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Appetite: Latest in New Orleans dining

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Returning to my beloved New Orleans, a city I’ve explored extensively via a path laden with jazz, Dixieland, Zydeco, Ramos Gin Fizzes, Sazeracs, Cajun and Creole food, there were ever more finds, both new and classic. The sweltering humid heat of July during Tales of the Cocktail is not ideal weather to fill up on po boys and boudin, but I managed, and in so doing, savored more of the soul of this most soulful of places.

Though I returned to modern day favorites like Cochon (rabbit and dumplings, boudin and fried alligator, thank you) or ordered appetizers and drinks at the bar at brand new Criollo in the Hotel Monteleone, following are restaurants I’d add to my already long, Nola neighborhood lists – and only one real disappointment.


Best New Restaurant: Maurepas Foods

Visiting six new hot openings this trip, Maurepas Foods, open since the beginning of the year, was easily the best. I approached the restaurant in the midst of a warm, sultry downpour of summer rain in the mellow, ruggedly hip Bywater neighborhood. Maurepas offers high value (everything is $3-17) in gourmet, quality food prepared with care – of the caliber I’m used to at home in SF. It’s also more playful and forward-thinking than higher priced restaurants around town. Salvaged chandeliers, reclaimed woods, the rustic look of a former printing house, all fit in the neighborhood, while the space is colorful, bright with windows, peaceful during late afternoon. Cocktails shine, artisan but affordable – more on that next issue when I cover the latest in Nola cocktails.

Chef-owner Michael Doyle (formerly of Uptown’s Dante’s Kitchen), keeps the food as funky and fun as the artwork lining the walls with his already beloved goat tacos ($8) accompanied by pickled green tomatoes and cilantro harissa on housemade tortillas. I get good goat tacos at home in Cali. and these are winners. A special of the day, lightly fried soft shell crab, feels nearly decadent in creamy curry, while Summer is glorified in peaches and peppers ($8) tossed in lemon balm with mint and coriander. A green onion sausage ($8) from Mid-City deli favorite Terranova is grilled, served alongside arancini (fried Italian rice balls) and figs with black pepper mustard.

I left Maurepas aglow from the hospitable service, confident I’d eaten at what is not just the Crescent City’s best new restaurant, but one of Nola’s best overall, downhome as it is refreshingly current.

Best Po Boy: Parkway Bakery and Tavern

Like any great regional dish, few agree on who makes it best. Which is why, when it comes to po boy sandwiches in New Orleans, I have to a try a few each visit, checking off the long list of those commonly deemed “best” (past favorites include Domilise’s). This trip, I learned from a local while riding the St. Charles streetcar that longtime Parasol’s owners had moved nearby to Tracey’s Irish Restaurant due to a rent hike, the local said. I rerouted there for a hearty (if a bit dry, despite being “dressed”) beef po boy. Nearby, I also visited the adorable Grocery (not to be confused with legendary Central Grocery in the Quarter) known for their “pressed po boys”, or basically panini. Though I loved the friendly sandwich shop, I couldn’t help but wish for a real Cubano when trying their Cuban sandwich.

But the top po boy thus far – of any of my New Orleans visits – may be obvious: I finally made it to Mid-City’s Parkway Bakery & Tavern. A classic since 1911, po boys have been served here since 1929. Lines are long (and slow) with plenty of menu items. But it’s the Parkway Surf & Turf ($8.10/11.30), slow cooked roast beef and fried shrimp in gravy, that’s a game changer. A local tipped me off to this one, rightly affirming there’s no reason to choose beef or shrimp po boys when you can have both. Adding remoulade and horseradish from the condiments table, I avoided the dryness that seems to plague many a beloved po boy. I could not stop sighing in ecstatic glee with each meaty, shrimp-y bite.

Church Brunch: Redemption

Setting outshines the food, at least at Sunday brunch, but sweet service and friendly locals who chatted with me as I dined solo with a book, a bourbon milk punch and chicory coffee, made my meal at the new Redemption in Mid-City a rewarding excursion via streetcar.

The striking, converted church setting is certainly the main attraction. High ceilings, wood rafters, and a stained glass glow imparted a lasting impression, although alligator sausage on waffles ($9 starter) could be amazing if perfected. Pricier dinner entrees ($22-$33) run the seafood to steak gamut with New Orleans influence.

Classic Ice Cream Parlor: Angelo Brocato

If you’re hitting up Parkway Tavern or Redemption in Mid-City, classic ice cream parlor, Angelo Brocato, is not a far trek from either.

Though I find flavors more interesting at La Divinia Gelateria, Creole Creamery or Sucre, I love Angelo Brocato’s history as a family-run, Sicilian sweets outpost since 1906. Refreshing mint ice cream soothes on an oppressive Summer day.

Best New French Quarter Watering Hole: SoBou

Even if the name SoBou (refering to South of Bourbon Street) feels forced, this newcomer (opened in July just a couple weeks before I twice visited) from New Orleans’ restaurant legends (Commander’s Palace Family of Restaurants) shows promise of succeeding on numerous fronts. Though the place can get obnoxiously loud, it’s multi-roomed, casual, festive, whether at individual or communal tables. A friendly bar staff, run by bar chef Abigail Gullo from NYC, beer taps actually at individual tables in the front room (dangerous!), and a menu from executive chef/partner Tory McPhail and Juan Carols Gonzalez are all reasons to go.

I’ll highlight cocktails next issue, but on the food front, playfulness reigns with blessedly local touches, like a Cajun queso ($5), essentially a pimento cheese fondue with pork cracklins’ to dip, and crispy oyster tacos ($7), a delight of fried oysters, compressed pineapple ceviche, mirliton (aka chayote or pear squash, the poster child of Southern vegetables), and Cajun ghost pepper caviar. The best bite of all?  Butternut duck “debris” beignets in chicory coffee ganache with foie gras fondue. Ridiculous.

My initial take is SoBou works best as a bar hangout (cocktails or beer) with crowd-pleasing bites and with its convenient locale and all day hours it’s just what the Quarter needed.

