Scowl, Nu?

It was a simple enough question when you think about it. I mean, we did live there for almost two years before moving to San Francisco… and we are only living about an hour and a half away from there… and it is only about five dollars in tolls to get there and back. Ok! Enough already! We'll go to Boston!

That's pretty much how the discussion went earlier this month. We picked a day (September 5), woke up dreadfully early, filled the Kia up with some hi-test and hit the open road.

The details of the drive are even less than interesting. I-84 is actually quite a pretty drive. However, once you hit the Mass Pike, all you see is concrete. Miles and miles of concrete. Boring concrete. At least we could tune in WFNX radio out of Boston for the last 45 minutes of the drive.

We made it into Boston around 8:30, and by 8:45, we had parked the car in a lot under the Prudential Center mall (solely out of convenience) and were trying to figure out what the hell to do next. Usually, when we take a trip somewhere, we set up a list of things to do. Now, it's not like we detail every minute of the trip, but it's good to have an agenda. For example, here are the basic notes that we put together for our trip to NYC:

Meet up with Annie (a friend from San Francisco who recently moved to Manhattan) for drinks and dinner
Go to d.b.a. for a couple of beers
Find some noren (Japanese curtains)
Try and hook up with Janet from Janet Jewelry to have our rings re-sized
Hit Anime Crash (Japanese animated movies) and Kinokuniya (Japanese book store)
Look around Soho
Try and find a good place to have moules frites (Belgian mussels and fries)

As you can see, it wasn't an itinerary, or even an agenda, but just a guide of things that we wanted to do. However, we didn't have anything close to that for this trip, aside from the fact that we knew that we would either be having dinner at Gyuhama or Cafe Sol Azteca, two of our favorite restaurants from when we were living there.

So, the trip started out with us trying to figure out what the hell we wanted to do. Since we were close to Newbury street, the first choice was just to walk around there and window shop. Well, window shop was all we could do because none of the shops opened before noon. "That's right," we quickly remembered "Boston opens late on Sundays!"

Still, we wandered up and down the street, peeking into stores that we once shopped at, lamenting the loss of Coffee Connection to Starbucks and standing in shock at the now vacant building that used to be Waterstone's Books.

Ok, that shot a whole hour. What next?

Next was Harvard Square. Though it had been over five years since we were last on the T (Boston's light rail system), we knew the basic way to get there: Green Line to the Red Line, get off at Harvard Square. We walked to Arlington station and went down to the booth to purchase our 1 day T passes. Unfortunately, the Arlington T station didn't sell passes, but in a show of good faith, he let us in for free, telling us that we can purchase the passes at the transfer station.

Harvard Square… well, it was Harvard Square. The nasty, smelly Au Bon Pan was still there, as was Herrell's Ice Cream and Harnett's Naturopathic/Health Food Shop. The great magazine shop in the middle of the square was still there as well! Woo hoo! Five years and everything was pretty much the same!

Cambridge was a blast… we ate asian noodles, bought some closeout Timbuk 2 Messenger Bags from Urban Outfitters, and spent way too much money at Anime Crash, Million Year Picnic (one of the best comic book shops in the country) and Newbury Comics (where we didn't actually buy any comics but did buy lits of little knick-knacks). Unfortunately, by the early afternoon we were all tuckered out from walking and shopping, so we decided to make a trip down to our old neighborhood (Allston) to search out the legendary Sunset Grill and Tap.

The Sunset Grill and Tap is one of the beer meccas of the world. Unfortunately, when we were living there, I was quite underage, making it impossible to actually enter the bar. Legend was that this bar had every beer known to man available. Rumor was that there were over one hundred taps and a couple hundred beers available in the bottle. As a self-proclaimed beer geek, I knew that we must find this place… and since it would allow us to walk through the old neighborhood, I figured that it was a worthwhile place to grab a cold beer and relax. This time it was the Red Line to the Green Line "B" train, exiting at Harvard and Commonwealth.

The neighborhood was pretty much the same as we had left it years before… except now it was being called Allston Village in an attempt to bring the yuppies and socialites (and their money) to the area. We walked up Harvard Ave and entered the Sunset.

Holy shit.

