Tin Fork
"Buona sera, signore,” I say. “Buona sera, buona sera,” says Nick Pecoraro from his gold-encrusted porch. I’ve stopped by to pay my respects to Little Italy’s unofficial ambassador. This is the time of night when …
I’m on the Orange Line. Where I get out at Park and Market in the East Village, a whole gang of kids is sitting on the railings goofing off, hanging out, clacking skateboards. And behind …
There ain’t nothin’ in this whole wide world as comforting and warming and tastebud-caressing as Asian porridge. Known as jok in Thailand, baw baw in Cambodia, cháo in Vietnam. At this very moment, I’m chowing …
"WE APOLOGIZE. This is our first day of business and we are SOLD OUT for lunch food at this time.” Bummer. The sign’s on the front door of the brand-new West Pac Noodle Bar. People …
"Benedict?” says Carla. “Actually, the name’s Ed.” “I know, you... But I have this insane desire for Benedict. Oh darling, please. For moi?” I know what she’s talking about. Eggs Benedict. She’s officially addicted. Especially …
It’s smack on 4:44. “Yea. Yeah! Yea!” “Good jaa-ob!” “Hasta la mañana, baby! Woo-hoo!” The voices just keep on rising to a roar. The setting sun flares on the horizon, then glows angrily like a …
Bah, humbug! Seriously. Just once, I wanna be rich at Christmas. Be able to splurge, party, take folks out, presents for everybody, not sweat the lettuce. Already, the holiday thing’s starting to strain wallet, patience, …
"Mmm. Helps with the cold,” croaks Ria. She’s leaning over the steam of her wonton soup. She fishes for a wonton that’s hiding beneath the cabbage and crispy croutons she dunked in the soup. Then …
Hail to the chef! That’s what I’m thinking as Danny lowers two whole racks of pork ribs into the maws of his Smokaroma Bar-B-Q Boss. He says it’s a wood-fired pressure-cooker. No more fuming black …
Amazing how long since I’ve been up here in Mission Hills. I’m at the corner of Washington and Goldfinch. Pass a doorstep with a carving in it: “Welcome Back to the Gathering.” It has a …
Merguez. Never quite knew what it was. A North African region? No. That’s the Maghreb. Some organization in a James Bond movie? Nuh-uh. It took me coming to the squirty fountain in the new Horton …
Guy sits at a bar, staring at a bull. Or is it a pig? Or is it a man? The bull’s part of a fresh-painted wild-colored mural on the wall behind the Negra Modelo and …
Feel like goat again. Last time I had some was at Mercado Hidalgo in TJ, where a couple of birria joints really deliver on the chivo stew. Before that, the cluster of Somali eateries around …
Between the optimist and the pessimist, the difference is droll; The optimist sees the donut, the pessimist, the hole. — Oscar Wilde I can’t help thinking of Oscar. Because in the heat of this Santa …
Huh. Row of guys’ butts bulging out onto the sidewalk, right where Fir crosses Kettner. This has to be the first place I’ve seen where people actually sit up to a bar on the street, …
Erk! Suddenly strikes me: Halloween’s around the corner. And seeing I’m here in Barrio Logan, my mind starts gravitating to vampire tacos. Tacos vampiros. Always wanted to try one. Never had one. Only problem: the …