I had a picnic today with Darcy of Kaseri and Morbier cheeses, a ciabatta from Semifreddi’s, and smoked peppered mackerel, washed down with some sparkling cider. It was tasty, but even after vigorous soapy handwashing my fingers still smell strongly of mackerel. Which is not a terrible thing, but a bit disconcerting. I wonder what Lady Macbeth would do…

Apparently marinara is named after mariners. Something about being able to keep on long sea voyages. At least according to my southern Italian cookbook.

From A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius:

After graduating he tried Chicago first, but was tired of constantly running into people from Champaign. They were all there, the whole school — so few make it out of the state. To most, Chicago was Oz, anything beyond it was China, the moon.

To all those who live in Berkeley: check out Gioia Pizzeria, just down the street from the Monterey Market on Hopkins Street. There are some reviews for you. One of my roommates works there and it’s good.

My friend Paul’s uncle has a meat shop in Elburn, IL, which has the best damn beef jerky I’ve ever eaten, and now they have a homepage. Perhaps I’ll order some jerky for the long autumn days out on the range with my laptop and… um… wireless internet… and…

I went to the Berkeley Bowl to buy cherries today, and came out with 6.36 pounds of the buggers after spending 20 minutes picking over the baskets. It was relaxing — hunting for the good ones with the other shoppers, exchanging remarks of cherry love, eating cherries until you get sick, how much better they are this year than last year. There were three varieties — Bing, Rainer, and Tulare. I hadn’t heard of the last one, but the one I tasted was good. Unfortunately they are not all for me. Some are destined for a pie, and some to a dinner party.

I wonder what parent invented the tale of cherry trees/watermelon vines growing out of their childrens’ bellybuttons. It’s one of those ideas that’s good on paper but doomed to failure on me. Think of how cool it would be to have your own cherry tree with you wherever you went!

Crumpets, those most holey of breakfast buns, are to be enjoyed with butter, jam, or marmelade. I, being the transgressive fool that I am, couldn’t be bothered to root around in the fridge for these divine spreads and instead took out the cream cheese. Oh sacrilege! Forgive me, Crumpet Gods, I knew not what I did!

Attend, my fellow breakfasters! Cream cheese does not make everything taste better. If you wish to rise at the final crumpet’s call, heed not not the siren song of Philadelphia, for it is the path to everlasting queasiness!

Our Crumpet in Refrigeration, hallowed be thy name, thy toasting come, thy top be spread at breakfast as it is in Heaven.

I made two good dinners in the last two days and now I have leftovers. Sunday was pan-seared tuna with a soy-kaffir-lime glaze, soba with wasabi vinaigrette, and eryngii mushrooms (I think that’s what they were) simmered in mirin. Tonight I lucked out and found this shiitake and asparagus risotto, which I had all of the ingredients for, thanks to the Berkeley Farmer’s Market, with the exception of the wine. I went to the corner store and got a Bella Sera pinot grigio, simmered away, and had a tasty meal.

And to top it all off — fresh cherries at $0.79 a pound from Oakland Chinatown. Delish.

A lunch with a warm bowl of vichyssoise, a smoked ham and mozzarella sandwich, a tall glass of orange juice, sunlight streaming through an open window, and Michael Chabon’s Summerland is an excellent way to maintain the illusion that it’s still spring break at noon on Monday. Try it sometime.

I just watched the Red Stripe’s Hooray Beer campaign, which is pretty damn funny. Since I don’t watch TV I hadn’t seen any of these, although I saw the Hooray Beer coaster in a pub on St. Patrick’s Day. They’re worth a watch, especially the one about being ugly. It’s sad that I go on the Internet for the ads that air during the shows that I don’t want to watch. Maybe I should get a TiVo to record the ads…