Changing up the brunch routine

Baked eggs

I’m one of those people that actually likes change. If it doesn’t happen by itself, I get antsy and go looking for it. That  even applies to what I eat, most recently brunch. I’m all for the usual suspects, French toast, sausage and scrambled eggs, but I needed something new and slightly different during brunch, so I went looking for it not far from my apartment at  Cafe Gitane at The Jane Hotel.

Instead of the standard omelet or plate of scrambled eggs, the Moroccan inspired Cafe Gitane offered me baked eggs with smoked salmon and roasted potato chunks. The three eggs baked in the ceramic dish were cooked to a soft, gooey consistency so that when I punctured their almost perfectly flat surface with a toasted piece of baguette, a runny stream of orange yolk erupted out on to the otherwise white eggs. The salmon lent it a big, smokey flavor and the potatoes made it chunky and hearty. The whole thing was reminiscent of eggs and potatoes yet different enough that it was a new and delicious plate all together.

Avocado toast

And while the baked eggs were good, even better was Cafe Gitane’s delicious spin on breakfast toast. A thick, dark slice of seven grain toast was slathered with a creamy, buttery spread of avocado, lemon juice, olive oil and red pepper flakes. The bread was nutty and rich while the avocado was bright, tangy and zesty. Really, this avocado toast would have been good with any meal, any time of day.

There weren’t pancakes, biscuits or bacon that I could remember, but it was a nice another example of how a little change could do you good (or at least taste pretty damn good).

Cafe Gitane on Urbanspoon

Sundae on a sunny Sunday

Sam's sundae from Bi-Rite Creamery

This weekend it was actually warm in San Francisco. Like leave-the-scarf-at-home, get-down-to-just-one-layer and wear-your-sandals-without-fear-of-your-toes-going-numb type warm.

This of course, means nothing to most of you. The whole handful of you who read this blog have probably been dealing with hot weather all summer (or if you’re in Florida… practically year round) and are now welcoming fall with open arms, but in San Francisco, at least since I got here during the first week of August (August!!), it’s been downright chilly. Not in the 70’s like I had thought it would be, but in the low 60’s and then 50’s at night. Now, I’m not complaining. If you know me well, you know I hate the heat. I could just as easily do away with summer and never miss it, but it’s been strange being cold during summer.

This weekend though, for maybe only the second time in the last almost two months, it was hot. Which made me think one thing: ice cream. Continue reading

Lessons in pesto

The goods

The best thing about having an Italian boyfriend is that his standards for Italian food are ridiculously high. He would rather eat a sock than dinner at the Olive Garden, never buys pasta sauce in a jar, splurges on “good” olive oil, and like me, he thinks that alfredo sauce is weird and gross. Tonight for example, he wanted to make pesto. Great, I thought, I love pesto! So off he went to the supermarket down the street but instead of coming back with a small jar of the oily green stuff most people would’ve bought, he came back with a wedge of Parmiggiano-Reggiano (aka Parmesan), a fat head of garlic, fresh basil, pine nuts and olive oil (Italian of course).

Apart from grating the cheese and documenting this whole process with my camera, I didn’t really do much. I observed and was greatful. That was about it. Flaneur on the other hand, got to business. He finely diced a couple cloves of raw garlic and added them to the bowl of grated Parmesan I had finished.

Mixing ingredients

Next, between tossing several of them in his mouth and marveling at how good they were (even though they were from Spain), he chopped up the pine nuts and also added those to the cheese and garlic mix.

Chopping pine nuts

Up next were the basil leaves, which he plucked off their long stems and minced with the sharpest knife my small kitchen had to offer. Once the basil was chopped into small enough pieces it went in with the cheese, garlic and pine nuts.

Chopping basil

After getting a generous pour of olive oil (and then a couple more for good measure), he stirred everything around until it was a thick, even green mixture with an aroma so rich and powerful it filled the whole apartment. (It’s now hours since we ate and my room still smells of garlic and basil in a wonderful pesto-scented Yankee candle kind of way.)

Stirring it all up

Finally, he cooked the pasta, De Cecco fusilli (his favorite brand and the only one he eats at home in Italy). After draining it he threw it back in the pot, mixed in the pesto and served it. We sprinkled on some more fresh-grated Parmesan and sat down to enjoy our delicious pasta with authentic homemade pesto. Mmmm mmm!

Buon appetito!