Sustainable Louisiana Seafood: Borgne

Obviously all of John Besh’s restaurants can’t be August http://www.theperfectspotsf.com/wp02/2010/09/15/wandering-traveler-34/… nor would I want them to be. The great New Orleans’ chef‘s latest is Borgne, with Executive Chef Brian Landry in the kitchen. It’s a bustling, almost cafeteria-like ode to Louisiana seafood, sustainable whenever possible. While the place feels short of greatness and a couple dishes disappointed, it’s a fine lunch outpost for a beer or a solid cocktail and the likes of three deviled blue crabs ($20), hollowed out and stuffed with their own meat, or skewered duck (misleadingly called poppers – $9), wrapped in jalapeno and bacon.

After-Hours Hangout: Delachaise

For late night goose fat fries ($6) with satay peanut sauce for dipping, smoked salmon johnny cakes ($13), and flank steak bruschetta ($10), alongside a bar-length chalkboard marked with an array of beer, wine and spirits (Campari-based aperitifs are a good way to go here, like a Negroni or Americano), Delachaise, with its magical, white light-draped front patio, is a couple steps above a dive and an ideal nighttime hangout with friends in the Garden District.

Business District Coffee Break: Merchant

Though I must be honest and say dry, bland crepes were a letdown, the clean, white design of 2011 newcomer Merchant in the CBD (Central Business District) makes for an inviting breakfast hangout. Serving Illy coffee, the space feels half chic Rome cafe, half Bay Area, as the design was, in fact, inspired by Apple in Silicon Valley.

Though Illy would be far from the most respected bean choice where I come from (more classic Italian chain than modern day coffee haven), what makes Merchant special as a coffee stop is that there’s nothing else around like it. Third Wave coffee hasn’t really hit New Orleans and though there is something strong to be said for a New Orleans iced coffee laced with chicory even from chains like PJs and Community Coffee, there’s a massive gap when it comes to sources for hardcore coffee aficionados. At least Merchant is trying to narrow the gap on the Italian side with a custom-build XP1 espresso machine and appropriately robust coffee.

Subscribe to Virgina’s twice-monthly newsletter, The Perfect Spot, www.theperfectspotsf.com 

Orange and black forever: The city greets its champions in a Halloween World Series parade

Andrew Lam
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Photographer Charles Russo walked 12 miles to snap these shots of our San Francisco Giants celebrating their World Series victory yesterday — on Halloween no less! Could it have been the most orange and black day ever, anywhere? The boys all looked good, but major props to pitcher Sergio Romo for his style sense.  

>>CHECK OUT RUSSO’S SNAPS OF THE POST-GAME FOUR REVELRY… AND ENSUING VANDALISM

 

The Performant: Sometimes a great notion

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TAP Light Production’s “The Ballad of Michele Myers” goes for the jugular

The genre of the spoof slasher storyline is one always ripe for mining come Halloween season, and this year in the absence of The Primitive Screwheads annual offering, Raya Light and Todd Pickering stepped up to fill the void with their collaborative “The Ballad of Michele Myers.” A cheeky blend of high camp and low blows mixed into a frothy, bloody cocktail of makeovers and machetes, “Ballad” satiates that unique craving for slutty Nancy Reagan costumes, updated Aretha Franklin covers, and buckets of stage blood. Plus it gives trans-folk a misunderstood serial killer to call their very own. You’ve come a long way, baby!

You definitely don’t need to have ever seen a Halloween film featuring Michael Myers in order to follow the events unfolding onstage. “Ballad” amusingly mashes up references from a broad swath of pop culture’s most recognizable tropes including “Friday the 13th,” “The Facts of Life,” and “South Park,” with musical nods to Warren Zevon, Amanda Palmer, Tom Lehrer, and even Hall and Oates. Four moody teenage girls (three mean, one misfit) wind up at Camp Crystal Lake with their scatter-brained, spinsterish chaperone Mrs. Skerritt (Audra Wolfmann), in order to attend a ghastly adolescent rite of passage called “The Pumpkin Prance”. The queen bee of the clique is naturally named Heather (Trixxie Carr), a shapely package of malice and spite, who makes her long-suffering, if equally bitchy, besties Pat (Raya Light, in a fat suit) and Koochi (the formidable Miss Rahni) seem downright saintly.

After terrifying her impressionable charges with a spooky story about the mythical “Michele Myers” who supposedly haunts the Camp, Mrs. Skerritt conveniently disappears, leaving the lasses to their own devices, and setting the stage for some epic teen bullying and a surprise revelation from picked-on misfit Joe (Flynn Witmeyer) that she’s actually a he. Yes, dude looks like a lady (with a mullet), and furthermore, has a crush on Heather, who repays Joe’s advances by setting him up to get bashed: dressing him up in a hot pink, glam rock princess outfit and orchestrating a rowdy game of “Seven Minutes in Heaven” with a posse of doltish boyfriends.

That this sordid chain of events reverberates back to the legend of Michele (Kai Medieros) is lost on our “heroes” until she shows up to stab one of the clueless horndogs in the back and the chase is on! Mayhem ensues, plus extreme makeovers, shocking revelations, and the obligatory “Thriller”-inspired dance bit, while blood and accusations fly through the air. With its hilariously upbeat musical score (Todd Pickering), shrewd costuming (Daniella Turner and Joe Adame) and a cast packed with Thrillpeddlers’ alumni who know their way around a salacious splatterfest, “The Ballad of Michele Myers” satiates all expectations, and heralds (hopefully) the birth of a new Bay Area Halloween tradition. You know we can always use just one more.

First Person Singular steps into “The Twilight Zone”

Sue Vaughan
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First Person Singular steps into “The Twilight Zone”

When the narrator walked onto Ashby Stage Monday night with cigarette in hand, head cocked, and eyebrows raised to welcome everyone to The Twilight Zone, the audience let out a collective laugh of recognition for this Rod Serling look-a-like.

First Person Singular‘s Everyday Monsters — despite its inclusion in the ensemble’s “Apocalypse Not Now” season — came dangerously close to doomsday in an imaginative and thought-provoking reading of three classic Twilight Zone episodes.

The company opened with the Armageddon tale “Third from the Sun,” which employs a textbook version of The Twilight Zone’s signature table-turning trick when it’s revealed that the characters are not fleeing from earth but in fact escaping to it. The actors brought the script to life with animated gestures and tones, making it easy for your imagination to take care of the rest. When it came time to depart the planet by space ship, they broke their formation downstage and scrambled to the “landing zone,” dramatizing the act of escape.

