40 Days and 40 Nights

I wanted to take a picture, but I was driving.

After what seemed like the length of Noah's experience, the rain has finally subsided.  The sidewalk is puddled, the ground is smushy, the trees are drippy.  The rain pours off of our rooftop because Southern Californians must not need gutters very often.  Before I could even get off of the porch to go to my car, my feet were wet as the rain ricocheted off the pavement.

As I drove home from work, the sun, for the first time in DAYS, almost blinded me. (Why would I take sunglasses on such a rainy day?)  And as I turned the corner, the most beautiful rainbow hung over Point Loma.

Thank you, Sun, for shining today.

Hanumas / Chrismukkah

Light the Tree!  Light the Menorah!  Let's celebrate!

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Our lovely home--full of cultural and religious understanding!!!

Christmas in San Diego

Rudolph had a mishap

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So on my way to sign up for the local Y, I passed upon this house.  It gave me an odd sense of nostalgia because I didn't think anyone in San Diego would have ever gone hunting, much less also taken a trip to their local taxidermist to have it mounted.  My sisters both have dead animals hanging on their walls (thanks to their partners...my sisters don't hunt).

This is my second holiday season in San Diego and I can't believe how quickly time has flown.  I still don't think I've FOUND San Diego, but I have learned to love my little niche of it.  Several things have happened to make me realize that I don't want to move out of here.

First, I've been thinking about going back to school for acupuncture and Oriental herbal medicine.  I know that in whatever I do, I want to help people, and lately, teaching has started to frustrate me.  It is at no fault of where I work or the people I work with or the students I teach--it's all about me.  Although there are plenty of people who can and do, I just can't imagine being 55 and teaching ESL anymore.  The generational gap and the cultural differences are somewhat overwhelming at times and I just don't know how to handle them.  

My students party at clubs, love club music, and adore getting drunk.  I, on the other hand, like staying home and watching movies and drinking a couple of beers or glasses of wine.  I see the undying hope of the future in my students eyes, and in my own I see the weight of the world.  I want to help make the world a better place, but I don't know if I have the energy to teach others to make it a better place.

So, the Oriental medicine school in San Diego will literally cost me an arm and leg because I would probably have a stroke from working so hard to pay off the loans.  There is a school the E's dad works at in Orange County which is half the price and totally do-able.  After deliberating with Z about our options (OC or LBC), we just couldn't imagine moving...but it wasn't out of the question--yet.


Then Z and I decided to go for dinner at The Pearl in Point Loma.  We were dressed very casually.  Yet we were treated as if we had just walked in begging for scraps.  They sat two stupid looking blondes in front of us (although they came about five minutes after us) because they lied and said they had four people (I always knew blondes couldn't count).  We walked out after the host would not apologize for their disorganization or their discrimination.


We came back to OB to go to The 3rd Corner.  We walked in (in the same clothes) and were treated like customers.  We had a great meal: I had the shortribs; Z had the NY Strip.  I also ordered the Chocolate Tart for dessert with coffee.  I couldn't say more about this place.  Not only because the food is delicious, but also because of their service to their customers.  I have been here on at least five occasions--dressed nicely, casually, and beachy--and each time, I have been treated the same way.


If I can't live in the South or on the East Coast, I want to live here.  I love you, Ocean Beach!

and bus

I'm so excited my eye is messed up!

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My First Trolley Ride!

So here is a picture from my first experience taking public transportation!!!

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Another beautiful sunset

One more reason to love San Diego.

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Test

rollin'

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I've Got Friends in Low Places (don't worry, I don't really like Garth Brooks)

As we get older, it definitely gets harder to make friends.  When we're young, we're thrown together in a big playpen called "school."  We're forced to share with others; we learn how to communicate; we loosen up at parties.  We work in restaurants and at the mall together.  We sit next to each other in classes.

While living in Korea, we gelled with each other because we were foreigners in a foreign land.  Our glue is the strangeness and our loneliness.  It took me a long time to remind myself not to make friends with people whom I wouldn't befriend in my home country.

