Category: Food

Possibly the only entry that falls under “Food” and “Landmarks”

There’s a scene in The Matrix where Cypher discusses the price of his betrayal with Agent Smith in a fancy restaurant, over some steak. That steak is presumably the ideal steak, the most perfect combination of taste and texture that a neural implant can render. It certainly looks (and sounds) like it onscreen. Whenever I think about that scene or watch the movie, I usually get a craving for dead cow, to which even the finest Applebee’s cut inevitably fails to live up.

Last night, Maria took me to the Mayan Gypsy on Market Street. I ordered the Tierra y Mar, medium rare. And it was that steak.

I don’t think I can ever go to another restaurant again.

Last night I made fried tofu for the Tuesday Night Ballers–the first time I’ve had it in many years, and the first time I’ve made it myself. They liked it, or pretended to, and I was glad it turned out the way I remembered it. The smell of making it was a pretty powerful memory trigger.

I ate bacon only rarely until I was in my teens; instead, we always had fried tofu as our bacon substitute, whether on salads, in sandwiches or solo for breakfast. It works very well in each of those roles, but I have no idea what made my parents decide that it was a bacon substitute, because it tastes nothing like bacon (in fact, it tastes like nothing else of which I know). They’re both flat and fried, though, I guess.

Here’s the recipe. I’m calling it this because my mom’s maiden name is Dixon, and that side of the family comprises the only other people I know who make it.

Dixon Family Fried Tofu

  • Some Tamari Sauce (similar to soy sauce, but different; look in Asian groceries or health food stores)
  • Some Brewer’s Yeast (not regular yeast; check the same health food stores)
  • A Hunk of Firm Tofu
  • Maybe Some Vegetable Oil

Get out three plates. Cover one with a puddle of tamari and another with a layer of brewer’s yeast. Drain the tofu and place the hunk on the third plate.

Cut slices of the tofu widthwise, as if it were a loaf of bread. Be gentle but firm, so the tofu doesn’t disintegrate, and try to get each slice a little less than a quarter of an inch thick. You probably have enough tamari and yeast to fry the whole block if you want, so cut off as many slices as you plan on eating; two or three is a good for a sandwich or a breakfast side, and one or two is enough to crumble over an individual salad.

Heat up a skillet or a frying pan. You can heat a little of that vegetable oil in there too, if you want–no more than a teaspoon. You can fry without the oil, but it does distribute the heat better than the tamari, so you’re less likely to wind up with little black spots.

Lay each slice flat in the tamari; turn it over several times so it’s covered well, but you don’t have to marinade it. You just want it wet.

Lay those slices in the brewer’s yeast, like you’re breading them (because you are). Do this quickly but well, because the yeast will absorb the sauce and fall off the tofu in clumps if you wait around.

Lay carefully in the skillet and fry until browned. Flip several times to avoid scorching, especially if you’re not using oil, but be careful to avoid the aforementioned clumping problem.

You’ll probably have to add more brewer’s yeast, because it tends to soak up drops of tamari and solidify so it won’t stick to the tofu. Be liberal with both sauce and yeast–they’re providing the flavor. One hunk of tofu serves three to four.

None of this, of course, applies on Tuesdays

We’ve developed a pretty good collective work ethic, really. Maria and I both get home around 6, lounge for a bit to recover from the stress of the day, and probably change clothes. I’ll hit my RSS feed, friends page and email. We decide what we’re having for dinner (almost always pizza, beans and rice, or leftovers of the above) and heat it in some fashion. We sit at the table and eat while watching an X-Files episode (into Season Three and going strong). We dump the dishes in the sink.

This is the point where we discuss getting some work done, and I usually go in and at least sit at the computer, where I do the email / friends / rss dance again. We talk for a while about how we should be studying, and sometimes Maria will actually study. I basically just talk about it. I brush my face and wash my teeth while Maria takes a shower. Most days we read aloud–we finished Small Gods a little while ago, and have started on Neuromancer. We bring up the subject of homework; Maria, because she is diligent and responsible, actually does some. As for me, you know, by now it’s past 2200 hrs and I have to get up early, is it really even worth starting at this point? I usually get a phone call or call somebody around then, and Maria talks to Graham, Bee, Michelle or somebody via phone or IM. We’ve both likely crashed by midnight.