Next was up was “It’s a Good Life,” which worked suprisingly well with the dramatic reading format. Anthony, a young monster, terrorizes the inhabitants of a small town in Ohio, turning them into faux-happy drones lest they might be turned into jack-in-the-boxes or three-headed gophers. Reading from the scripts made sense with the characters’ forced positive attitudes. Then, when the characters gathered to watch Anthony’s “TV” (an invention as bad as current day reality TV), the production used an actual audio clip from the episode; this added a layer of complexity to the performance and cleverly paid homage to the original.

The last segment of the evening brought home the political relevance of the show with “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street.” Director Joe Christiano noted before the performance how Rod Serling used his Twilight Zone worlds to play out issues that were relevant in America at the time, and this one was thick with inspiration from Red Scare paranoia. A freak blackout in a small town spurs finger pointing and an alien hunt. This portrayal of how a fear of the unknown can turn people into monsters strikes deeply one of the catalysts for the arms race and stays relevant today with the current war on terror.

First Person Singular has coordinated dramatic readings and literary mash-ups throughout the bay area since its formation in 2010; this year the group has been taken under wing by Berkeley’s Shotgun Players for a series of more formal performances at the Ashby Stage. The only catch about First Person Singular’s performances? They’re one-night-only events — so plan ahead to get your “Apocalypse Not Now” fix. The final two entries are Dec. 3’s Hear Me Now?: Cell Phone Monologues (which Christiano described as, “putting the one-sided conversation where it belongs: onstage”) and Dec. 18’s Schmaltz!: The Genius of Barry Manilow (a holiday sing-a-long).

www.1stpersonsingular.com

Support the Roxie’s Kickstarter campaign!

Sue Vaughan
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Support the Roxie’s Kickstarter campaign!

Yeah, I know — at this point, you have your email set up to funnel any messages with the word “Kickstarter” in them to go directly to spam. But for every CD you never receive or artist who seems to misappropriate her crowd-sourced dollars, there’s an honest cause that’s well worth whatever support ($5 minumum) you can toss its way.

For example: the new campaign for San Francisco’s beloved Roxie Theater, the second-oldest theater in the world and the oldest continuously running theater in the US — though I’d venture a guess programming in 1909 looked a little different than it does today. (Speaking of which, check out Dennis Harvey’s review of the mind-blowing Miami Connection, luring Roxie audiences into its cult starting this Friday.) The Roxie‘s eclectic schedule always features a mix of first-run films, one-off special events, local-filmmaker showcases, and film festivals (DocFest starts next week!)

In 2009, after weathering a financial hit when a partnership with the bankrupt New College fell apart, the theater became a non-profit; several successful fundraisers later, it’s almost reached a landmark goal. From the press release:

“The Roxie is launching a Kickstarter campaign to raise $60,000 to support the final phase of its transition to becoming a sustainable 501c3 non-profit. The proceeds will be used to support our 2012-2013 theater programming, events, and institutional upgrades including a redesign of the Roxie website.
 
The Kickstarter campaign features weekly shorts by filmmakers whose work has been impacted by the Roxie’s commitment to supporting independent filmmakers who take risks with non-traditional and experimental projects. Contributing filmmakers include: John Waters, Barry Jenkins, Lynn Hershman Leeson, Valerie Soe, Hima B., IndiFest, Jane Reed, Zachary Booth, Everything is Terrible, Scarlett Shepard, Chip Lord, Mike Ott, Atsuko Okatsuka, and Michael Tully. Dave Eggers will lend words of Roxie support to the campaign as well.”

Bla-zam! Do your part, San Francisco film lover, and kick in some bucks in honor of this valuable local resource. There are some pretty cool premiums for donating, including getting your name painted into one of the Roxie’s lobby murals (!), so head to the Kickstarter page and give whatever you can.

Can tech be funny? Baratunde Thurston thinks so

Andrew Lam
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Baratunde Thurston has probably racked up more frequent flyer miles in the past year than you or me can hope to log in our lifetimes. Just in the last month, the author, comedian, former digital director of The Onion, founder of comedy startup Cultivated Wit, and Brooklyn resident has made trips to Boston, Detroit, Chicago, Dublin, and London. He’s stopped in Maine, Oregon, Boston, Washington DC, and Puerto Rico on the November itinerary. Clearly, his attempts to bring levity to our tech-saturated culture are resonating outside Silicon Valley. 

This week SF will be on his schedule – he’ll be hosting an event on Sat/3 at Public Works.

2012 has been a banner year for this Renaissance man. In February Thurston released the NYT bestseller How to be Black, a work that doubles as an instruction manual on the nuanced aspects of black life in professional and social realms and as a memoir of his adolescent years growing up with a pan-African single mother, in a neighborhood he describes in the book as “just like The Wire. We had the drug dealing, the police brutality, the murders. Well, it was almost a perfect match. We had everything The Wire had except for universal critical acclaim and the undying love of white people who saw it”

>>CHECK OUT BARATUNDE THURSTON NOW ON REDDIT’S “ASK ME ANYTHING” FORUM 

On a Skype call from his hotel room in London with the Guardian, Thurston remarks that in the time since the book’s release, his own “views on blackness have hardened and become much more staunch.” 

He fondly recalls the wide variety of positive reactions the book has elicited from its readers. He says that among black readers, his chapters on being a racial minority in private school and the workplace – not to mention the tribulations of having an unique name (Baratunde comes from the Yoruba Nigerian name Babatunde) have been especially resonant and validating.

The book has also hit home with non-black readers. On a plane ride from New York to Los Angeles, a Colombian woman overheard Thurston discussing the book and asked to borrow a copy. Before the flight even landed, she had already finished the book, and filled in Thurston on her own experience of being a fair-skinned Colombian. 

In another encounter, a white man from a black neighborhood in Chicago was prompted by reading the book to share with Thurston his epiphany of when he realized he was not black. His friends decided to form a rap group and said he wasn’t allowed to rap. Instead, he was designated as the manager.

As for whether or not this book can actually make you black? Thurston reports that he has not heard of any such transformation.

