New Age Mozz Stops Complaining about the West Coast

If you tire of detail, intricate narrative, or fascinating anecdotes easily, I recommend against eating amongst the anthropologists. However I find them to be the best of company, and hearken back to the cultural universality of manioc root on a weekly basis. This past week saw the divine summit of all things anthropological in San Francisco at the AAA conference, and your humble Mozzadrella was fortunate enough to attend.

I actually hadn’t been to the Bay Area—brace yourself for the geek quotient here—since high school, when I went to a Model United Nations conference in Berkeley, and THEN summer economics camp in Palo Alto. It’s a miracle I manage to dress myself, even though my style these days screams “professional kickball player.” At least that’s what the burlesque “ladies” at Aunt Charlie’s Lounge told me.

Though I really didn’t stray from the “Tenderloin” area where the conference was being held, the food impressed so much I will no longer vow to set all of California alight. I had been dreaming of Salt House, an industrial/rustic-chic haunt, and its braised short rib for three days. Though the cavernous interior amplified sound—we could barely converse with the people next to us—I had the most delicious cocktail I’d ever sampled. The “New London” features cold Hendrick’s Gin with a kaffir lime-ginger syrup, and a chili-cardamom salted rim. I swooned. I exalted. I had two.

I admired the sweet delicate quality of the roast beet salad, but the braised short rib with mustard crust sent me reeling. As you raised your fork to it, the meat fell apart like a warm savory bloom. As it was served atop brussels sprouts and fennel, my appetite waived away all sense of reason or discretion. In that moment I began to see the reasoning behind elastic pants.

After I recruited Tiny and Mark, I insisted upon Vietnamese food whilst in Pacific time. We went to Mangosteen, also in the Tenderloin area, where the quail was served table-side, flambé-style, the skin snapping with searing crispness. All of our fresh rolls were delicious, and will the Pho was a tad waxy, and the décor a little 7-Eleven, I’ll be thinking about that quail in the months to come.

I still find San Francisco strange—the constant smiling from strangers made me wonder if I was suffering from early-onset dementia—I did take squealing happiness in the Ice Cream Parlor/Laundromat down the way from our hotel. Genius!

Midwest versus East Coast: Naming Conventions.

Those who know me bemoan my frequent outbursts of culture shock. I’m not talking about inane pop v. soda dithering, but the cold smack of stark realization—the East Coast is Different. The Thai restaurant on the corner is open on Thanksgiving. Where I am from, it’s impolite to ask how much you pay for housing. Manicures are really cheap. I digress…

In the Midwest, our “cutesy” names cluster around two areas of commerce: dairy and gas. In Iowa, we might frequent the “Dari Barn” for milkshakes, or the “Kum and Go” for unleaded. It’s true, branding can be hokey in general, but Central time seems to relish “olde” “cheez” and “lite” a degree further than either coast.

The East Coast has its own versions, and those are bagels and futons. Here chewy carbs and spoiled posture translate to vile iterations of the English tongue.

On my way to my first Brooklyn apartment from LaGuardia, I noticed a particularly dreary “World of Futons” next to the BQE, shortly thereafter purchased my own futon from “Futonland” and on my new commute to New Jersey I pass the “Futon Express.” In the Midwest we don’t compromise on relaxation—hence the ‘luxe’ l-shaped couches. Who knew the East Coast clamored so for discomfort? It’s hard to imagine demand being so high, especially with the cheery name that mocks the product. Something about the “pep” doesn’t compute.

Bizarrely, a similar strain runs through bagel retail.

When I was working on a campaign in New Jersey, we recommended that the candidates—I kid you not—do meet and greets on the bagel circuit. I begrudgingly suggested the following route:
• Bagelword
• The Bagelry
• Once Upon a Bagel
• Hole Lot of Bagels (grimace)
• Bagelicious
• Bagels and Cream
• Bagel Talk
Linguistically, bagels have the flexibility of Nickelodeon Gak. Is it because they are the edible version of a toy? Do bagels need to corner the market with their respective “personalities”?

Yes the wordplay is irritating, but I also find the items they modify an odd selection. I’ll be on the lookout for industries that make too much precious, and examining what they have in common. At least these avoid the stomach-churning effect of the Christian coffee shop –“Higher Grounds.”