And when I moved to San Diego, I was so worried that I wouldn't make any friends.  I know, I know...it does seem ridiculous.  But I didn't know how or what or where or when to do that.  I felt awkward.  Uncomfortable.  Afraid.

However, during the past few days, I've realized how lucky I am to have met the few people here that I have.  Of course, my old friends will always hold a special place in my heart, but it feels as though those doors in my heart have closed by Time and Distance (to whom I am shaking my fist).  It's the fault of no one, really.  Unless the blame is mine.

I had dinner with B tonight.  She complained about work and life.  Not COMPLAIN, just unloaded.  Then she started telling me that her friend's sister was schizophrenic.  Suddenly, she said, "I shouldn't complain about work.  Life could be worse."  Sure, I couldn't agree more.  But does that not mean that the problems in our lives are not at all important just because someone else has it worse?  Of course not.

Last night, V came over.  We ate kalbi with Z (who grilled it) and just talked.  It was just a relaxing night.  Who could ask for more? 

So I raise my glass to those of you in my past and present.  Whether we met at work, school, or some strange bar, I am lucky to have or have had you in my life.

No Beautiful Pictures; Just Words

Only so this doesn't turn into an eating blog, I want to make a list of all the awesomeness I've done since I moved to San Diego (in no particular order--just how they pop into my mind):

1. Went to a no-rae-bang
2. Took a day trip to Joshua Tree
3. Drove to Las Vegas (ohhhh, just a few times)
4. Ate In-N-Out (ok, Californians, it's good, but it's not all that).
5. Won a Halloween Contest (but I haven't taken part of the prize yet--Skydiving isn't something I'm ready to do RIGHT now.)
6. Won a Nirve bicycle (which I sold on craigslist, but I won it anyway)
7. Been to my first nude beach
8. Started a blog
9. Found a great job with great people
10. Have been able to bike to the library and the sushi restaurant
11. Almost made it through Six Feet Under
12. Have gotten a reputation for being a good baker (umm, for those who know me from before, it's a shock, I know)
13. Started practicing the keyboard again
14. Experienced "Wally World" (aka, Magic Mountain)
15. Tried Taiwanese ramen
16. Found a favorite wine
17. Drove East and laid out by the pool of a Days Inn
18. Made some great friends

Here are some things I want to do:

1. Go to Mexico
2. Go skydiving
3. Go back to Las Vegas (hee hee)
4. Go to Julien and eat a Julien pie
5. Visit Yosimite (and Big Sur)
6. Learn to surf or at least give it a try
7. Win another Halloween contest
8. Get my parents out here
9. Grow some herbs or some tomatoes or something

That covers it for now.  I'll try to get it done.

You Can Take the Girl Out of the South, But...

I went to Phil's BBQ in Point Loma this week.  And it is delicious, but again, I feel like I'm cheating.

In Owensboro, Kentucky, there's a little place called Moonlite BBQ.  It's a local treasure, and I have been a longtime lover.  Moonlite is buffet-style with BBQ beef, chicken, lamb, and pulled pork.  Well, for me two out of three ain't bad.  The rest of the buffet is also amazing: green beans, baked beans, creamed corn, regular corn, cornbread, biscuits, sweet potatoes, potato salad, french fries, fried tomatoes and cole slaw.  There is a salad bar, but who has time and space for SALAD?  It's a BUFFET, people!

And as always, you should have saved room for dessert.  Because if you didn't, you'll regret it the rest of the day.  Peanut Butter Pie!  Cherry Cobbler!  Everyday!  There are other desserts, but if you're in Kentucky, you have to eat cherry cobbler, and if you at Moonlite, you have to eat peanut butter pie.

Dessert is buffet, too!

How much could all of this delectable food cost?  Good questions: $12.99 Monday through Thursday at dinner, $16.49 on Friday and Saturday at dinner.

Moonlite BBQ isn't just another restaurant.  It's kind of special.  And if you made it through the beginning of this blog, then you may just be a dedicated enough reader to continue.  This place reminds me of my sister.  We love Cracker Barrel and we love Moonlite.  If I go to Moonlite when I'm home, you can bet my sister, J, is right next to me.

