El Jefe y La Chamaca

 Part 1 - Protect ya Neck, Alien, & Lucho’s People often ask me who has better Mexican food, Los Angeles or San Francisco? That's a heavily loaded question for a 1st generation Latino. I am not an authority for authentic Mexican Cuisine. Nor do I want to be, it's too much responsibility man.  Flashback, I'm 11 years old, and walking home from school. A 14 year old kid comes up to me and says I'm too white to be in that neighborhood, and then punches me in the face. I said what are you talking about? I've lived in this neighborhood my whole life and my parents are from Latin America. When he went to punch me again, I dodged it and I punched him in the throat. I ran away to the sounds of him struggling to breathe. I have never told anyone this story.  An incident like that leaves a mark on a young 11 year old mind, and I’m not talking about the throat punch. Why did he say I was too white ? It puzzled me. We were the same skin tone, so that couldn’t have been it. ...

  Cold Pint, Cognitive Dissonance & Carte Blanche There is something special about having a cold pint at noon on a Wednesday with a baby stroller next to you. It almost feels as if you are breaking a societal rule that says you should be doing something responsible like going to work, or at the gym, or cleaning your house. Instead, you’re sitting at a bar looking up at the skylights as the sun shines in on you. Then you look over at 16-month old Chamaca as she is scarfing down french fries while also stuffing fries under the seat of her pants. Later, when I lift her out of the stroller, her pants butt will be smashed potatoes and oil stains. I will find a french fry in her diaper. But for right now I’m choosing to ignore the future, and just kind of enjoy the blissful peace this cold pint is bringing me here at the Sunset Reservoir Brewing Co.   I've eaten my way through this menu and up, down and across.  The food and vibe here is good. Our family eats here at lea...

  Fog, Farmers, Compound Butter & Camaraderie The weatherman called it Fog-ust instead of August. When we moved to San Francisco people kept talking about the fog in the summer and I thought it was hype. It was not hype when I woke up this morning and the fog lingered at our window, stalking me, laughing at my Southern California soul. My good friend Hank invited us to join him at a farmer's market after he drops his wife off at the airport. A little fog isn't going to stop us. Off we go, Chamaca in her baja hoodie and I'm wearing a jacket in mid summer as we drive towards Alemany Farmer’s Market . We get there at 9am, 3 hours past opening time and the market is bustling. I feel the Chef Gods shine down on me as I score a parking spot close to the entrance.  I see my good friend Hank walking towards us with his 8-month old strapped to his chest in a BabyBjörn. He's eating a nectarine and his baby looks happy and carefree. I haven't known Hank my whole life, li...

  Kitchen Anarchy, East Side Paranoia and a Reprieve      Don't get me wrong. I love to cook. I cooked professionally from 2005 to 2014 and then continued doing so on my own terms. I love it, I was made for it. It is in my bones at an atomic level. But let me tell you, there is nothing like trying to prepare a meal with a 16-month-old child in the kitchen. It is complete anarchy, worse than any kitchen I've ever worked in. You think the Bear is bad? Try making a grilled cheese while your child roams around the kitchen banging a sippy cup into all of the cabinets yelling, “Dappapa, Dappapa!” at full volume. My commands to Chamaca go unheard, “Don't touch that. Don't climb on the chairs. Don't put that in your mouth. Stop licking the dishwasher door. Stop licking the refrigerator. Stop licking the trash can. Why are you licking everything? Are you a dog?” Frustrating and exhausting at the same time.        So one day I said forget cooking, let's ge...

A stay at home dad, a toddler, and the hunt for the perfect sandwich      I am a stay at home dad. If you are reading this, and you are also a stay at home parent, then you absolutely know that you must go outside. You must leave the house, or you will go insane.       It will be a sudden onset of insanity, like flicking a light switch. There are no signs until you have arrived at the breaking point. You will one day undoubtedly be gazing at your shoes and mumbling a song from Frozen, repeatedly. That is the moment you've lost your mind.       So if I'm going to go outside with my daughter, lovingly nicknamed “ Chamaca ”, I'm going to make an adventure out of it. We are going to discover and eat food together. We will travel up and down these hills in search of the next meal. Just a man trying to retain his sanity while attempting to be a good dad, and his feisty 16-month-old daughter.       For this adventu...