In the past couple months; the central focus of Thurston’s professional life has been shifting from HTBB to his digital humor lab Cultivated Wit, which he launched last June with fellow Onion alums Brian Janosch and Craig Cannon. Cultivated Wit’s raison d’etre is to infuse humor into Silicon Valley. His reasoning behind this move should be clear. Outside of the occasional Google home page gimmick, tech companies aren’t well known for their ace sense of humor.

Cultivated Wit acts as a consulting firm: it aims to help tech companies produce comedy-tinged marketing and outreach operations – sometimes remixing the conventional hack day by adding standup comedy, creating the hybrid “comedy hack day.” The company plans on releasing a torrent of comedic apps “with the aim to push the envelope on where comedy can happen and also on the types of interactions and personality an app can and should have,” says Thurston.

He’s never lived here, but Thurston says he has deep connections to SF and the tech scene, which should prove crucial now that he’s got his own startup. He starred in an episode of Popular Science’s Future of Everything on the Discovery Channel that was filmed in Berkeley, SF, and Palo Alto. He’s been known to do standup at the Punchline.

And as Cultivated Wit continues to expand and go on the hunt for VC cash, Thurston has recognized the expanding role the Bay Area plays in his professional life. 

“The future should be architected not just by engineers but by art as well. So the Bay is essential for us,” he says.

Such is Thurston’s appreciation for the Bay, he’s throwing a How to be Black reading this Saturday at Public Works to go along with the paperback release of his book. Attendees can pay $5 to attend the pre-reading whiskey hour, where you’ll score a free signed copy of HTBB and meet the whiskey-loving author (fyi, Thurston’s is partial to Whiskey Thieves when drinking in the city.) 

Comedians Kevin Camia and Denae Hannah will join the lineup that night for two-and-a-half hours of standup comedy, readings, and a Q&A session. Just don’t queue up to ask Thurston if he plans on writing How to be a Black Best-Selling Author – we did it for you. Thurston’s response: “I plan on living that, but I don’t necessarily plan on documenting that in book format.”

How To Be Black #paperblack book release

with Kevin Camia and Denae Hannah

Sat/3, 3:30-7pm, $20-25

Public Works

161 Erie, SF

www.publicsf.com

Paul Addis, playwright and Burning Man arsonist, dies

Sasha Cuttler
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UPDATED Paul Addis – the San Francisco playwright and performer best known for igniting Burning Man’s eponymous central symbol early in the 2007 event, a crime for which he served two years in a Nevada prison – died Saturday night after jumping in front of a BART train in Embarcadero station. He was 42.

His friend Amacker Bullwinkle told us she was shocked and saddened by the news, first reported by the SF Appeal and confirmed to us by the San Francisco Medical Examiner’s Office, which contacted Addis’ mother. Bullwinkle said she wasn’t sure if there was a suicide note, but given his prolific writings, “I can’t imagine he wouldn’t want to write something.”

After Addis was released from prison in 2010, he came to the Guardian for a three-hour interview to discuss how and why he torched the Man during a Monday night lunar eclipse, another pair of bizarre arrests that followed, and the San Francisco debut of latest one-man play, Dystopian Veneer, which he wrote in prison. That interview was the basis of two Guardian articles and an extended telling of his story in my book, The Tribes of Burning Man, which also draws from an earlier interview with Addis.

“It’s a brand new life and I’ve got all this potential and I want to make the most out of it,” Addis told me in a hopeful moment. But he was also clearly a troubled soul, deeply unhappy with what Burning Man and San Francisco had become and resentful of the role that Burning Man organizers played in supporting his prosecution.

But his frustrations seemed to stem from a desire shake up the city and Burning Man, an event that was personally transformative for him, “to bring back that level of unpredictable excitement, that verve, that ‘what’s going to happen next?’ feeling, because it had gotten orchestrated and scripted.”

Services for Addis are pending.

UPDATE 11/2: Sup. John Avalos adjourned this week’s Board of Supervisors meeting in the memory of Paul Addis and made the following comments about him:

·        Addis was a San Francisco performance artist and playwright who was best known from 2007’s Burning Man when he lit the Man on fire.
·        Addis wrote and performed several one-man plays, including Dystopian Veneerand Gonzo, A Brutal Chrysalis.
·        After years of struggling with mental health issues, Addis took his own life the past weekend. He was forty-two.
·        Addis’ controversial act was viewed by some as a dangerous act of arson and by others as a subversive protest of how Burning Man had strayed from its core principles.
·        Addis served two years in a Nevada prison for burning the Man.
·        On this day when we’re commemorating Mental Health Awareness month, I think it’s appropriate to recognize the loss of Paul Addis, and recognize how our mental health and criminal justice systems failed him, and how they fail so many others who struggle with mental health issues.

 

Giants sweep the World Series, city goes buck

Andrew Lam
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Praise Scutaro, the Giants swept the World Series last night. And San Franciscans, loose after a brilliant sunny day in the city, with ample practice from the Giants’ victory two years ago, and half dressed in their Halloween costumes, acted accordingly. Photographer Charles Russo was on hand to capture everything from the cheers in Civic Center Plaza to the fires that were lit on Mission Street late last night. Not pictured: champagne geysers, the orange-and-black celebration of choice in 2012. 

The Performant: Pretend that we’re dead

Andrew Lam
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The Performant: Pretend that we’re dead

Zombie Vixens From Hell and Love in the Time of Zombies offer food for thought and brains for dinner

The living dead are kind of obnoxious. They’re dead, but unlike dead people you might actually want to hang out with for awhile if they happened to be around (Josephine Baker, Hunter S. Thompson) the only truly remarkable thing about them is their inability to lie down and stay put like respectable dead people do.

There they are, skulking around dark alleys and isolated cabins, focusing all of their limited decision-making abilities on trying to feast on human flesh, even though they couldn’t possibly have a working digestive system. The living dead just don’t contribute much to society, and it’s difficult to see what it is about them that we continue to find so fascinating, outside of that whole defiance of biological law thing.

For an answer, you need look no further than the Phoenix Theatre, where Virago Theatre Company’s Zombie Vixens from Hell by John Byrd takes a tired trope and injects it with a syringe of good old-fashioned Sex, Drugs, and Rock-and-Roll.