Up here in the city, feels like things are closing in.

The sunset's just my light bulb burning out.

I miss Kentucky and I miss my family.

All the sweetest winds, they blow across the south..."

--Ryan Adams, O My Sweet Carolina

Phil's BBQ
3750 Sports Arean Blvd.
92110
(Just follow the smell of sweet BBQ)


Moonlite BBQ
2840 West Parrish Avenue
Owensboro, KY 42301

Gimme One Reason

And here is one reason to love San Diego.  In January of this year, Z and I would race to Sunset Cliffs to get a good view of a beautiful sunset, but this one took me by surprise.

I had come home from a long, tiring, tedious, stressful day at work and decided to pass out in our comfy chair.  When I woke up, I decided to take Sophie out for a little walk.  And these beautiful colors are what I saw.

It has been a long time to post.  Since my birthday actually.  In another blog, on my one year anniversary in San Diego, I posted mine and Z's emails across the country.

Although it does feel like a year in some ways, it doesn't in others.  I got lost on my way to Fashion Valley mall a few weeks ago.  I drove to Mission Valley instead.  I still have to use GPS more often than I'd like to admit.  I haven't been to a Padres game or been on the USS Midway.

But it has been one year in the fact that I've met some pretty amazing people.  I realize now that as one gets older, it truly becomes more difficult to cultivate friendships.  Maybe it's a greater risk with higher gain or maybe we learn how to guard ourselves.  Regardless, it's been hard, but definitely worth it.

But I still fight becoming a Californian.

This sunset...may just change my mind.

Saeng Il Pah Ti

That means "birthday party" in Korean.  Since the last post, the sun decided to peek its head from the blanket of clouds it was so comfortably sleeping under...and I believe it was only for my birthday.  What a great birthday present.

It all started with my students and co-workers on Thursday.  When I came to work, I was welcomed with two banners reading, "Feliz Cumpleanos" and "It's A Girl."  As the day progressed, V had the students make birthday cards for me (remind you: we teach adults), and there was a delicious cake prepared by R and V.  Then one of my students bought me an amazing M&Ms ice cream cake.

But this is about me finding San Diego, and I have to say that on Friday, I realized how much a year changes things.  We went to Min Sok Chon on Convoy Street in Kearney-Mesa neighborhood.  It is a Korean-style bar with different dishes and small karaoke rooms line the sides of the restaurant.  Z planned for us to all meet in a room.

We actually went there on the Tuesday prior to check things out and the server/hostess was soooooo nice to us.  "Oh, I can make your cocktail soju strong," "Oh, it's not a problem."  But on Friday, she was like Medusa.  She was rude enough to make one of my guests ask for another server.  I felt like I needed an elements chart and a TI-85 just to understand how happy hour worked.  "You can order one large cocktail soju and two bottles of regular soju or you can order eight bottles of regular soju and two beers and you can only order two bottles of soju per person that is currently in your party."  Then divide by the square root of evil and you have our server.

So my review of Min Sok Chon--BAD News: a little expensive, happy hour ends at 8 p.m., our server sucked.  GOOD news:  Good food, good Yakult cocktail soju, awesome karaoke equipment, no funny smell.  If I go back, I'll just sit in the restaurant area, and then when I'm good and liquored up, I'll move to the karaoke room.

Honestly, I was worried that no one would actually show up.  As I said in my first post, I felt like I had holed myself up in my apartment in OB and hadn't explored or even slightly invested time or energy into the people I've met here.  One of my friends said on my FB page, "It looks like you never left Korea!  Make some American friends."  Why?  Because all of my pictures are of my students and me.

But everyone I invited, excluding the people who live light years away, showed up.  I can't even begin to describe how I felt, and "special" doesn't seem to cut it.

Maybe I've judged San Diego too early.

