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Breakfast of Champions
Jul. 8th, 2006 07:17 amBananas. I've been on this banana kick lately, which is interesting, because I never used to like them that much. I'm realizing now that's largely because the ones I got were almost always too green, which gives them a mealy texture. Yech. Nice, ripe, preferably organic bananas? Yum.
It's a Trader Joe's thing. I've been shopping there more recently - addictive, that place, after awhile - picking up things like that Greek yogurt with figs in it, and seeded baguettes and spicy hummus dip. That's my breakfast, actually - bananas, baguette, hummus. Yogurt for later. And coffee, although not from TJs. That's from Peets, which is one of those Bay Area things. Peet's French roast. And amusingly, it's not even the most hardcore coffee you can find around here - that would probably be the stuff you can get at the Castro Cheesery, in which the cheap grind actually has more caffeine. Zing! Back when I was a heavier coffee drinker, that stuff used to give me headaches. Took me ages to figure out why.
I guess food's on my mind because of the weird little experience I had yesterday. I had a chiropractic appointment downtown, so I headed down early to do some other shopping, and ended up having lunch on the waterfront at this place called the "HiDive," a teeny little bar/lunch spot near Red's Java House. The funny part is - and it took me awhile to puzzle this out, sitting in the place - I remember when it was a dive, a real one, called The Boondocks, with a no-frills menu of bar standards, tilting wood tables, a microscopic stage about big enough for one guy with a guitar. Now, it's been gussied up to look like pretty much every other respectable lunch spot, with the same gourmet salads, $8.50 Niman Ranch hamburgers, and shirtsleeve clientelle that, dimes for dollars, were probably 90% tech industry people. There might've been a couple of designers in there - the younger dudes in T-shirts.
There used to be more dodgy spots in SF. The groaning old wood hotel by the Caltrain tracks, with the surprsingly nice bar on the ground floor. The 11th St. clubs, when they were still dark and crappy. The lower Haight. Polk St. Things have changed.
And it amazes me that I've been here that long, that I notice. That I can talk now like Herb Caen about places that don't exist anymore. In San Francisco. Wow.
It's a Trader Joe's thing. I've been shopping there more recently - addictive, that place, after awhile - picking up things like that Greek yogurt with figs in it, and seeded baguettes and spicy hummus dip. That's my breakfast, actually - bananas, baguette, hummus. Yogurt for later. And coffee, although not from TJs. That's from Peets, which is one of those Bay Area things. Peet's French roast. And amusingly, it's not even the most hardcore coffee you can find around here - that would probably be the stuff you can get at the Castro Cheesery, in which the cheap grind actually has more caffeine. Zing! Back when I was a heavier coffee drinker, that stuff used to give me headaches. Took me ages to figure out why.
I guess food's on my mind because of the weird little experience I had yesterday. I had a chiropractic appointment downtown, so I headed down early to do some other shopping, and ended up having lunch on the waterfront at this place called the "HiDive," a teeny little bar/lunch spot near Red's Java House. The funny part is - and it took me awhile to puzzle this out, sitting in the place - I remember when it was a dive, a real one, called The Boondocks, with a no-frills menu of bar standards, tilting wood tables, a microscopic stage about big enough for one guy with a guitar. Now, it's been gussied up to look like pretty much every other respectable lunch spot, with the same gourmet salads, $8.50 Niman Ranch hamburgers, and shirtsleeve clientelle that, dimes for dollars, were probably 90% tech industry people. There might've been a couple of designers in there - the younger dudes in T-shirts.
There used to be more dodgy spots in SF. The groaning old wood hotel by the Caltrain tracks, with the surprsingly nice bar on the ground floor. The 11th St. clubs, when they were still dark and crappy. The lower Haight. Polk St. Things have changed.
And it amazes me that I've been here that long, that I notice. That I can talk now like Herb Caen about places that don't exist anymore. In San Francisco. Wow.
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