First off, the taps run across the whole back wall… with over 140 beers available (and only two non craft beers on tap… Amstel Light and Heineken). I asked if they had a list and they presented me with a book (ok, actually a pamphlet) that listed over four hundred different beers (between the bottled and the taps). They had everything that I could ever want: Anchor Small Beer, Thurn und Taxis Roggen (a rye beer), Stella Artois (a Belgian Pilsner), North Coast Brewing's Red Seal Ale and to top it off, Framboise and Hoegaarden on tap! Life was good. Before we left, we made sure to get punch-cards for their two beer clubs: the craft beer club and the yard club. Once you get through the card, they give you a prize (usually a shirt or mug)… and since there was no expiration date, it seemed to make sense. Upon further examination of the yard club's card, it noted that they serve a maximum of two yards of beer per person per night. Considering that each yard is over a quart of beer, this made of sense to me… though I wondered how a person could ever consume more than two without passing out.

Post Sunset Grill, we meandered back towards the car, stopping at New England Comics and then walking up Newbury Street. By the time we made it back to the car, we were hungry and decided to make our final stop of the night at Cafe Sol Azteca, our favorite Mexican restaurant of all times.

We made it home at 9:45… fifteen minutes before Iron Chef started on the Food Network. Truly, this was a very good way to spend a Sunday.

One of our favorite candy bars is the KitKat Bar. You know why it's so great: four sugar wafers covered in milk chocolate. For the first time ever, the two of us had a chance to try the British made version of the KitKat Bar due to the good graces of Sunrise Market, a British specialty foods shop in San Francisco.

What did we think of the British version in comparison to the good ol' American version of our beloved candy bar?

The Technical Facts:

Last Tuesday, a friend of ours from San Francisco decided to stop in. Judy, who I worked with for the last few years before I moved to Connecticut, was visiting relatives and friends in Maine and New Hampshire, and she decided to head down south to Hartford to say hi and grab a few beers before heading back to the West Coast.

There's not much to say, other than the fact that it we had a ball. Judy made it to the apartment at 3:45, we caught some beers at the Spigot, had some pizza at Luna Pizza and then the next morning, we had breakfast and she left for Logan Airport.

However, even though there isn't much to say, there is something to show you. Judy took some pictures when she was at our soon-to-be-infamous "Gettin' the Hell out of SF" party, and I have scanned the best pictures in for the website.

This picture is of me and Rick. Rick was a Senior Manager at my office in San Francisco and was not only my mentor, but a good friend.

On the left, you will see my bestest of friends: Carlos (read the San Francisco Barfly Chronicles for more about Carlos) drinking a pint of Speakeasy White Lightning.

This grainy picture is of Judy (the aforementioned visitor from San Francisco) and me.

On the left of this picture is Carlos' wife, Adriana who is deep in conversation with Janet (in the center), while I pose my ugly mug for the photographer (Judy).

Top Row: Judy and Adriana
Bottom Row: Molly, Janet, Rick and Avery

…and here is your lovable host saying good night.

Like I said in a previous smirk, when we told our friends in San Francisco that we were moving to Hartford, they warned us about everything that we wouldn't be able to get out in Connecticut. Well, we've been here for 44 days now, and here's my tally of the things they said that we couldn't get out here.

The sushi there is going to suck.
Well, anyone who has read the 6/27/99 smirk knows that Janet and I found a great sushi bar less than two miles from our apartment (Fuji on New Britain Ave). Last weekend, we decided to take a drive and ended up at another sushi hot-spot called Murasaki.

Murasaki was the quintessential San Francisco sushi experience. The fish was excellent, the company was boorish, the chefs were aloof and the sake was overpriced. We left feeling simultaneously sated and slighted. It reminds me of every time I walked out of Sanraku on Sutter Street in San Francisco… except that at Sanraku they had Sapporo beer in the 21oz bottle, not the 12oz only.

Maybe you can find sushi, but what about dim sum?
Janet and I used to go to Yank Sing in San Francisco for a dim sum lunch every couple of weeks. Dim Sum there was the real deal: steam carts would come by and you would point to the dishes you wanted. Our average dim sum session would last for an hour or so, where we would end up sharing anywhere from 10 to 15 dishes (there are only 3-4 dumplings in each steam dish) drinking a pot or two of pu-erh tea (a relatively esoteric semi-fermented loose leaf tea) and spending between $50 and $65 for the meal. The loss of this weekend ritual concerned me, and I thought that my San Franciscan compatriots had me on this one.