On Saturday, EK and R stayed over at my house, and then EV and NMZ (Not My Z) came over.  I met EV in Tennessee way back in the day, before her prime and while I was living in mine.  She was quiet and shy and I didn't really know what to think of her.  We reunited in Korea when she was a bit older and for some odd reason, I was still the same age.  Despite the fact that she was one of my closest friends' ex, we became good friends.  She just got back from her second trip to Korea with NMZ, and she told me that I had inspired her to travel across the country.  How amazing.  I inspired another.

My actual birthday was Father's Day which causes most people to forget I was born.  But thanks to FB, I woke up with a gajillion messages--reminding me that I have met a lot of people on my journey through life.

So all-in-all, San Diego ain't too bad.

My next destination is Lucho Libre...I gotta go check out the fried cheese french fry tacos.  WHAT?!?!

Min Sok Chon
4620 Convoy Street 92111

What Month Is It?

I believe it's June.  In fact, I believe it is officially "late" June.  So why is it still overcast and cold?  I'm wearing a sweater today.  True, I AM wearing sandals, but a sweater nonetheless.  I know, people.  It's called "June Gloom."  But this is ridiculous.  I'm ready for summer and I want it NOW.


After re-reading my last post, I realized I said that there's just something about the South.  Is it like a bad break-up?  Am I still secretly in love with the South; therefore, I can't fall in love with San Diego?  Or is San Diego more like a friend who I hang out with and then later we're gonna realize that we were right for each other all along?  Is this my romantic comedy?

My Old Kentucky Home

It's been a long time since I have done anything at all.  I ride my bike to the library to borrow Six Feet Under DVDs.  I've made it through seasons 2 and 3 more quickly than I'd like to admit.  Sad, yes; entertaining?  Also yes.

Yesterday, I was able to go on to the Naval Base just 1.5 miles from my house--near the airport.  It was one of my jobs' (I have more than one which is "uniquely American" according to good ol' W.) graduation day.  It was freezing cold in the morning (probably around 60.  Not freezing exactly, but freezing none the less), but it turned out to be a great day.  The graduation speaker was the owner of Taylor Guitars.  His commencement speech was all about following your dream, but more importantly, knowing what your dream is.  A good speech, but not anything dramatically different from any other commencement speech.  But--BUT--BUT--he admitted he wasn't the best guitar player although he had a passion for building them.  He invited his friend to the ceremony to actually play the Liberty Tree guitar.  And the guitar struck my heart strings, and I became very homesick.

He played music that one would hear at the Grand Ol' Opry (he was traveling there this week), music that makes me feel comfortable.  There is just something about the Grand Ol' South that makes me want to smile.

While living abroad, the other expats might say something negative about the US and I could always let it go...It never really bothered me.  But the minute ANYONE said ANYTHING negative about the south, I would lose it.  I remember this one idiot I met in Hongdae with E.  She brought him to our table and was like, "This is Casper."  First of all, dumb name.  He sat down.  We began asking the usual expat questionnaire:

Me:    Where are you from?
Him:  Boston, what about you?
Me:    Kentucky.
Him:  Kentucky?!?!  Oh I bet your dad has 5 different wives and you live in a trailer park!  HAHhaha..
Me:   (Slamming beer onto table) GET THE F*** AWAY FROM ME, A**HOLE!

There was more to my response, but you get the drift.  Later he explained to me that he was just testing me...to see if I was cool.  Only people with low self-esteem test other people to see if they're cool.  Especially that way.

Maybe it's Father's Day.  Maybe it's the guitar pickin'.  Maybe it's the June Gloom.  But I am seriously missing my old Kentucky home.

Out and About

Believe it or not, I've done something other than eat out.

Just an update about what's been going on in my little San Diego.  On Wednesday, V and I were supposed to make a birthday cake for a co-worker.  We decided to go to her house because every time I walk in it: A) Smells spice-a-liciously amazing and B) I love her parents.  Obviously, I can't tell you where she lives cause that would just be stupid, but she doesn't live too far from me, but after holing myself in my apartment for so many months, anything outside of OB feels really far away.