True to the title, these zombies aren’t shambling revenants in disheveled rags but rather a lusty bunch of voracious brain-munchers—clad in fishnets and wicked stilettos. Inadvertently set loose on the world by a timid, clumsy PhD student, Agnes (Kelly Rauch), who accidentally infects herself with an experimental serum and transmits the resultant “disease” to both her mother (Shelly Lynn Johnson) and her hot-to-trot best pal Tris (Kelsey Bergstrom) with a kiss, the zombie vixens are characterized by two major traits: their taste for brains and their desire for sex. Also, interestingly, only the female of the species is affected by the mysterious virus—leaving the men of the play to serve primarily as (mostly willing) zombie fodder.  

Tongue-in-bloody-cheek songs such as Tris’ ode to undead emancipation “You Don’t Bang Me” and Agnes’ escape-down-a-dark-alley anthem “Paranoia” are expertly scored by the “Shameless Passion Band” (directed by David Manley) and choreographer Lisa Bush Finn throws in plenty of sex kitten slinking and a few patented “Thriller” moves, all of which the zombies attack with vigorous zeal. In fact, everything the zombies do is with vigorous zeal, and therein lies the secret of their appeal. Confidence is so sexy in a reanimated corpse. Just ask zombie fan-boys Vin (Burton Weaver) and Nat (Donald Currie), whose infatuations lead them to blissfully enabling self-sacrifice.

Speaking of enabling, in SF Theatre Pub’s production of Kirk Shimano’s “Love in the Time of Zombies,” middle-aged mad scientist Melinda (Maggie Ziomek) traps four bumbling zombie-slayers in her isolated cabin in order to feed them to her very own test subject zombie, Clara, whom she may secretly love.

The premise behind her madness is that zombies crave not human flesh but human emotion, and by “feeding” Clara the four “major” human emotions as embodied by the clueless band of four, Clara might become human again. According to Shimano, these emotions are anger, fear, lust, and regret, which probably says more about Shimano’s emotional state than that of all humanity, but regardless, watching the experiment unfold, including a very funny lesson on zombie vernacular, does give the oddience the opportunity to empathize with the unique plight of the zombiefied, who frequently come off as far more likable than the living, despite their limited vocabulary (“me want eat you fuzzy”).

And at least with zombies, you know that they want you for your mind, so really, what’s not to love?

Zombie Vixens from Hell

Thursday-Saturday through Nov. 3, 8pm, $15-25

Phoenix Theatre

414 Mason, SF

www.viragotheatre.org


Love in the Time of Zombies 

Monday and Tuesday through Oct. 30, suggested donation

Cafe Royale

800 Post, SF

sftheaterpub.wordpress.com

 

Hakka in the home: An autumn side dish from one of our fave cookbooks

Andrew Lam
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I’ve read few cookbooks as interesting as The Hakka Cookbook, Sunset Magazine recipe editor and food writer Linda Anusasananan’s exploration of her Hakka Chinese roots through the cuisine that the culture’s global diaspora has developed. Check out my interview with her in this week’s food and drink issue Feast for more on Hakka bites, and the journey that led her to write what may be the first cookbook that shares them with the rest of the world. Better yet, do that and then make the recipe below, an easily-prepared vegetarian dish that works as a fab autumn side dish. Spinach is in-season through the end of November here in the Bay Area.

Stir-Fried Spinach and Peanuts

At Lao Hanzi, in Beijing, we ate a platter of stir-fried spinach laced with peanuts. The nuts lend substance, texture, and a heartier flavor to the greens.

Makes 4 servings as part of a multi-course meal

10 to 12 ounces spinach

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1/3 cup roasted, salted peanuts

1 tablespoon minced garlic

1/4 teaspoon salt, or to taste

1 tablespoon black vinegar or balsamic vinegar

1. Trim and discard the yellow leaves, tough stems and roots off the spinach. Wash the spinach thoroughly and drain well to make 8 to 10 cups.

2. Set a 14-inch wok or 12-inch frying pan over medium-high heat. When the pan is hot, about 1 minute, add the oil and rotate the pan to spread. Add the peanuts, garlic, and salt. Stir-fry until the peanuts are lightly browned, 30 seconds to 1 minute. Increase the heat to high and add the spinach. (If all the spinach doesn’t fit the frying pan, add about half and turn just until it slightly wilts and shrinks, then add the remainder.)  Stir-fry until the spinach is barely wilted, 1 to 2 minutes, then stir in the vinegar. Transfer to a serving dish.

 

‘Cloud Atlas’ and more new movies, plus one new-old movie (‘Wake in Fright’)

Sue Vaughan
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‘Cloud Atlas’ and more new movies, plus one new-old movie (‘Wake in Fright’)

A couple of potential Oscar contenders open this week: The Sessions, which could earn a nomination for John Hawkes’ portrayal of a paralyzed man seeking to (finally) lose his virginity; and Cloud Atlas, an sprawling, interesting-yet-flawed epic from Tom Tykwer, Lana Wachowski, and Andy Wachowski that might win some technical notices, though probably won’t earn any acting nods (however, the Many Faces of Tom Hanks could sneak in there). Short reviews of both films below.

In this week’s Guardian, read up on unsettling 1971 Australian film Wake in Fright, finally hitting US theaters this week, and the San Francisco Film Society’s “French Cinema Now” series, including a film starring Jane Fonda as an American expat in France (speaking flawless French, and looking pretty flawless, too).

Other new movies this week: Gerard Butler battles big (Bay Area!) waves in Chasing Mavericks; a teen (Nickolodean starlet Victoria Justice) chases her rascally little brother from one end of Halloween night to the other in Fun Size; a king (Korean dreamboat Byung-hun Lee) hires a lookalike actor to body-double him in Korean hit Masquerade; and people … uh, run shrieking from spooky stuff in video-game sequel Silent Hill: Revelation 3D.

