You mean the answer isn't "pop"?: Maybe you were flashing on the first time you heard "Billie Jean," or remembering how, for the life of you, you couldn't imagine what Macaulay Culkin might have been doing on those Neverland sleepovers. Mission Mission? Totally thinking bev. Blogger Allan Hough asked: What's an appropriate beverage with which to toast MJ? Read the answer and shed a tear.
You got secret sauce on your chin: Food Politics' Marion Nestle had to pinch herself. Was a Burger King ad really making so obvious a reference to fellatio? Above the name of the BK Super Seven Incher -- a, wink-wink, sandwich -- some incredulous-looking blond opens wide to receive an edible torpedo, with the promise: It'll Blow Your Mind Away. Turns out the ad is from a BK franchisee in Singapore (no direct relation to the parent company). Look and lust -- for the meat-packed sandwich, we mean.
"I'm so excited about next year," said event producer Jim Lewi. "We're coming back. An event like this is strictly a numbers game, and we know how to do it right." This year's inaugural festival -- a mashup of food vendors, Food Network personalities, local chefs, and bands -- was plagued, at least at the start of the 10-hour event, by long lines, food shortages, and general chaos. Lewi said 8,600 attendees got in, with several more thousands unable even to make it through the gates. SF Weekly was a co-sponsor of the festival.
Lewi reiterated to SFoodie that he's taken the blame for problems at the festival, personally answering thousands of angry emails and refunding more than half the ticket gross. "We've given pretty much every dollar back," he said, adding that he himself has lost well over $1 million from the debacle. The producer said he's held four postmortems to figure out precisely what went wrong. "In 20 years of doing festivals, I've never had the entire audience show up at doors," Lewi said. He'd previously suggested that some of the food shortages were due to lackluster advance sales, followed by throngs of last-minute attendees rushing the gates.
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In 1928, home ec writers and secret lesbian lovers Genevieve Callahan and Lou Richardson (yep, Lou was a she) left Iowa, where they'd been working as editors for Better Homes & Gardens magazine. In San Francisco, their ex-boss Larry Lane had just bought a failing regional magazine called Sunset.
For the next decade, Gen and Lou were co-architects of Sunset's revolutionary changes in publishing, not least of which was inventing today's style of journalism-based food reporting. No longer would food writers necessarily be pearl-strung home ec ladies, cloistered in test kitchens and sheathed in lacy aprons (though it was a breed that would survive well into the 1960s). In a series of fact-finding trips they called Pacific Coasting, Gen and Lou showed that food writers could be field reporters, discovering avocados and abalone, and mining very un-mainstream cuisines like Chinese and Mexican.
Long-time Sunset food editor Jerry Anne Di Vecchio knew Gen and Lou mostly by reputation. "They stopped everywhere," Di Vecchio said, "any taco stand or Oriental market, barbecue or food festival. They were discovering everything for the first time and telling their readers about it -- they were the first ones in America to write about posole."
The basic idea is to throw slices of fruit into a big pitcher with some sugar, a splash of brandy, and a bottle of wine, chill it for an hour or so, add a little seltzer for effervescence and pour into ice-filled glasses. Orange, lemon, and apple slices are the classic fruit options, but it's fun to mix it up with plums, cherries, and berries when you're using a red-wine base or kiwi, pears, peaches, and apricots when you're in a lighter, whiter mood.
You can also alter the flavor through your choice of liqueur. Supplement or replace the brandy with an orange-flavored kicker like Curaçao or Grand Marnier, or bring out the flavor of your chosen vegetation with applejack, kirsch, or peach or apricot brandy. Adjust the amounts of sugar and brandy to make your sangria sweet or dry, soft or potent, and muddle some of the fruit if you want a more summery flavor. A branch of mint is a nice touch. Or if you don't want the fun of stirring up your own, Zarzuela (2000 Hyde at Union) and Ramblas (557 Valencia at 17th St.) offer admirable examples.
The next Cucina Povera dinners will celebrate the region of Puglia: dandelion greens with anchovy and pangrattato (fried bread crumbs); mussels with potato and chile; bocconnotti (described as a sweet, delectable treat) and carteddate al miele (honey fritters). Of course, the menu is subject to change pending ingredient availability. That's so seasonal! Dinners cost $30 per person, or $39 with two wine pairings, excluding service and tax.
Fans of the Marin native and incandescent Food Network star haven't been passively despairing. Wag Michelle Madison posted several suggestions on Food Network Humor: massive spork, mudflap babes, even a skewered Andrew Zimmern. Our suggestion? How about taking the damn spoon down and forget the whole monster utensil decorating scheme ever happened.
Vinho Verde, a Portuguese white that literally means "green wine," fits the bill. Famega makes one of the best, with bright acidity, crisp-apple freshness, and an ever so slight petillance -- and D&M Wines and Liquors in Pac Heights (2200 Fillmore at Sacramento) sells it for $8.99.
It's made from three grapes you've likely never heard of: Avesso, Azal, and Pedernã, all hyperlocal to the small Minho region in Portugal that produces them. It's low in alcohol (9.5 percent), so think about picking up a few bottles.