When I arrived, we went to her backyard and looked at the amazing view as the sun was setting behind us. We talked about this and that.  We recently worked together to help another person.  Usually she and I blabber on and on about our boyfriends and Barbie dolls, but when something serious happens, it's time to get serious.  During this time and possibly due to the long weekend, I was already pooped by Wednesday.

We went inside when it got chilly and I asked her if she had a prom picture.  Little do people know, I love to see old yearbooks and prom pictures only for ammo to use against them in the future.  I'm evil like that, I know.

And although it was awesome to see her unsmiling face in all of those wonderful pictures (Daaaahhh-ri-uh...oh Daaaahhhh-ri-uh), I also got to see her mom and dad's old pictures from the homeland and other places.  Why is it that old pictures seem so much more amazing than the snapshots we take today?  It all looked so romantic or exciting.  Romantic in that nostalgic way not romantic in the kissy-kissy kind of way.

I got home a little past 10 and was ready to pass out.

Oh--and we didn't bake the cake.  Yeah, we're that cool.

Last night, I went over to a co-worker/friend's house.  I say this because I met her at work, but I believe she's become a friend.  She was having a wine/cheese thing for a few of us girls.  And it was so nice to see girls!  I had forgotten what it was like to have girl friends.

Now wait--before you get your panties in a wad--V is a girl.  And a friend.  But it was a group of girls giggling and gossiping about everything.  Things I know, things I don't know, and partially things I now wish I didn't know (2 girls...1 cup...oh, gross...).

A few months ago, my best friend, E, and I had a little falling out.  I don't know what spawned it exactly, but I wish it had never happened.  I miss her a lot, and I have to wonder are we just growing up?  And by growing up are we growing away?  I thought it would be so cool to live semi-close to each other again.  But measurable distance doesn't seem to be explaining the immeasurable gap emerging between us.

Hmmm...if you're reading this, E, you're still in my heart!

Is this thing on?

Overheard at Dinner

Just some quotes from the guy (A) sitting next to me talking to his friend (B) at the sushi bar:

A: "What month is it?"
B: "June."
A: "What year is it?"
B: "Uh....2010."

(Come on, folks.  If you don't know the year, then do you REALLY care what month it is?)

The same guy (A) talking to the Bartender (C):

A: "Soooo, did you look into that thing I asked you about this morning?"
C: "No, but-"
A: "But you really didn't try..."
C: "No, I called a couple of people, but they didn't have anything."

(Again, REALLY?  I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but you're really not fooling anyone.  If you want drugs in OB, all you really gotta do is ask for them outright.)

Country-Fried Girl

I admit it.  I've been to the other side of the world.  I've lived on the east coast of America, and now I'm living on the opposite edge of the States.  But I'm a Southern Girl.  I love grits (which is always plural).  I know the difference between sodas: Coke (any brown-colored soda), Sprite (any clear soda), and Mt. Dew (any yellow-colored soda).  Unsweetened tea is not an option, and a rocking chair or a swing is a front-porch fixture.

It was tough growing up in Western Kentucky as an adopted Asian girl.  I was the only Asian in my entire elementary and middle school.  I heard that there were some Asians older than me--the Filipino doctor in town happened to have two kids my sister's age.  I was called "Chinese" from Kindergarten until 2nd grade when the kids finally realized that I just wasn't going to go away.  My parents dressed me in my sister's hand-me-downs, yard sale clothes, and Wal-mart findings.  Although at the time I truly hated and resented it, I'm now able to realize that what my parents lacked financially, they made up for it in real love.  I heard kids tease their younger siblings, "Oh yeah?  Well, you were adopted!"  The younger sibling always retorting with, "NO I'M NOT!" like it was some strain of cooties that they had caught.

But it wasn't just what was on the outside.  I had the thickest Southern accent until 9th grade.  "Y'all" is still part of my vocabulary, and because I teach foreign students, I have to remind them that this isn't English used all over the US.  Maybe I should teach them all of the Southern vernacular.  They could get along well in all of the red states.