Like I said, it’s a pretty good work ethic. Except for my work.

Something pretty gross happened last night.

I semi-regularly make pitchers of Country Time lemonade, which only I drink but which I drink in great quantities. The pitcher is a hassle to wash, so usually I’ll let it get almost empty (at which point the mixture is too strong to drink) and then mix up a new batch in the same pitcher. Kind of like stone soup. I do empty it out and clean it every three batches or so, though.

Yesterday, trying to decide which leftovers to eat, I noticed that we’d almost run out of juice. I pulled the aforementioned pitcher out from the back of the fridge and set it on the counter in anticipation of making more lemonade for dinner. I knew it had been a while since my last batch, but hey, it was in the refrigerator. No worries.

A couple minutes later, Maria started wrinkling her nose up and wondering what smelled bad. I didn’t smell anything, and said as much, but suggested it might be the black bean hummus and pita leftovers we had out from the 3rd Avenue Café. Maria disagreed. Maybe it was the dishes, then? No, nothing we’d been eating would have that kind of sickly-sweet-sour odor.

In the process of emptying the dishwasher, I lifted up the lemonade pitcher and set it down somewhere else. Maria had to leave the kitchen from the smell. I finally took a closer look at the pitcher, which contained green liquid with black stuff floating in it.

I poured it out, followed by gallons of soapy water and a thick coat of baking soda, and Maria made me throw away the pitcher and everything the Undead Lemonade had touched. She wanted to burn them, actually, but we lacked the necessary tools.

If I ever want to kill somebody by burning their flesh off, though, at least now I know what to do.

Last night Ian, Caitlan and I hopped in Ian’s car amidst pouring rain and drove down to Planet Thai in Lexington, where (as per Mom’s instructions) we surprised Joe at his birthday dinner. I’m not actually sure how old Joe is. My guess would be “bearded years old.”

In addition to Joe’s Eddie Bauer gift certificate, I got to give out the last of my California souvenirs–Joe got a t-shirt, Mom got a bar of Lily soap from the European-goods store in Lawrence, and Caitlan got a green Robin Hood hat from a vintage store in Berkeley (Ian had already received his copy of All Flesh Must Be Eaten). It was fun, especially since I had wrap-bagged the presents in the car, while sitting right in front of Caitlan.

Planet Thai was, by Mom and Joe’s well-honed Thai standards, a bit mediocre. Ian didn’t much like his pad thai, but I ate a whole lot of my crab fried rice. It was pretty subtle, though. It could have used about eight or ten more pounds of crab.

Ian and I left everybody else behind to continue on yet to Richmond, where we met the famous Katie and went bowling. Ian and Katie called each other names, and I bowled a two. This is harder than you’d think, especially with the gutter bumpers in.

Richmond doesn’t look strange yet, or maybe it doesn’t look strange anymore; I mentally moved out of there sometime during my senior year of high school. Not much has changed, except for the increase in liquor stores, which is rapidly approaching parity with the population.

It was a long night of driving, and I’m glad Ian was courteous enough to be my ride, especially with the roads as awful as they were at first. I fell asleep for a while on the way back (Mom and Dad drove me around when I was a baby to get me to sleep, so I pretty much always do this), and I think at one point I woke myself up by snoring. My neck hasn’t been quite right since, but on the other hand, I’m not dead in a car crash either. Ten points.

Maria: Brendan, you really are getting good at frying sweet and sour chicken. I like eating it when you make it, and I appreciate your making dinner tonight. I just have one request.

Me: (standing in the blasted, grease-spattered wreckage of our kitchen) Yeah?

Maria: Don’t do it.

  1. The day before yesterday, Maria made carrot cake, and just moments ago, we used it to have carrot cake soup for breakfast.
  2. Yes.
  3. Oh God yes.