San Francisco Perfection

Last Saturday, fried from computer screen adoration (you know, when it’s you and your screen and you’re glued to each others eyes…) I finally broke free. 

It started ominously – a drive to the office to pick up papers at 7am on a Saturday morning.  But Spring was upon us and the views of the bay and city in the morning sun finally had their way with me.  I called Marco to check if he was at the Alemany Farmer’s market.  There’s no better way to start a San Francisco Saturday than at the peoples market (then; today).  But for once, Marco wasn’t going.  As I arrived at our block, I couldn’t turn towards home.  Instead, I found myself continuing to drive and ended up on Geary, racing into the Pacific Ocean.  The day only got better:

• The first peek of the Pacific from Geary, rolling downhill to Loui’s Diner and the Sutro Bath ruins. If I wasn’t in a motoring mood, eggs, steak and hash browns with a view to ochre mud stumps and a raging ocean would have been the call.
• Turn off into the park with the top open to take in the colors and smells of springtime, our brooding gnarled california trees and turning a corner, the sudden view of stoic bison, unreal in their mass and stillness.
• Over the bridge to Old Oakland.  Lemon riccotta pancakes at Cockadoodle Cafe, talk about politics surrounded by refreshing color after (it’s true) mostly white San Francisco.
• Dropping Anirvan back to Berkeley and had to extend the conversation as we often must.  But this time, a Berkeley tradition – sitting on the Shattuck median (an 8 ft mound of dirt and grass) with cars puttering by on either side, under a ‘don’t sit on median’ sign. Berkeley gets plus points for this urban rendition of hanging out in a meadow.
• Driving back into the city with a favorite view of San Francisco (from the Bay Bridge) on display for longer than usual as I crawled through Saturday afternoon traffic.
• Quick dinner at Out the Door under the SF Shopping Center with the girls and Marco to provide the sole, slammingly dressed, male counterpoint. Marco can do orange & pink, together - no more need be said.  For food, the brightest, most unexpected salad I’ve ever eaten, Grapefruit & Jicama salad.
• Mosey on over to 111 Minna for what started a little slow (it was a fundraiser for lawyers after all…) but with a favorite DJ from old times spinning dub and then the live action of Sukhawat Ali Khan and friends, it was raucous.  On this night, the art included Amal’s photographs relaying stories of taxi cab drivers. 
  Maneesh (afore-mentioned DJ) said – ‘reminds you of Azaad days, doesn’t it?’  Minna, now more standard fare as a hipster art and music joint, used to be smaller in the day, and Saturday nights often included a collective of DJs (‘Azaad’) spinning South Asian-influenced dub, beats, hip-hop, trance and drum n bass.  Took me back.  Time for a party.

Sutro Bath Ruins. Photo by: the tahoe guy

Join us in transitioning ASATA to new leadership

ASATA focuses on the challenges of racism, exploitation and communalism. Our actions emphasize our connection to the South Asian community, but our vision of change and solidarity is cross-group and communities. Photo by Eric Mar.

If you’re in the SF Bay Area, have any familial, coincidental or other relationship to South Asia, are politically inclined, understand and engage with the haves and have-nots of power, then join us in taking the Alliance of South Asians Taking Action (ASATA) to it’s next phase.  We’re meeting on Sat Mar 28th at 11am, and then again to continue transition conversations on Apr 7th at 7pm.  If you’re interested in joining, re-joining, re-engaging with a San Francisco Bay Area institution – especially if you’ve got some time to devote to a leadership position - drop me a line at miniATbrainbytesDOTcom  

ASATA, the Alliance of South Asians Taking Action, is a San Francisco Bay Area group working to educate, organize, and empower the Bay Area South Asian communities to end violence, oppression, racism and exploitation within and against our diverse communities.

Lost Parkway

I’m lost – have they really closed the Parkway Speakeasy? Via Facebook I learned that some of my friends had joined the Save the Speakeasy group. I rarely join groups on Facebook, but this one was a no-brainer. I joined, only to find an image of a poster announcing their last night on Mar 22nd 09.

Even the closure of Stacey’s didn’t hit me like this. The Parkway Speakeasy was something else, not just a cheap movie theater with food and wine, but great vibes, a quintessential Oakland crowd (in it’s variety and unpretentious but hardcore taste) and of course the exceptionally silly, giggle-inducing preview videos from the owners before every show – it made me gloriously happy to just walk in.

I’m truly devastated. I might even use twitter to mourn with those who are in the same hole as me.

Coffee Cart Days

Bostoners had Cheers, or at least TV-watchers had Norm. I and a few other lucky ones had Lydia, Ricardo, and ‘the coffee cart’. They’ve now left. I’m still here. In memory of what to me now was an Oakland institution. Small enough to know everyone’s names, a welcome stop on the way to BART and work, it always put my mind in another space where it was okay to take a few minutes to loiter, chat, commiserate, catch up. Kathy and Chris. Julio. Endo. Theresa. The man with the snazzy neckties. The woman that called in her orders of nonfat vanilla flavored drinks. The Mexican Chocolate I never tried. Ricardo’s famous latte with designer ‘hearts’ swirled on top. Walking in one day to notice Raj’s CV on the counter (“What a talented guy!”) Jaunts to the coffee cart with mummy and papa to introduce them to the gang. I’ll miss it all – but hopefully this sets the stage for the next exciting phase for Lydia and Ricardo, away from the heartaches and stress of entrepreneurial life, and towards some stability and security.

A Day in the Life

Ishmael Reed and Esther Dyson co-star in Bay Area afternoon.

An African American produces a play that provides a lens into the internal dynamics of a modern-day Pakistani-American family. The play is directed by the producer’s Jewish wife. A talk about the future stars a tech doyen – a woman. She is accompanied at the talk by another woman – her mother, Verena – a mathematician who has to work to ensure we don’t forget the boy in the family, who, by the way is an accomplished historian and writer. Ishmael Reed and Esther Dyson starred in my Saturday afternoon, casually defying expectations and stereotypes. I did not construct the afternoon – it just happened as it does, in the Bayosphere. Read the rest on my bayosphere blog.

Mentaiko, mentaiko, mentaiko

Update: 2007: Mr Sushi is unfortunately closed

An unsatisfying Sunday found a stupendous close.

Walked over (okay, to all my friends that are gasping incredulously, I walked one block and drove the rest around the lake) to my local Sushi place (Mr Sushi) settled in at the bar, enjoyed the needlefish that only comes in once in a while. Then I started telling Kenny about how I’d told everyone in the world (okay, so everyone that reads Bayosphere and had been pulled into Noriko’s post) about Mr Sushi. Taking on a mock pained and saddened tone, I mentioned how I had told everyone about my love of Mentaiko but that he, Kenny, just didn’t get it anymore. And, this, I sighed, was how my favorite Sushi chef treated me – with not enough consideration to procure, for me, that orange glob of spicy bitter saltiness that I craved.

He had mentaiko! He looked at me quizzically, then said – “but I have Mentaiko today”. Thats it. No fanfare. Just the words. And I was speechless. Also speechless because my sushi orders came fast and furious – needlefish, mentaiko, fatty hamachi, mentaiko, mirugai and mentaiko handroll to top it off.

Mr Sushi is on Grand Avenue in Oakland. The main sushi chef is Kenny, his able and silent assistant is George. Sit at the bar and ask them what’s good. Tell them Mini sent you.