What does THIS have to do with San Diego, you ask?  THIS actually has to do with places all over the world:  the lack of good Southern comfort food.  I can find Mexican food just about anywhere in the US.  I can find Italian food anywhere (even Korea), but good country fried food?  A diamond in the rough.

And here I am at Perry's Cafe on Pacific Highway in Old Town.  I also have passed by this place coming home from work.  It's just under the overpass between the I-5N to the I-8W.  But it's better to get to it via Rosecrans for me.

It was Monday, Memorial Day, and there were people lined up just like it was Sunday after church at the Cracker Barrel.  We waded through the masses of people to put our name on the list.  The bustling white noise of the cafe exploded like a soundbite: mugs clanking, meat sizzling, conversations rumbling.  The list was on legal-sized yellow paper long.  But the Counter!!!  Oh, the counter is first come, first served.  And we got two seats at the far end it right in front of cooking line!  The food waiting in the window looked delectable and the dishes that passed by us were amazing.

The majority of the menu was frittatas and other egg dishes.  EGG!  In the same category as PORK for me--non-edible.  I scanned the menu in hopes of finding what I was looking for; my eyes passed over biscuits and gravy and I knew there was hope.  And there, lying amongst the words "egg," "frittata," "omelet" were the words "Country-Fried Steak."  What a joyous day!

With the Country-Fried Steak, I got the option of toast, English muffin, or muffin; hashbrowns, or home fries.  No GRITS?  Can't a Southern Girl get some grits in Southern Cali?

Needless to say, it was great.  I should've named this blog "Eating San Diego."  Cause that's what it seems like I've been doing.  I need to step out of the Southern haven on Pacific Highway and onto a scale.  But on the plus side, I rode my bike to get sushi tonight.

Perry's Cafe
4620 Pacific Highway, 92110
Old Town

Come and Knock on Our Door

On my way out to California, I told Z that one thing I want to do is find the place in the sand where Jack Tripper falls off his bike looking at girls. But the longer I live in SD, I'm starting to believe that that scene was filmed in LA. Depressing. Yes, I know I've talked a lot about Three's Company, but it was really all I knew about San Diego before I moved here.

I told myself a few weeks ago that I wouldn't drink beer until my birthday. Why, you ask? I don't know. I guess I sometimes play little games to challenge myself, to see who will win--me or me.

So, here's the background: I was a passenger in my car on the I-5 North. I was looking to my right wondering what neighborhood that was to my right. Was it Banker's Hill? Who knows? Not I. But a sign catches my eye "BEER HERE!" Ok, I'm sold. Next to the greatest sign ever made was the name of the bar: The Regal Beagle. And now you've got it.

Jack, Janet, Chrissy, Terri, and there was that one dumb girl who was only on it for a little while (I think she was Chrissy's cousin), lived in an apartment building. Whenever they'd go out, they would say, "I'm going down to the Regal Beagle..." I instantly told Z we had to go there THIS weekend. He was less than thrilled.

On Saturday, I got ready to go out and waited for Z to come home from work. When he arrived, he was even less thrilled about going out. It was really disappointing. Not only had I asked him on Tuesday, but I asked him Saturday morning before he went if he was SURE that he would go (and yes, he asSURED me he would go). Then when we talked on the phone at 2 p.m., I asked again. He agreed again. But here we were, at a stand-off about what was going to happen.

Grrr...This is onomatopoeia for how I felt.

In the end, after moving stuff to the garage and getting some things accomplished, I won. But not only did I win, I was right. This place was also great.

I tried to use Google to get the address of the place. I knew it was India Street, but I wasn't exactly sure how to get there. Google had nothing. There were a couple of results, but not an actual Google Maps result. I had to scroll halfway down the page to find a FB page.

We pulled up and instantly got a parking space. The area was pretty dead, but it's really like a block down the street from Shakespeare's Pub which seems pretty busy. When we walked in, the jukebox as playing and the place looked really new, but there was no one there! There was one table of people, and a couple of people sitting at the bar (which later I heard that they were the parents of one of the women that worked there). The place itself was nothing special, but I could tell that they had put a lot of thought into it, which in turn made it special.

