San Francisco Bay located in the vicinity of the Golden Gate Bridge (77FR4501)

For whatever reason, San Francisco has never really been on my radar as a travel-destination priority. At least on the West Coast, Los Angeles and Seattle seemed like the more unique and essential places to visit. Sadly, what I knew about San Francisco just seemed kind of car-commercial cliché. 

But in our long weekend there, that didn't stop us from seeing many of the town's requisite tourist traps. We avoided the crowds by seeing some, the Golden Gate Bridge (top left) and Alcatraz Island (top right), from a distance. We jostled with the masses from middle America at Pier 39 (middle top left) and the Ferry Building (middle top right). We stumbled upon some hidden gems in the forms of Buena Vista Park (middle bottom left) and Sutro Baths, below the Land's End overlook of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area (middle bottom right). We tried to blend in with the locals at Haight Ashbury (bottom left) and Chinatown (bottom right).

 

 

One trap we didn't fall into was waiting in the ungodly long lines to ride a cable car (top). Most tourists queue up for one of the Powell Street cars because they are located near must-see sights like the Union Square theater and shopping district, Fisherman's Wharf, and Ghirardelli Square. Instead, we picked up the California line by walking from our hotel through Little Saigon to catch it on its western end, near Japantown. We rode the car through Chinatown down to the Financial District (bottom). We also avoided the line for buying a transit passport by paying a $3 surcharge at an SFMTA machine. The three-day pass allowed us unlimited rides on all cable-car, metro, bus, and streetcar lines and on BART lines within the downtown area. To get to and from the airport, we had to buy full-price BART tickets for $8.50 a piece.  

All in all, San Francisco is a wonderful city to visit because of its abundant and useful public transportation. We had rented a car for a couple of days, but even so, we rode the Marin Transit shuttle to Muir Woods National Monument because there is limited parking at the park (If we had wanted, we could've taken public transportation from downtown San Francisco to the shuttle, as well). With all the visitors, it seemed like we wouldn't be able to enjoy the serenity of the redwoods, but we were able to find pockets of peace (top). We even learned a few things: The height and breadth of the trees are less than sequoias, but nonetheless impressive (bottom left), and surprisingly, salmon spawn in the stream that runs through the park when the water level is higher (bottom right).

 

Another good reason to visit San Francisco is the food, which runs the gauntlet in terms of type and cost. We had a gourmet picnic with sandwiches from Prather Ranch Meat Company (top left) and clams from the Ferry Plaza Wine Market (top right) on the dock outside the Ferry Building. We snacked on emblematic sourdough bread from Boudin Bakery (middle left) and dim-sum dumplings at Far East Cafe (middle right). We sampled the ethnic specialties of Vienamese noodles at Miss Saigon (bottom left), Italian pizza at Chicos, and Indian curry at Sartaj Indian Cafe in Sausalito (bottom right).

 

And much to our surprise and delight, San Francisco is full of dive bars; we encountered one in nearly every neighborhood in which we wandered. In Chinatown, we killed some time before our departing flight with a Lucky Buddha beer and a mai tai at Li Po Cocktail Lounge (top left). We tracked down an excellent happy hour at Aunt Charlie's in the Tenderloin (top right). Nearby, The Brown Jug (bottom left) and The Outsider (bottom right) both embraced their status, each proclaiming to be the best dive bar in town. (In my opinion it was a tie; at the Brown Jug, a man drinking whisky was sleeping while sitting up on a bar stool, and at the Outsider, a man was describing in broken English and demonstrating provocatively his lust for black women.)

Oh, and did I mention that, amid all the activity of our weekend getaway, TJ ran a 50-mile race? Indeed, the Headlands 100 was the main impetus for our overdue visit to San Francisco. Call him crazy if you wish, but at least TJ wasn't one of the people running the 100-mile race (though don't be shocked if you see that in a future blog post). About the only time we saw San Francisco's characteristic fog was when TJ was preparing for the race's start (left). It was so damp and chilly that, when he set off, he was wearing gloves and a long-sleeve shirt (right). 

While TJ ran, I drove around from aid station to aid station with his gear (top left), in case he had any major emergencies or minor issues (for the record, the only ones were needs for knee braces and Vaseline replenishment; if you don't know what the latter is for, ask a runner). This race was nice in that the aid stations were in state and national parks that I would want to visit anyway, such as Muir Beach and Tennessee Valley. TJ was pretty low-maintenance, so all I had to do was chat to him while he stretched (top right), help him hydrate (bottom left), and fill up his water bottles for the road (bottom right) -- when I wasn't taking pictures of him doing so, of course. 

One of the aid stations was near the former U.S. Army post Fort Baker in the Marin Headlands, which provided excellent views of an overcast downtown San Francisco (top) and Golden Gate Bridge (bottom left). As the day went on, the clouds burned off, so by the time TJ came through a second time (the race consisted of a 25-mile loop), I could catch him with the landmark unobscured (bottom right). Besides taking photos, I spent my time at the aid stations setting up the supplies, helping other runners refuel, and directing them where to go (after, say, a marathon distance, trail markers can become harder to follow).

