My first post!  Daunting.  Hi.  [must find a picture of me waving awkwardly] I’m Shane’s big sis, of sorts.  Food adoration is in the blood.

After nearly missing my [eternal] flight from MDW to SFO (I hold Denny and Paul partially responsible), sleeping through BOTH snack/drink services in-flight, and feeling generally gross (unshowered=NFC), seeing my friend Stephanie at the arrivals terminal ignited a feeling akin to the last scene in Home Alone when Kevin’s mom finally made it home.  Cue orchestra.

My half-delirious conversation on the ride back to the FuMa’s Western Addition penthouse -

Steph: So what do you want to do while you’re here?  Do you have a list? [Steph's a kindred spirit - she lists almost more than I do]

Denise: …I ‘unno…eat?

Steph: [I swear, with a glimmer of a tear in her eye] I’ve missed you so much.

I tried my best to hold off for a while and write a Master Entry of San Francisco Food Highlights, but my current food journal is getting a little out of control.  Yesterday was full of Dirty Girl Scouts, guava mimosas, lamb pita, tours of the Jelly Belly and Budweiser Factories in Fairfield, capping the day off at Ducca - think Northern Italy meets California - where my good friend and Ducca cook Yonas gave us the treatment - a custom menu, complimentary Prosecco, antipasti treats, this incredible cinnamon-savory soup with Manila clams and rock shrimp, the works.  Another day, another entry.

This morning I decided you guys NEED to know about Dynamo Donuts.  Staying true to the root of our friendship - donuts form the foundation of our love - this morning Steph, Robert, and I hit up this walk-up kiosk in the Castro for some breakfast delights. Our spread (after much deliberation): 1 bacon apple maple donut, 1 Meyer Lemon huckleberry donut, 1 vanilla bean donut, 1 hot cross bun (stuffed with vanilla pastry cream).  One murky, burly coffee.  Two perfectly sated ladies.  And Robert.

Tonight, I’m meeting up with SF pals Josh and JoEllen and Chicago pal Ian, and my sweet boys at La Folie are planning a dinner extravaganza to remember for us - 4-5 courses + wine pairings.  Stay tuned for more San Francisco culinary adventures, mixing my penchant for pretentious dining with my affinity for ghetto gourmet.

One last shameless plug.

Traveling is one of my favorite things to do. New York was my destination this last go-around, and it was a great time. What better way to kick off a birthday trip with a steak dinner and friends? There is none.

Peter Luger’s has been serving delicious meat of the bovine influence to folks in the Brooklyn area for over a century. And with that kind of history, they must be doing something right. Upon entering, you’re greeted by a beautifully stocked bar (that smells of rich mahogany) and directly across that stands a wall lined with Zagat awards from years past. I made sure to book a reservation a couple weeks in advance (coincidentally, the same night we made impromptu plans to take a NYC trip / book tickets), so we were seated almost immediately.

Anticipating the carnage that was about to take place, I couldn’t help but ogle everyone’s food around me, and I did. Hard. I put down an assortment of rolls to temporarily quell the monster. Suddenly, a boisterous old man of a waiter greeted us with one of those ‘no bullshit’ attitudes. It was down to business with this guy. By this time, we had a pretty good idea of what we wanted. A slice of grilled bacon for all of us to start, creamed spinach, plate of french fries, and steak for three with the bottle of wine to wash it all down.

Heaven.

I’ve never had grilled bacon, but I’m pretty sure this spoiled it for any I might have in the future. A nice thick slice, cooked enough to have the best of both worlds, crispy and chewy. More bread to follow. I was hesitant when we figured out that the steaks were broiled, I immediately regret that blasphemous thought. Our waiter threw the plates onto our table, cut up the steak, served up a couple gorgeous medallions each and then used the oil from the steak as a sauce. A dollop of creamed spinach, a handful of fries, and it was off to the races. Silence. The critical mass of a meal is the point at which people stop talking because the food is too good to waste on speech.

Satisfaction.

My buddies spilled the beans to our waiter that it was my birthday (other birthday folks around us were getting rad sundaes). So I was ready for mine… they come out blasting ‘happy birthday,’ candle, the whole nine. It was a bowl of whipped cream. Har har. Assholes. We ended up using it for our coffee. I ended up getting some chocolate gold coins out of deal, however.

If you feel like splurging and putting enough effort into making a reservation ahead of time, Peter Luger’s is the place to do it. Tradition is tough to beat.

Until next time, EAT IT.

Before I leave for New York, I thought I’d leave you with this small gallery of pics from after the New Year. Just some random food and drink happenings as well as the latest up and coming project from my buddies and me, the Model UN. Catch you on the flip.

Well, I decided to push the competition ahead because I didn’t want to run the risk of being sick on chicken during my trip to NYC. And the result…

Awww yeahhhhh! Josh was a good sport about it. We got most of it on video. I’ll try to get it uploaded soon. New York next week!

Be there when I pummel Josh into submission. CHICKENNNNNNNNNNN!