Bzzt! Wrong! Green Tea Restaurant in Farmington (14 miles from home) serves 20 to 30 different types of dim sum every Sunday morning. When we went there last Sunday, we were treated to excellent siu mai (a pork dumpling), kuo teh (pan-fried potsticker dumplings) and the best char-siu bao (steamed pork buns) that I have ever tasted. Not only that, but when I asked for pu-erh tea, they brought out a pot for us on the house. I guess that not too many caucasians ever eat dim sum there, let alone order in Cantonese and request an obscure tea. We left feeling a few pounds heavier, and spent less than a Jackson ($18 before the tip) to boot!

Ok. What about Mexican food?
Well, they've got me so far on the Mexican food front, but I have been told by reliable sources that the Parkville neighborhood sports a few great authentic Mexican joints. Unfortunately, there is no sign of a taqueria.

On the other side, Hartford has some great Jamaican, Portuguese and Brazilian restaurants… and since I can get everything I need to make burritos at our local Stop and Shop (they have a whole aisle dedicated to Goya products), I don't miss the those L. Ricos burritos all that much.

By the way, if you've never had a fresh Portugese Roll (which I couldn't find for the life of me in San Francisco) from a store-front bakery, you're missing out on one of the greatest culinary experiences.

How about Italian food?
Hartford's Italian section wins. Hands down. Not only do we have better Northern and Southern Italian food, but the pizza here is the best in the country (in my not so humble opinion). You can go the premium route (like Luna's, Lena's or Harry's), or just go out to Whitney Pizza for a good, greasy Greek pizza where they cut it in squares unless you ask them to cut it like a pie.

So, you say that the food is better there. How about the beer? San Francisco wins hands down, right?
First off, let me say that nothing beats the Toronado in San Francisco when it comes to beer. So, let's just factor that out and look at a level playing field.

Hartford supports three good microbreweries, and the surrounding area has another four or five breweries or brewpubs that are putting out good beers. Once you add in the whole Northeast, you have over 100 brewpubs and breweries shipping local craft beers to Greater Hartford Area.

Not only do you find local brews at all of the bars, fresh Anchor, Anderson Valley and Sierra Nevada are all shipped in from California, and Guinness Importing is based out of Connecticut, ensuring fresh European beer at almost every corner bar. Plus, if you get thirsty and want to buy beer for home, Crazy Bruce's runs head to head against San Francisco's Beverages and More. Just make sure that you purchase the beer before 8pm, Monday through Saturday, because the blue laws shut down the sales of closed bottles of alcohol after that (bars serve until 2am, 7 days a week).

Well then, how about the arts?
San Francisco has a beautiful new library that nobody uses. Hartford, on the other hand, has the busiest library system in the country.

Hartford is also home to the Bushnell Theater, which houses a symphony, ballet, opera and takes in touring broadway shows. There's also Theaterworks (the equivalent of off-broadway) and the Hartford Stage (the local stage company that hosts major talent like Andrew McCarthy), as well as a number of major theater houses within an hour or so drive (Oakdale, Goodspeed, Shubert/New Haven).

We have Real Art Ways in Hartford, a multi-functional theater and gallery for modern art as well as the Wadsworth Athenaeum, one of the most prestigious classical art museums in the nation.

Here's a long shot… bet you can't get Odwalla Juices out there!
You're right. We don't get Odwalla juice out here. We get Fresh Samantha's juices in Connecticut, and it's better tasting than Odwalla more cases than not.

Plus, we can get my favorite coffee, Torrefazione Italia, out here as well.

So, is there anything that you can't get in Hartford?
If you need cologne, you can go to Sephora (like in San Francisco) or Nordstrom (again, like in San Francisco). We have Borders Books and Starbucks Coffee and the Disney Store, just like in San Francisco's Union Square. But if you want the real funky stuff, you have to head to New York City… but since that's only a few hours away by train, that's really not so bad, is it?

You'll never be able to get good sushi out there.

That was the general reaction from all of our friends in San Francisco when we told them that we were moving back east to Hartford. Of course, most of the people making this statement had never been to Hartford before, but they brought up a good point. Over the last five years, we had become quite the sushi conniseurs. Janet and I made a point to go out for sushi at least once a month, and had tried over 20 sushi restaurants since we first arrived in California (over 10 in San Francisco alone).