I'm going to start to my right and go counter clockwise: There were about 8 tables just in front of the kitchen. Next to the kitchen was the awesomely delicious Mustard Bar stocked full of all different kinds of mustard. Mustard? Why mustard? you ask. You'll see.

The bar was along the back wall with 24 micro brewed beers on draft. And on the left wall was the door to the bathroom and the dartboard. I real dartboard with real darts. In Korea, we always played with plastic darts and a holey dartboard. Craptaculous. The dartboard's home next to the door to the restroom in a bar that serves 24 delicious beers--well, let's just say--doesn't seem like a good idea to me.

And on the wall to the left, in front of the dartboard was a great jukebox. A jukebox that played Vampire Weekend, Ben Folds, Bob Dylan, and although I hate them, Dave Matthews.

I opted for the Dead Guy Ale: Mai bock. It was delicious and light, flavorful, but not so much so. The self-proclaimed co-owner/beer drinker handed us a menu, and we saw the list of some of the most delicious sounding sausage (Ah-ha! The mustard bar all makes sense now). Now, here is where my life gets in the way of my blog: I don't eat SAUSAGE! Pork products are not my thing.

However, there was a Turkey Apricot sausage. Each sausage comes with homemade potato chips--yes, I said homemade--and two toppings for the sausage. I ordered cheddar cheese and sauerkraut on the side.

The sausage is made by T & H Meats in San Marcos. The guy is a "sausage meister." Hmm...I don't know if that's a title that I'd necessarily want to have, but he is also known as a "Meat Engineer." Sounds a little cleaner, a little more kid-friendly. (For more info, here's his website: http://www.tandhsausage.com/)

All in all, I feel like I stumbled upon a place that I would like to walk into again. It's all about falling into San Diego. It's nice to have a soft place to land.

3659 India Street, 92103

http://www.facebook.com/RegalBeagleSD?v=wall

Turf Supper Club, Golden Hills

This is cheating, a bit. I went to Turf Supper Club before I actually decided to start this blog. But it was also the catalyst for me to open up my life and my eating habits to the world.

On my quick driving tour of SD with my friend, V, we drove past here and she was like, "This place is awesome. You can cook your own meat." Although I didn't say anything at the time, I thought, "Why would I want to pay to cook my own meat? I have a barbecue at home."

I was wrong.

We met here about a week after the driving tour for dinner and drinks. It was so awesome. I took her advice and ordered the sirloin, vegetable kabobs, and I also decided to have a cosmopolitan. Girly, yes. Filling, no.

The interior of the place looks like it's been stuck in a time capsule since the 70s. When you first walk in there is a bar that takes up the whole length of the wall. The bartender checked our ids and was very friendly. The eating area is around the corner. There is a cowboy theme on the walls: men riding on bucking broncos, lasso flinging around in the air. Maybe this is all a figment of my imagination because the lighting was so dark, it truly could have been Bert and Ernie, Barney, or just the theme from Toy Story.

There are several rounded booths which are typically reserved for larger parties, smaller crescent booths for two, and tables for two or four. And in the center of it all is the cooking station. A large fire barbecue which could easily hold ten large steaks and some veggie kabobs. I wondered if they had to pay higher insurance since they were allowing idiots like me to barbecue on an open flame. I was sure to burn myself.

We chose our booth and started our drinks. And, you guessed it, the drinks were delicious. V ordered a dirty martini--cause that's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, she likes it. After a few minutes, our steaks were ready for grilling.

I walked up to the grill, ready for the challenge. I place the sirloin on the flaming hot grill when V adds, "Hey, there's plastic wrap on that." Great. I made the ultimate rookie mistake, and everyone in the room knew that I was the new girl. To comfort me, several people after me seemed to want their steak with a plastic glaze as well.

Near the grill, there is a "flavor station" equipped with Worcestershire, A1, ketchup, season salt, soy sauce, salt, pepper...almost anything that one would want to put on his steak. My biggest complaint is that there was no where nearby to wash your hands. I had to walk to the bathroom, leaving my steak, my veggie kabobs, my cosmopolitan, and my bag at the hands of strangers. But it wasn't crowded.

