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.