That's not all. When we would go out to sushi, we were at the bar for at least two hours at a time. Between our college Japanese classes and the time we spent with our friend Toshi, we knew not only how order in Japanese, but we could carry on a conversation with the chef and even knew enough of the customs so that we didn't come off as ignorant gaijin. We were sushi fanatics, but now we were moving to a uncharted sushi territory. Would we be without our favorite food now that we were moving to the East Coast?

When we first arrived in Hartford, we made a point to immediately start our search for a good sushi bar. The first restaurant that we tried was Osaka in West Hartford Center. Osaka had been around for 8 years, so we figured that it would be a safe choice. We were mistaken.

The first problem was the music. For some reason, they were playing Indian music. Usually, a Japanese restaurant will play Japanese music… or at least classical music. But when you hear Indian music at a Japanese restaurant, you feel like they're trying to pull one over on the white folk. Still, it wasn't a clear sign that the meal was going to be a disaster.

When we sat down at the bar, they presented us with a full menu and a little check-sheet ticket for the sushi. Two bad signs in a row. First, when you sit at a sushi bar, you should only be eating sushi, soup or a light appetizer like chawan-mushi (egg custard with tuna) or hamachi-kama (salted broiled yellowtail neck). You shouldn't ever order cooked food like chicken teriyaki, as the smell of the sauce overpowers the fish. So, if the restaurant expects people to order that kind of food when they sit at a sushi bar… there's a problem. The sushi ticket was a bigger problem.

The interaction between the sushi chef and the customer is an integral part of the sushi experience. You're supposed to order a couple of pieces of nigiri, then wait for a little while… ask what else is fresh, maybe buy the chef a beer and then order your next round. You're supposed to develop a rapport with the chef. Places that use the "card" method where you're instructed to just check off the fish that you want are usually suspect.

I addressed the chef in Japanese and asked if we could just order piece by piece. He didn't understand me. Figuring that I was speaking with a horrid American accent, I asked him again in English and he said that we could order piece by piece from him.

As we continued with the mediocre meal, I noticed that the chefs were speaking in something other than Japanese. I knew I had heard that language before… what is it?

Shit. Cantonese. I was in a Chinese-run Japanese restaurant that was playing Indian music. I wasn't speaking poorly, they just didn't speak any Japanese. A few directed questions confirmed that the chefs had never worked for a Japanese chef before, or had even gone through any formal sushi training. They were just ordering "sushi grade fish", using a cookbook recipe for sushi rice and were making a go of it. That's why their fish was not prepared properly. I don't know what offended me more: Chinese chefs impersonating Japanese chefs, or the fact that the patrons never knew the difference. Our usual two hour sushi meal was concluded within an hour.

Disappointed but still optimistic, we tried another restaurant the next weekend: Fuji. When we walked in, we were greeted with the traditional irasshimase and were immediately seated at the bar… which was a good sign, and hopefully a good omen. The chef then directly greeted us with a konnichiwa (good day), to which I responded konbanwa, o-genki desu-ka (good evening, how are you)? He immediately started speaking to us in Japanese. A good sign.

After we were seated, the waitress asked for our drink order and passed us a menu and one of those check-sheets. The chef immediately told us that we didn't need to use check-sheets and that they were there to make it easier for people who had never been out for sushi before. The menu was there in case we wanted appetizers (we ordered the edamame (boiled, salted soybeans)), but it was expected that we were not going to get any cooked food. The edamame was fantastic, and the first round of fish was excellent.

Still, something seemed a little wrong… but I couldn't put my finger on it. I asked the chef what his name was, and he responded "Ko"… which is not a traditional Japanese name. I asked what prefecture (state) he was from, and he said that he was from China.

My heart sunk. Were there no Japanese owned sushi bars in Hartford? What were we going to do? I mean, the fish was good, but if the chef wasn't trained in the traditional Japanese manner, the fish selection would probably be hit or miss. Ko continued as I wracked my brain in a mild sake-induced panic, saying "but I apprenticed for five years in Nagoya" which is the town in Japan where our college Japanese instructor was from. He went on to say that he lived in Japan, went through the standard apprenticeship and was a licensed sushi chef in Japan. He was fluent in Japanese, had a Japanese wife and was working in Boston as a sushi chef until 1998, when he bought Fuji from the retiring owner. Ko had his fish delivered in by his personal fishmonger that he used when he was a chef in Boston, and went up there occasionally to work in his friend's sushi bar, Yama (which has a phenomenal reputation).