Cloud Atlas Cramming the six busy storylines of David Mitchell’s wildly ambitious novel into just three hours — the average reader might have thought at least 12 would be required — this impressive adaptation directed (in separate parts) by Tom Twyker (1998’s Run Lola Run) and Matrix siblings Lana and Andy Wachowski has a whole lot of narrative to get through, stretching around the globe and over centuries. In the mid 19th century, Jim Sturgess’ sickly American notory endures a long sea voyage as reluctant protector of a runaway-slave stowaway from the Chatham Islands (David Gyasi). In 1931 Belgium, a talented but criminally minded British musician (Ben Whishaw) wheedles his way into the household of a famous but long-inactive composer (Jim Broadbent). A chance encounter sets 1970s San Francisco journalist Luisa (Halle Berry) on the path of a massive cover-up conspiracy, swiftly putting her life in danger. Circa now, a reprobate London publisher’s (Broadbent) huge windfall turns into bad luck that gets even worse when he seeks help from his brother (Hugh Grant). In the not-so-distant future, a disposable “fabricant” server to the “consumer” classes (Doona Bae) finds herself plucked from her cog-like life for a rebellious higher purpose. Finally, in an indeterminately distant future after “the Fall,” an island tribesman (Tom Hanks) forms a highly ambivalent relationship toward a visitor (Berry) from a more advanced but dying civilization. Mitchell’s book was divided into huge novella-sized blocks, with each thread split in two; the film wastes very little time establishing its individual stories before beginning to rapidly intercut between them. That may result in a sense of information (and eventually action) overload, particularly for non-readers, even as it clarifies the connective tissues running throughout. Compression robs some episodes of the cumulative impact they had on the page; the starry multicasting (which in addition to the above mentioned finds many uses for Hugo Weaving, Keith David, James D’Arcy, and Susan Sarandon) can be a distraction; and there’s too much uplift forced on the six tales’ summation. Simply put, not everything here works; like the very different Watchmen, this is a rather brilliant “impossible adaptation” screenplay (by the directors) than nonetheless can’t help but be a bit too much. But so much does work — in alternating currents of satire, melodrama, pulp thriller, dystopian sci-fi, adventure, and so on — that Cloud Atlas must be forgiven for being imperfect. If it were perfect, it couldn’t possibly sprawl as imaginatively and challengingly as it does, and as mainstream movies very seldom do. (2:52) (Dennis Harvey)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zu8lX8BA2w

Nobody Walks In Ry Russo-Young’s LA-set film, from a screenplay co-written with Lena Dunham, an alluring young woman named Martine (Olivia Thirlby) is welcomed into the Silver Lake home of psychotherapist Julie (Rosemarie DeWitt) and sound engineer Peter (John Krasinski), who has agreed to help Martine with the soundtrack for her film, destined for a gallery installation back in New York. While Martine’s film constructs a fiction around the fevered activities of the insect world, Russo-Young’s drifts quietly through the lives of its human household, offering glimpses of the romantic preoccupations of a teenage daughter (India Ennenga) and Julie’s interactions with one of her patients (Justin Kirk), and revealing a series of relationships hovering tensely on the border of unsanctioned behavior. The uncomfortable centerpiece is the intimacy that develops between Peter and Martine; tracking their progress through the family’s sprawling home as the two collect sounds for her project, the camera zooms in toward the sources, making the spaces the pair inhabit seem ominously small. Their eventual collision is unsurprising, but Peter hardly comes across as a besieged, frustrated family man. He tells Martine that “marriage is complicated,” but against the warm, appealing backdrop of his and Julie’s home life, it sounds like a pretty flimsy excuse for kissing a pretty, proximal 23-year-old. As for Martine, she seems not to need any rationale. But even factoring out the callousness of youth (or at least the genre of youth presented here), the film offhandedly suggests that the tipping point away from domestic happiness is depressingly easy to reach. (1:22) (Lynn Rapoport)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ywxrqt7so9s

Pusher A pusher has been pushed to the limit — this time around in a charm-free, deal-driven London. This remake of the Nicolas Winding Refn’s 1996 Danish hit was given the seal of approval by the Drive (2011) auteur, who took a role here as an executive producer, with Luis Prieto in the director’s seat. Prieto does his best to keep the pressure on at all moments, as small-time heroin dealer Frank (Richard Coyle, resembling Dominic West in urban-hustler safari mode) undergoes the worst week of his life. He appears to have a tidy little existence with goofy, floppy-haired cohort Tony (Bronson Webb) by his side and delicately beautiful stripper Flo (Agyness Deyn) providing sexual healing and safe harbor for his dough. He has just hooked up drug mule Danaka (Daisy Lewis) to bring back a batch from Amsterdam when acquaintance Marlon (Neil Maskell) hits him up for a large order. Frank goes to his supplier Milo (Zlatko Buric, reprising his role in the original), an avuncular sort who pushes baklava in space sprinkled with wedding-cake-like gowns. Frank already owe him money and can’t cover the heroin’s cost, but this is a business built on trust, as fragile as it is, and Milo likes him, so he goes along, provided Frank returns the money immediately. Those tenuous ties of understanding are tested when cops bust Frank and Marlon and the former must dump the dope in a park pond. He refuses to give up his connections to the cops but finds that the loyalty of others is being tested when it comes to threats, cash, and even love. Prieto is a more self-consciously lyrical moviemaker than Refn, choosing to a vaguely Trainspotting-style cocktail of lite surrealism and slightly cheesy low-budg effects like vapor-trail headlights to replicate the highs and lows of Frank’s joyless clubland hustle. Still, he makes us feel Frank’s stress, amid the fatalistic undertow of the narrative, and his sense of betrayal when Pusher’s players turn, despite a smalltime pusher’s workman efforts to shore up against the odds. (1:29) (Kimberly Chun)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Qc2fwGNLv4

Question One Question One goes behind the scenes of the 2009 campaign concerning the referendum which reversed legislature granting same-sex couples the right to marry in Maine. The film investigates both sides of the story, including marriage dreams of queer families and confessions of regret from the appointed leader for the Yes on One Campaign, Marc Mutty. Though listening to preachers and activists devalue love between two men or two women might make you cringe, the inclusion of these moments creates an emotionally tense experience that will remind you how important it is to bounce back from defeat. It shows that the next step will have to be more than just rallying voters, it will require a change in ideology — an understanding that gays who wish to marry deserve equal rights, not religious salvation. As Darlene Huntress, the director of field operations for the No on One Campaign says, “I want to sit down and break bread with these people. I want to sit down and say get to know me — open your mind up enough to get to know me.” (1:53) (Molly Champlin)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fy2y7UIpgP4

The Sessions Polio has long since paralyzed the body of Berkeley poet Mark O’Brien (John Hawkes) from the neck down. Of course his mind is free to roam — but it often roams south of the personal equator, where he hasn’t had the same opportunities as able-bodied people. Thus he enlists the services of Cheryl (Helen Hunt), a professional sex surrogate, to lose his virginity at last. Based on the real-life figures’ experiences, this drama by Australian polio survivor Ben Lewin was a big hit at Sundance this year (then titled The Surrogate), and it’s not hard to see why: this is one of those rare inspirational feel-good stories that doesn’t pander and earns its tears with honest emotional toil. Hawkes is always arresting, but Hunt hasn’t been this good in a long time, and William H. Macy is pure pleasure as a sympathetic priest put in numerous awkward positions with the Lord by Mark’s very down-to-earth questions and confessions. (1:35) (Dennis Harvey)

Who needs candy? Get your Halloween fix with creepy crafts!