 

The race loop ended where it began, at Rodeo Beach, near Fort Barry in the headlands (top). The fort, not to be confused the World War II-era Fort Cronkhite in the distance, now houses National Park Service employees. But batteries atop the hillcrests -- which, incidentally, TJ ran up, down and around -- provide reminders of its time as an Army base during the early 20th century. The finish line was mere meters away from the former military barracks (bottom left), a few more meters away was the Pacific Ocean, in which TJ gave his legs an icy bath while he drank a frosty beverage (bottom right).  

 

In some ways, TJ ran two long distances that weekend, one as a runner in the race and one as a tourist with me. For certain, he completed the former -- third in his age category, I must say -- but I think we came up a little short in the second race. Most definitely, San Francisco deserves another loop, hopefully at a slower pace the next time. 

Serving traditional Hungarian fare such as goulash (158 Cong. Rec. E1453)

One of my summer jobs during college was working as a waitress at Chris's Cafe in Mansfield, which has been renovated into the Red Brick Diner. Neither of the restaurant names belie the family owners' specialities: goulash and hot pepper salad, both of which are still on the menu. As a waitress, I was not too fond of the goulash because, inevitably, it would spill off the plate, either burning my hand or staining my uniform. But after work, when I had a moment to eat, I thoroughly enjoyed the goulash, even if I did have to pay for it. (Incidentally, brother managers Jeff and Pete also required their servers to buy logo shirts as part of their uniforms; the replacing of them because of goulash stains might've been an excellent supplementary business, in fact.)

Then, while I was working in Israel, I took a long-weekend trip to Budapest, where I was able to try authentic goulash. As it turns out, Chris's recipe was right on the mark, except it lacked the dumplings that the meat and sauce are normally poured over. Ever since then, I wanted to see if I, too, could make a mean goulash, but I never had the proper Hungarian sweet paprika, which anyone will tell you is necessary for a true version of the stew. So when I found a can of the stuff in my local supermarket, I decided I could give goulash a go.

I shouldn't have been surprised that this delicious dish begins as every recipe should: with bacon. As I fried up the pot of pork goodness (top), I chopped peppers, garlic, onions, and potatoes (bottom left). In the end, the bacon beat me, as I ended up having to pull out the crispy bits while I finished cutting some of the ingredients (bottom right).

 

The recipe called for beef shank, but I ended up using London broil instead because it was on sale (left). I assume that shank, the leg of the animal, is the original cut because the meat takes a long time to tenderize, making it perfect for the long-term boiling of goulash. London broil comes from the flank, the hindquarters of the animal, but it has more muscle than connective tissue, making it prone to become tough, but I didn't have that problem, perhaps because I seared the meat (right) and the other ingredients acted as kind of a marinade.

When the meat was ready I added the most of the vegetables (no potatoes) and all of the spices, including the Hungarian sweet paprika (left). After those were thoroughly mixed (right), in went the liquids, mostly beef broth (mine was from bouillon cube) and some vinegar. Incidentally, I skipped the step of roasting and peeling the red peppers beforehand, a shortcut that I wouldn't recommend, as after all the pepper flesh boiled down, it left skins that, although not exactly tough, seemed out of place in the otherwise smooth stew.

I like my goulash thick, so for the first hour of simmering, I left the pot uncovered, so some of the liquid would evaporate (left). But I put the lid back on after I added the bacon and potatoes, so the tubers would get thoroughly cooked (right). Obviously, this stewing could be done in a crockpot, but the amount of the recipe didn't fit in mine, so I opted for the stove.

Considering this recipe includes potatoes, I doubt it was meant to be poured over dumplings, but I just couldn't forgo the spaetzle. The dough started with a simple batter: Beat the wet ingredients (eggs and milk) together (top left), then add the dry (flour, baking powder, and salt). I find that a whisk helps the mixture be less lumpy (top right) and is easier to use when the dough thickens (bottom).

The cooking of the noodles actually sounded a lot more complicated than it turned out to be. Instead of a colander, I used a fry basket that I bought in Mexico to separate the dough into pieces (top left), dropping them straight into the boiling water. The pieces almost immediately floated to the top (top right), but I did use a spatula to unstick some from the bottom. Once the pieces puffed up, I skimmed them out with a fine-mesh colander (bottom left). I went through the same process four times, but even so, after only about a half-hour, I had a bowl full of noodles (bottom right).

To keep them from globbing together, I chilled the noodles in the refrigerator while the stew finished cooking. It was perfect timing because when I poured piping-hot goulash over the lukewarm spaetzle, it created a perfect temperature for tasting. A dollop of sour cream, a sprinkle of parsley (sorry, but dried had to suffice as it was all I had in the house), and of course a napkin were the only necessary accompaniments.