Marina has a culture!

by janet on June 6th, 2010

Before I embark on my Espana series, I wanted to bust in and talk about two events that happened this weekend.  Saturday – Union Street Festival, Sunday – the first ever Fort Mason Farmers Market!

On Saturday night we had rezzies at Fleur de Lys for R2’s belated hatchday so I sincerely wanted to take it easy in terms of eating during the day. But as R2 always says, if wishes were horses, even beggars would ride. So I ended up gorging myself at the street fair.

There were lots of children at the street fair.  And by children I mean Marina-ites, recently described in the following fashion:

Marina residents subsist primarily on ripened fruit, insects, birth control, Jägermeister and poultry, with marijuana cigarettes making up the remaining 20-30% of their diet. Fashion, sobriety and pregnancy are the animals’ only predators.


But seriously, everyone was so blonde, skinny, tan, drunk, LOUD, and seemingly available! The beer gardens (three of them in a six-block festival?!) were chock-chock-full, but the balloon guy was barely doing any business.

I really wanted a corm and that’s all I wanted. But R2 insisted that we walk the festival from end to end so we had to literally touch the guard fence at Steiner and the guard fence at the other end, at Gough. My b-shug was so low that even the bounce house made me angry (“Ugh it’s just so fucking annoying“). I was rescued by perhaps the most delicious foodstuff ever to exist: BBQed oysters. Pictured top, mofos.  Look at that shit.  Swimming in hot buttery sauce, each oyster bigger than my tongue. I was practically full after just one.

Next, we had a knish. A knish is basically a hunka mashed potato wrapped in dough and fried. Lord almighty. This one had onions in it too, and we slathered it with Tapatio.

R2: It’s knish-ious!

Next up, the hallowed corm. Every time the guy took the brush (a legit paint brush) and doused the cobs on the BBQ with melted garlic butter concoction, a huge plume of buttery smoke was released into the sky. Glorious.

There was a big line, so the guy at the BBQ was feeling pressured to hand out the corn quickly, resulting in less-than-done corms being handed out. Unacceptable. So when we got to the front of the line, I made sure both R2 and I stood a little bit away with our backs turned to him and pretended to be making super hilarious conversation so he didn’t feel rushed. But then some douche Marina ass pushed in front of us and started breathing down his neck.  So this is the corn we got:

I ate the three burninated kernels you see, and then the rest very quickly.  It was knishious and sweet despite being slightly undercooked.

I understand that the bird is the word, but I am not a fowl fan. But I spied in someone’s hand chicken kabobs that looked shiver-inducingly scrumptious. I asked where they got it and they pointed to the stand, where I got one and tore into it so fast that I forgot to take a picture till it was too late:

It was like a mouthwatering version of Pay it Forward – someone immediately came up to me and said “WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?” I felt a warm glow as I, too, lifted my pointer finger to the consecrated stand.

That warm glow spread across my entire body when I spied, crouched down talking to a little girl and surrounded by buff suited men in wraparounds, the one, the only – GAVIN NEWSOM. Swooooon!  I hyperventilated for a bit, got shy when R2 asked if I wanted him to take a picture of me and the manalicious mayor, and ran away, all the while updating my Facebook status to brag.

Finally, sausage and chicken jambalaya. R2 used to, as a child, walk to the festival near his house, buy jambalaya, cover the entire top of the bowl with green Tabasco until it looked like a swampy pond, walk home with it to let it soak in, and then watch The Empire Strikes Back while he ate it. Then he would take a nap, and then walk back for dinner and get another bowl, cover THAT one with green Tabasco, walk home, and watch The Empire Strikes Back again.

So we got the jambalaya, consulted my almost-photographic food memory (WAIT! I REMEMBER GREEN TABASCO AT THE FIRST PLACE WE ATE!), surreptitiously shook out half a bottle’s worth onto the rice, and shoveled it in. Awesome.

By the way, Fleur de Lys was amazing. Even though salsify is not in season which made me close to suicidal, we had a great time. They couldn’t seat us for a little while, so they gave us a half bottle of bubbly for free. The sommelier remembered that I had moved here recently-ish from LA, recommended just the PERFECT bottle of wine that was one of the cheapest (!), and gave us a superb port to go with our dessert. And then… the celebrity chef himself, DJ HUBERT! He came out and said hi and I managed, unlike last time, to refrain from screaming “I LOVE SALSIFYYYYY!” at him with my purple teeth.

Today, we went to the inaugural Fort Mason Farmers Market right near my house. When I moved into the neighborhood, I just couldn’t believe that there wasn’t a market nearby. I mean, it was ok because it spurred me to get my CSA box, but still. And now that is all remedied.

But since I left the charger for The Kraken somewhere in Spain, my cammy was out of batteries. So I don’t have beautiful photos of the cherries (only two weeks left in the season, folks!) I got, nor of the ugly fava beans in their pods, nor of the baguette that was longer than Ron Jeremy x 18. We also got a messload of used books at Book Bay  (Push, Sellevision, Sophie’s World [$1!], The World According to Garp, and an antique biography on Le Petomane, the “fartiste” whose famous act at the Moulin Rouge was blowing out a candle a foot away by farting.)

So! Expect my used book collection to grow weekly, and many future reports of me cheating on my CSA.

One Response to “Marina has a culture!”

  1. EnglishFriend says:

    Hmmmm…… I’m hungry.
    And I want to go to SF.
    And eat BBQ’d oysters.
    Lots of…….

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