Sue Vaughan
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Who needs candy? Get your Halloween fix with creepy crafts!

Crafters! Ghouls! Two adorable books appeared in the mail recently: Chris Marks’ Horrorgami: 25 Creepy Creatures, Ghastly Ghouls, and Other Fiendish Paper Projects (Running Press, 128 pp., $13) and Hannah Simpson’s Knitmare on Elm Street: 20 Projects That Go Bump in the Night (Running Press, 127 pp., $17).

Horrorgami comes with a pack of papers to help you start “bending the normal folding techniques of origami to your evil will,” and begins with symbols that are used throughout the directions of the various projects. (I don’t recommend you skip these, no matter how awesome of a cootie-catcher maker you already are.) Each project is rated, or “rat-ed,” by degrees of difficulty, from one rat (“easy”) to four rats (“fiendish”).

Easy projects that even an all-thumbs type (like myself) can master include the “Friendly Ghost,” though the book quickly escalates in difficulty to trickier (trickier-or-treatier?) fold-ups resembling an “Evil Witch’s Cat” (pretty cute, actually); the “Hooded Grim Reaper” (with scythe); a “Ghastly Ghoul;” and a “Stupefying Spider.”

Some of the shapes require multiple sheets of paper, scissors, and glue sticks, so you may need to assemble additional materials beyond what’s included with the book. The instructions (complete with detailed diagrams) are easy to follow, though noobs will likely need practice before ascending to four-rat status.

Knitmare‘s beasties are far more dynamic than Horrorgami‘s (no offense to origami, but yarn allows for much more expressiveness than paper), but they’re also more complicated, and the book doesn’t come with any materials to get you going. “This book assumes a basic level of knitting skill,” warns author Simpson, who nonetheless includes a brief knitting 411 (“Basic Stitch Variations,” etc.), and explains each project with careful, cleverly-illustrated (are those witch hands holding those needles?) instructions.

And for those who know their knits from their purls, the stuff you can make from Knitmare is cuuuuute. But, like, spooky-cute: “Monkey With Miniature Cymbals” sculpture; “Necronomicon iPad Cozy;” the name-changed-to-prevent-copyright-issues-but-we-know-he-lives-on-Elm-Street-and-wears-a-striped-sweater “Ferdy Hand Puppet;” the truly “Creepy Clown Cushion Cover;” the LED-deploying “Light-up Ghost;” and the “Creature from the Black Lagoon Sleep Mask” — which, not to mingle my holidays too much, but if I had any knitting skills at all, that’d be the numero uno Christmas gift I’d give to all my spooky-minded buddies this year.

Trans activists honored in Clarion Alley mural

Andrew Lam
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It was important to Tanya Wischerath that the crowds who came to last weekend’s Clarion Alley Block Party got to see the latest addition to its collection of murals. The new piece is a stirring tribute to transwomen activists, done in jewel tones on a background of night sky and stained glass. “I was told nine days before the street fair [that I got the wall], and I was adamant that I would have something finished by then,” the artist said in an email. We’re glad — it’s lovely. 

Wischerath’s deities, clad in robes and golden halos, are comprised of steller tranladies from California’s past and present. They are: 

Mia Tu Mutch: Youth activist and panelist in the Guardian’s “SF Feminism Today” discussion that took place this summer. Tu Mutch is chair of the Housing LGBTQ and TAY committee of the San Francisco Youth Commission, and is a program assistant at Lavender Youth Recreation Information Center (LYRIC).  

Alexis Rivera: Actively fought HIV/AIDS — which affects one in three transwomen in San Francisco. Was the staff community advocate for the Transgender Law Center, and helped found LA’s Female-to-Male Alliance. Rivera died this year. 

Janetta Louise-Johnson: Works on recidivism in trans communities of color through her job at the Transgender Gender Varient Intersexed Justice Project. 

Tamara Ching: Award-winning “God Mother of Polk” well-known for her consultant work on transgender and commercial sex worker concerns.

“Painting this was humbling in all respects, and the work these women are doing and have been doing for a long time is bigger than one mural,” Wischerath told the Guardian in an email interview. The mural focuses on activists who are close to the Bay Area community for a more immediate feel, and was inspired by the fierce queens in Paris is Burning, a 1990 documentary of ball culture in New York. 

Here’s the dedication that Wischerath inscribed on the wall, along with bios of each of the women portrayed: 

The Compton’s Cafeteria Riot occurred in August 1966 in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. This incident was one of the first recorded transgender riots in United States history, preceding the more famous 1969 Stonewall Riots in New York City. Although San Francisco continues to lead in the struggle for equal rights for the LGBTQI community, trans women are often left behind and in the fight for visibility. This mural is a dedication to the work of just a few trans activists out of many who have tirelessly committed themselves to paving the way for a more just, accepting, and righteous San Francisco.

Unfortunately, the work had already been tagged by the time we headed over this morning to take photos of it — but given the nature of Clarion’s infamous taggers, perhaps the community-sourced creativity should be viewed as an initiation ritual. Let the battle for upkeep begin! 

Appetite: Portland cocktailing

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Appetite: Portland cocktailing

More than 50 places in one week…  I may not have covered all of Portland this May, but I certainly made a dent. So much so that my Portland reviews are broken up in a four part series. Soaking wet half the week, I biked out to neighborhoods East, West, and North with my usual (if grumpy, cold, and irritable) tenacity to dig in and taste the soul and breadth of a place rather than its veneer. Join me as I drink, and eat, my way through the rainy town up north.