I'm sure you're interested in the food which was delicious, but this is about me finding San Diego. I have become so comfortable in my little neighborhood, I rarely leave it. I sometimes confuse San Diego with hippies, hemp, and homeless. The Turf Supper Club was nice because I was able to have good conversation, good food, good drinks outside of my comfort zone and for under $25.

V even said, "You should bring Z here." To which I quickly replied, "He is not gonna go for this. He'll say, 'We have a barbecue at home.'" I saved a couple of bites of my steak and some vegetables. After one taste he said, "Hey! We should go here." When flavor overcomes the wallet, you know you've got a good place.


Turf Supper Club
1116 25th Street
92102



P.S. Apparently, I'm not funny enough. I'll try harder.
P.P.S. I didn't burn myself.

The Reasons and the Rules

May 8th, 2009, after my exodus from the Land of Morning Calm (a misnomer if I've ever heard one) I arrived for my genesis in San Diego--a city I expected to be the motherland of sun and warmth. I mean, come on, we all watched re-runs of Three's Company where Chrissy was always wearing sweaters and jeans, but everyone else wore the proper summer attire. But while driving west on the I-8, there was a dark, heavy cloud hanging over the whole city. "This is NOT what I signed up for."

As I have learned there is "May Grey" and "June Gloom." Not only that, this is an El Nino year. Wow. What a terrible time to move to America's Finest City.

I landed in Ocean Beach, a small hippy section of San Diego, resting right on the Pacific Ocean--south of La Jolla (which I mistakenly called "La Jo-La" before I got here) and the more popular Pacific Beach and just north of Point Loma. We found a one-month rental while we looked for jobs and permanent housing. Ocean Beach was very neighborly and comfortable, so we decided to move only a few blocks over.

The first week in San Diego was heaven. Beach everyday; jacuzzi at night (our rental house had a jacuzzi). Dinner on the grill; eating on the patio. What more could a southern girl via South Korea ask for?

Reality set in. The next week, I started handing out my resume 1990s-style. I actually hand-delivered my resume to several schools in the area. Luckily for me, I started receiving part-time work from the third week. And this was my day: go to work downtown, come home, go to the beach, come home.

And it became my cycle. I missed my window of opportunity to walk around aimlessly and look like a tourist. Now if I'm wandering around in a daze, I fear that someone will ask me how long I've been here. When I answer, "Over a year," will they point at me and laugh for not learning this stuff yet?

And since I moved here one year ago, I have yet to venture out on my own. My boyfriend, Z, and I have been here and there, but I haven't really explored San Diego. And it's something that I want to do on my own. I want to run into places, fall over in places, and get back up in these places. I haven't yet fallen in love with San Diego.

I've only met one true San Diegan. And even that's questionable. She was born in Iran and moved here when she was a kid. Other than that, the people I have met have migrated here as I did just one short year ago.

Quite honestly, I was inspired by my "true" San Diegan friend to write this little blog. She has no idea, but by taking me out one Saturday and showing me around the different little "barrios," I realized that there is so much to learn and experience. I do believe most of my experience will be pushed by food (I would love to soley do a culinary tour of this place), but I'd also like to find other things to do or see in San Diego.

Another place from which this idea spawned is the fact that so far, I have hated all of the touristy things that San Diego has to offer. I hated Sea World. I hated Seaport Village. There must be something more.

So, like all blogs, I have to set some rules for myself.

First, I will not use internet sites like Yelp or Citysearch for suggestions or preconceived notions.

Second, I can take recommendations from people. Things that I hear about, places people go.

Well, I never really liked rules, so I think that's it.

I have also seen advertisements for the "San Diego Bucketlist," but I want to steer clear from that as well. I want to make MY mind up for MYself.

Overall, I'm here to find the roads--paved and unpaved, literal and figurative--that brought me here.

So here we go. The first post in my blog, and this weekend, I've got to go to Los Angeles.