorites - the #4 seemed to be the most popular recommendation. After studying the menu on the wall, I dutifully ordered the #4 Tacos de Adobado "Strips of marinated pork" as well as the #16 Super-Rica Especial, "Roasted chile pasilla stuffed with cheese". Two specials caught my eye...the Tamale de Verduras, which seems to be a permanent or seasonal special, as well as the Taco de Hongo, which is the special every Friday.

When eating a variety of foods tapas-style, I try to start with the mellowest dish and work my way up in ferocity. the pork was red with seasonings, and the chile special was clearly charred pasillas, so I turned first to the Taco de Hongo. Big mistake. This taco ruined me for all of the food to follow. This taco may have ruined me for all tacos for the rest of my life. Fresh crimini mushrooms were sauteed in a lot of butter, mixed with caramelized onions, and drowned in an epazote cream sauce. There was a faint flavor that I would probably identify as brandy if I had to place a bet. It was unlike any taco I have ever eaten. I could imagine these mushrooms served over pasta in the finest restaurant in town. I ate the mushrooms with a fork until the pile had been winnnowed down enough for me to fold the tiny taco-truck-sized tortillas into a taco. The cream sauce had started to permeate the homemade corn tortilla, and the resultant taco was a bizarre fusion food that confused, yet delighted my palate.

I could have stopped there and been happy, but that would have been unfair to the other little plates jockeying for my attention. Time to check out the tamale de verduras, also doused with a liberal amount of cream sauce. The masa was light and fluffy, probably made with a vegetable shortening. I normally like lots of manteca in my masa, but the lightness was kind of a refreshing change. There could have been a higher filling-to-masa ratio, with bits of chayote squash and corn tumbling out like rare little jewels.

The chile special was just a pasilla chile stuffed with cheese, but it was a perfectly charred chile, stuffed with a soft, ranchero-style cheese. It was not called a "taco", but was served over two corn tortillas, and after eating about half of it, you could fold it into a reasonable facsimile of a taco. The Adobado was somewhat similar to pastor, highly seasoned yet not overwhelming. the chile verde was a good match for the pork without making it spicy enough to be uncomfortable. It was a damn fine taco, as good as any I have had before, yet it was the vegetarian selections that cause me to linger over the sensory memories.

I took advantage of a short lull in the to chat with the cashier. I gushed over the mushroom tacos, and asked, "Is there some region of Mexico I'm not familiar with that makes French cream sauces." He looked around to ensure our privacy, then leaned towards me and shook his head conspiratorially. I asked, "You just felt like making a cream sauce?" He smiled and nodded. By then, a new slew of customers was already queueing up, so I retreated to clear my table and make way for the next wave.

La Super Rica 622 North Milpas Santa Barbara CA 93101 (805) 963-4940 Cash Only

It's Not Easy Being Green

We bucked tradition this year by making a nice braciola for St Pat's instead of corned beef and cabbage. I have a friend, Lori, who has been waxing nostalgic about her grandmother's cooking. I thought I would give her a little taste of Jersey when she came over to carpool to the party with us. I had been planning on riffing a little with some parma ham and pine nuts, but my husband was in the mood to cook. So instead he made the more straightforward version from "Rao's Cookbook:Over 100 Years of Italian Home Cooking." He threw in some meatballs and sausage, just the way Lori's grandmother used to do it.

We arrived at the party a little bit late, since I underestimated the time it would take to paint my entire body green. The club, Mr T's, was serving specialty drinks for the occasion, including one that I thought sounded awful, as well as being in very poor taste. It is a take-off on the sake bomb. It consists of a shotglass of whiskey and Bailey's dropped in a Guinness. It is called, tackily enough, the Car Bomb. I was advised, "You have to drink it fast or the Bailey's will curdle. Yum. We stuck with Sierra Nevadas instead.

After a long night of drinking and rocking out we decided we needed a snack. Every region has its own version of "drunk food". Here in Los Angeles it is tacos. La Estrella, a 24-hour taqueria is right down the street from Mr T's. There are a number of La Estrellas sprinkled around the Eastside and Pasadena. Some of them are just taco trucks with permanent signs erected in parking lots.

The quality seems to vary from stand to stand. Rumor has it that the couple who ran La Estrella separated, and divided the taco stands in the divorce. Rumor also has it that they split up the recipes in the divorce, so some of the stands are known for their fish tacos while others are known for their pastor. We were at a pastor La Estrella. Everyone I was with ordered carnitas burritos. I went for a triumverate of tacos: Al pastor, carnitas, and cabeza. Everyone was impressed at my derring-do in ordering cabeza, but meat is meat. Pig snout and fish cheeks are some of the greatest dishes in the world. While the carnitas were average, and the pastor was fantastic, I have to admit I will not be ordering the cabeza again anytime soon. The meat was tough little nuggets with gelatinous bits and gristle. Really, La Estrella's incindiary hot sauce is so intense that you can't taste the flavors of the different meats - it's all about texture.

The burritos are excellent, with fresh flour tortillas, a good balance of ingredients and pinto beans so large that this picture came out with a weird optical illusion that makes it look as if there are fingers in this burrito: