I took these photos all within a few blocks of my home. I must have walked by more than once before I really saw them.
On the front porch of a Cowper Street cottage
This dome tops the building across the street from my apartment. Sometimes the window beneath the dome is lit at night. When I researched the dome online, all I found was the Flickr page of a renter in the building, who relayed the rumor that the top-floor apartment was the residence of the building's eccentric owner. Wonder if s/he owns a telescope.
The sushi at this University Avenue restaurant is okay. I like the cranes better.
These fellows are in the front yard of a nearby residence. I find them a little disturbing.
From my fifth-floor apartment, I hear trains sounding their horns, all day and into the night.
I used to like the sound. It's just a commuter rail line, but those long, low signals reminded me of speed, of my favorite cities, of travel to exciting new places.
Now the trains sound mournful, even threatening, and I think about the despair of a boy, a stranger to me.
Two days ago, a 16-year-old high-school student was killed at a train crossing, in what appears to have been a suicide.
As I sat in my car at a red light, taking my son to school, this boy's life ended, a stone's throw away. When I passed the crossing a few minutes later, on my way home, the police cars and ambulances were just arriving.
The Web site of the local newspaper contains an outpouring of shock and grief. Classmates and parents post tributes to the boy, and condolences to his family and friends. All describe him as friendly, funny, bright and caring. Could he not see how much he was valued? Or was it just not enough to hold him here?
I can't get away from the sound of the trains, so I am trying to change the meaning of that sound.
What I'm trying to hear is, simply: stop for a moment. Be here now. Feel the sun and the breeze, hear all the sounds. Gaze at the mountains, taste the food, sit in comfort, write with a pen, dance on strong legs, talk with a friend.
And I keep returning to the words of the boy's high-school principal, in a message to her stricken community: "It is very, very important that we look out for each other... No problem is so big that a solution cannot be found if people ask for help and support. Please look after and take care of each other. Each of you is precious to us."
Calafia opened earlier this year, heralded by full-page ads in the local newspaper. Chef Charlie Ayers is known for being the original chef at Google and, before that, personal chef to the Grateful Dead.
The spare interior is inviting. A communal table at the front of the room is made of reclaimed redwood; overhead is a long chandelier composed of 66 amber glass milk bottles.
A first visit for brunch, about a week after the opening, revealed a few rough edges. French toast had a lovely orange-cinnamon aroma; inside, however, it lacked the proper egg/bread fusion. Sourdough pancakes were fluffy and generously sized, but one was frankly burnt and should not have reached the table.
The best dish was chicken fideo, a spicy noodle entree. A cumin-scented tofu scramble looked a little messy but tasted great, and came with a good-sized portion of crispy-velvety hash browns.
I returned for a mid-week lunch and was greeted in the parking lot by a lovely smoky scent from the woodburning oven. My affable server confirmed that my choice of small plates would not be an overwhelming amount of food for a solo diner. He also made wine recommendations confidently and offered a second choice if I wasn't pleased by my first selection.
If all vegetables were as delicious as my bowl of braised greens with almond butter, no one would have trouble getting their recommended daily allowance. The chard was cooked with onions and turmeric, lightly sweetened with dried cranberries and topped with toasted walnuts.
Lamb meatballs looked like party food, skewered with cubes of toasted bread and Manchego cheese, then dipped in a sweet and savory tomato sauce. I was glad I didn't try to resist the crispy fries; I ate more than I intended, trying to decipher their spice mix. Garlic, definitely; cumin, maybe; sweet paprika?
Calafia's pyramid of "death by chocolate" is worth the caloric binge. Real whipped cream, intense chocolate flavor, super-strong (not burned) coffee... sip, repeat.
I've been back since then for an evening meal, and every dish has been a winner. Thoughtful touches abound. Nearly half of the seats in the house are barstools facing the shiny open kitchen, but there are purse hooks and a thick wooden beam at the ideal height for a footrest. The hostess who seated us saw me shrugging off my jacket and returned to hang up my coat.
Servers take your order on hand-held devices that allow you to settle your bill at the table. Coffee is brewed a cup at a time using a Clover machine, an $11,000 built-to-order device revered by coffee fanatics.
Even the servers' uniforms are designed with the customer in mind: The T-shirts helpfully provide a phonetic spelling on the back, "kal-uh-fee-ya."
My delightful evening at Ame began with "forbidden fruit," a cocktail composed of pear-spiced vodka, cinnamon quince puree, apple and lemon juice, apricot brandy, and Angostura bitters. It smelled like an exotic flower, but the taste was not overly sweet.
I almost didn't order this drink, because it sounded like too many disparate ingredients. Likewise, Ame's Web page describes the approach of chefs Hiro Sone and Lissa Doumani as "a refined blending of local ingredients with the flavors of southern France and northern Italy, filtered through Hiro's Japanese culinary sensibilities." Somehow, this succeeds.
B and I ordered the tasting menu, the prudent choice for both the indecisive and the adventurous. The colorful first course offered three goodies: scallop ceviche with candied jalapeno and watermelon radish, seared tuna with ponzu vinaigrette, and trout sashimi served with roe, asparagus and heart of palm. Next came oxtail soup with green garlic and farro verde, and rich oxtail tortelloni.
Another brothy plate followed: broiled sake- marinated black cod in shiso broth. The fish was slightly sweet and very lightly cooked.
My favorite savory plate was the grilled beef strip loin steak with poutine and green onions. Traditional poutine, I discovered, is Canadian comfort food: French fries topped with fresh cheese curds and brown gravy. This version was more elegant, but just as comforting, with a bed of crispy-starchy cubed potatoes beneath the well-marbled beef.
Desserts did not disappoint. I enjoyed the frozen banana cream pie parfait with white chocolate and rum caramel sauce. But when I think "pie," I think of flaky crust -- not an artistic dusting of crumbs on the plate. Why not just call it a parfait? And I would have liked more than a few dots of sauce on the plate.
B kindly let me taste his dessert, but he was quick to move it back to his side of the table, and I didn't blame him. Semolina pudding fritters were a little like beignets, and the lively citrus salad and elderflower soda pop kept the taste buds interested throughout.
If we hadn't ordered the set menu, I might have tried the "staff meal:" cuttlefish noodles tossed with sea urchin, wasabi, and umami soy sauce. Even though I'm not that crazy about sea-urchin sushi. Even though I can't quite imagine cuttlefish noodles.
Or perhaps the chawan-mushi, Japanese savory custard with sea urchin, geoduck clam, shimeji mushrooms and mizuna sauce. Again, my imagination fails.
Ame's Web site has beautiful pictures of the jewel-box room and the food -- much better than I could manage with my iPhone in the dimly lit space.
For my second visit to Jin Sho, I sat at the sushi bar, thinking I'd have a simple lunch. Instead, I decided spur-of-the-moment to ask for omakase, a Japanese phrase that means "It's up to you" (from 任す, entrust).
To a sushi chef, omakase means, "Serve me whatever you choose, whatever is best today." Jin Sho's best is very good indeed. This meal was so pretty and flavorful that it was like a little midday meditation.
I watched the sushi chef assembling this attractive little bowl and hoped that it was for me. When it was placed before me, I found yellowtail tartare, topped with a dab of caviar, and a small pool of wasabi soy sauce. I was instructed to save the small red fruit for last: it was yamamomo, a soft-fleshed fruit rather like kiwi in texture, equally tart and sweet.
Next was tuna sashimi salad, a dish I tried on a previous visit and was happy to see again. The fish was slightly seared and coated in crushed peppercorns, with just enough bite to accent the sesame dressing.
The rock shrimp tempura didn't look all that remarkable on the plate, but it was a perfect blend of crunchy, creamy, cool and spicy. It reminded me incongruously of a New Orleans po'boy in the way it combined crispy seafood, seasoned mayonnaise and lettuce.
The miso-marinated black cod was another fascinating fusion: sweet and salty, earthy yet delicate. It was followed by a bowl of miso soup and a sushi plate: tuna, white tuna, ocean trout, and the freshest, sweetest scallop sushi I've ever tasted.
Ada Augusta Byron, Lady Lovelace (1815-52) has been described as the first computer programmer.
She was the daughter of the poet George Gordon Byron. Her mother, who was briefly married to Byron and wanted to stamp out any poetical tendencies in their daughter, encouraged Ada to study mathematics and sciences.
Ada met mathematician/inventor Charles Babbage and was fascinated by his design for the analytical engine, a machine for making numerical calculations. She published an annotated summary of his work, adding (with his approval) several pages of notes on a method for calculating Bernoulli numbers, a sequence of numbers important to number theory.
Lady Lovelace took Babbage's ideas one step further, speculating that the analytical engine could be used for "developping [sic] and tabulating any function whatever," including music composition.
Today, March 24th, is Ada Lovelace Day, an international day of blogging to draw attention to women excelling in technology.
Read about pioneering computer programmer Admiral Grace Hopper and other women scientists at the Women in Science site, sponsored by the San Diego Supercomputer Center.
I'm a freelance writer specializing in health and medicine. This blog reflects my interests in food and restaurants, reading, travel, and writing about science. Contact me: orangeATnaswDOTorg