Over the next few hours, we ate and talked and listened to his stories of trying to educate the locals about good fish. When we left, we were ecstatic. The food was great, the chef/owner was superb and the experience ended up being as good as any place in San Francisco.

We went back to Fuji Friday night for a two hour meal of sushi, sake and biiru (beer). We ate and ate and drank (Ko even let us buy him a beer) and put ourselves in his hands as he created some oishii (tasty) and kawaii (pretty) dishes that he knew we would appreciate. Once it was ika (squid) sashimi with cucumber, another time it was chopped tako (octopus) with salmon roe. He even brought us a broiled sake-kama (salted salmon neck) which was the best I had ever eaten.

But the most touching part of the evening came when we asked for the check. Ko gave us one of the check-sheets and asked if we remembered everything we had eaten and then to mark our orders down on the sheet. The fact is, he trusted that we were going to mark down everything honestly… and when I told him that we marked down everything that we could remember, he told us that we were his friends and that it he was sure it was close enough.

I now have a favorite sushi restaurant in Connecticut… and it only took two tries to find it.

There are certain things that I really missed when I lived in San Francisco. I think that it's best summed by this letter that I sent to my management on my last day at work:

PRODUCT MANAGER LEAVES SAN FRANCISCO IN SEARCH OF BETTER RYE BREAD

In a startling move, Avery Glasser, Product Manager for <name of company deleted>'s wildly successful Network Voice Response offering, ended his five-year tenure at <company name> and decided to persue opportunities outside of the company.

The reason cited: "I just can't get good rye bread in San Francisco." Glasser, a Connecticut Native, and lover of good, hearty rye bread has been lamenting the lack of good bread products in San Francisco for the last five years. In a press conference at the Toronado (a local establishment in the Lower Haight district) last month, he presented his case for leaving the West Coast:

"San Francisco just can't seem to do a decent job on any of their bread products. Sure, you can get a damn good Sourdough batard almost anywhere, but once you try to find a rye bread or [even] a pumpernickel…   good luck. All you'll find is mushy, flavorless bread that could barely stand up to peanut butter and jelly, let alone a substantial Corned Beef and Horseradish sandwich. Then again, you can't get good Corned Beef, Pastrami or even something as simple as good mustard or horseradish out here…"

Glasser then obtained another pint of Prohibition Ale, and after taking a hearty sip he continued:

"…and don't get me started about those circular sponges that they call bagels out here. But hey, it's not like people out here know a damn thing about bagels, lox or baked salmon anyway."

Glasser then commented about his search for a blueberry muffin that didn't have oatmeal, wheat germ, or some other "absurd excrement" added to it, and then proceeded to make his way towards the door muttering something about needing a "schwarma" [ed. schwarma is a syrian dish made up of roasted vegetables, grilled meats and sesame sauce, wrapped in a piece of lavash, or middle-eastern flatbread].

When asked about the press conference the next morning, Glasser responded that he "didn't remember" stating his departure to the crowd assembled at the Toronado, but after four or five pints of something called "Arrogant Bastard Ale" he couldn't remember even getting the aforementioned schwarma.

Glasser then commented that he had "tons of stuff" to complete before shutting down his laptop for the last time, and as he headed for the door, he commented:

"Yeah, it sounds like me to say something like that. I stand my my initial statement that the bread here…   well… it sucks. Still, I am sure that there will be enough food stuffs out in Hartford [Connecticut] that will suck as well.

"At least I'll finally be able to get a decent pastrami sandwich whenever I want."

Yesterday, I had decided that I had been without any good Jewish soul food for too long, so we decided to make a pilgrimage to one of the best delis in Connecticut: Rein's Deli in Vernon.

Rein's is the quintessential deli for New York City ex-patriates. Here, you can get anything from baked salmon to bialys to a pastrami on fresh baked rye with Hebrew National mustard and fresh horseradish… actually, I did get an order of baked salmon, a bialy and a lean pastrami sandwich on fresh baked rye… and an egg cream and a Dr. Brown's black cherry soda. Sure, my eyes were bigger than my stomach, but it was time for me to indulge in one of the joys of being Jewish and living in the Northeast.

It's funny. Some people have told me that you can't go home again… that every fond memory I have is just that, a memory. Nothing will ever live up to the memories of my childhood. Maybe for some people that's true, but right now I'm thinking of that perfect pastrami sandwich and I've realized that I really have come home.