As cocktail bars are required to serve food in Portland, cocktails and food are intertwined – and strong – at many a locale. Though I separate out cocktails and restaurants, there are numerous places where both are worth making your way to so you’ll see some restaurants listed here and in next issue’s Portland restaurant article.

Brendan Wise of Beaker & Flask filled me in on a couple cocktail projects launching just after my visit: Corazon from Chris Israel (chef-owner at Gruner, which I review next issue), and the Beaker & Flask team created a drink menu for popular PIX Patisserie http://www.pixpatisserie.com/ featuring cocktails and sherries to go with their sweets.

RIFFLE NW

Visiting Riffle NW in its opening week, I was struck immediately with fresh seafood, friendly service and some of the best drinks of my Portland week. It was opened by Dave Shenaut (former president of the Oregon Bartender’s Guild) with bartenders Emily Baker (formerly of Rum Club), and Ricky Gomez (formerly of Teardrop Lounge) – SF bartender Brandon Josie of Bloodhound recently moved to Portland to take over as bar manager for Gomez who is moving on to a new project. Riffle’s spare, modern decor displays seafaring inspiration in wood ceiling panels made of reclaimed shipping docks, while the name refers to a rocky shoal or sandbar below the surface of a waterway.

I came for the drinks but was not disappointed in the food. Black bass tartare ($10) is punctuated with dill, squid Carbonara ($17) is meaty with guanciale, while an overflowing, fresh crab roll ($21), and a huge cut of rare Copper River sockeye salmon ($32) is grilled, its salty skin subtly sweet with a bourbon maple glaze.

Emily Baker offered the best service of my entire time in Portland. After I was there a couple hours, we began talking industry connections and drink, but long before she knew I was a writer, she went out of her way to ascertain our taste preferences and make sure we were comfortable at the bar.

On the menu, a Riffle Collins ($11), made of gin, lemon, lime, celery, absinthe, salt, is the perfect starter, garden bright, light and appropriately savory with celery and salt. Room D ($9) delighted with rye whiskey, the spice of Becherovka, while quinine and citrus imparted punch.

Off menu, Baker suggested and created just what I was craving: Art of Choke (a Violet Hour creation by Kyle Davidson), mixing Cynar, mint, Bacardi white rum, and Green Chartreuse. Herbaceous, bitter, and vibrant, it hit all the right notes. Similarly, a Self Starter (a Jamie Boudreau drink) balanced Lillet with Old Tom gin, absinthe and Orchard apricot. Not too musky but crisp, sweet, boozy. All around, hand cut ice perfects each drink.

It was a treat sampling Jack Rudy Tonic from Charleston, a bottle I noticed on ice behind the bar and had to inquire about. A small batch syrup (available in SF at Bi-Rite Market), it makes a lovely tonic, set apart with lemongrass and orange peel.

CLYDE COMMON

So much has been said about Clyde Common and Jeffrey Morgenthaler since opening that it’s almost needless to point it out as a Portland “best”. In fact, for one who almost never repeats places in the same trip (ever with an aggressive agenda), I returned to Clyde Common three times in one week. Morgenthaler was only there one of three stops, offering cheeky, impeccable service. But service was warm and accommodating both evenings I dropped in – only during a weekday visit did I experience lackluster, abrupt service from one bartender.

Cocktails are a reasonable $7-9. Morgenthaler’s famed barrel aged cocktails ($10)  – his Negroni and one of my all time favorite cocktails, an Old Pal – rotate but were completely out all three visits. What pleased most were his bottled and carbonated cocktails ($8).

Though I’ve seen a lot of these the past year  – one was a basic Americano (Campari, Dolin Sweet vermouth, water and orange oil) – the Broken Bike was possibly my top drink on the menu, fizzy and vivaciously bitter with Cynar, white wine, water, lemon oil. Both were well balanced, refreshing and more importantly, fun.

Elsewhere on the menu, a Kingston Club exhibited subtle balance of fruit and herbaceous notes with Drambuie, pineapple, lime, Fernet, Angostura, and orange peel. The Nasturtium cocktail was unexpectedly too sweet for me, Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur hitting heavier than the Dolin Blanc vermouth and Bonal. A Spiced Dark & Stormy is a brilliant idea – and went down all too easy. Rum (Gosling’s dark, in this case) infused with Chinese five-spice, a spicy, house-brewed ginger beer, finished with lime, made for another winning drink.

Clyde Common was the Portland bar that for me most upheld its reputation: centrally located, serving understated drinks, strong on precision.

BEAKER & FLASK

It goes without saying that Beaker & Flask, opened by Kevin Ludwig of Park Kitchen, has been one of Portland’s hottest cocktail bars since debuting in 2009. Despite large groups in the spacious restaurant, bar seats free up often, even on a weekend, and we were able to chat, unhurried, with the bartenders, lingering over drinks.

Menu cocktails ($9) like a soft, woody Walk in the Woods (Old Tom Gin, Stone Pine liqueur, lemon, sage syrup, egg white) and elegant Cricket Club (Pimm’s, rose port, Bonal, amargo bitters, cucumber soda) please but going off menu in the hands of talented Chicago transplant Brandon Wise (now President of Oregon Bartenders Guild) and Neil Kopplin, who also makes Imbue Vermouth, is where the real action is.

Wise mixed a Rose Americano cocktail, bright with Martin Miller’s Westbourne Gin and grapefruit, earthy-sweet with Amontillado sherry. Kopplin goes with a recipe from neighboring Rum Club, the Begonia, utilizing his Imbue vermouth, aged Novo Fogo cachaca, Benedictine and velvet falernum. Sweet, spiced apple notes hit first, with a beautifully subtle bitter on the finish.

Seek out Neil’s new product, Petal & Thorn, a gorgeous gentian liqueur using homegrown beets for Campari color, cinnamon, menthol, and other intriguing elements.

RUM CLUB

Depending on which direction you’re approaching, enter Rum Club either on the front or back side of Beaker & Flask. The cozy bar is roughly one year old, conceived by Beaker & Flask’s Kevin Ludwig and Michael Shea of Doug Fir. Affordable $5-10 cocktails, chic wallpaper, low wood ceiling, the bar in the center, and a small patio you can smoke in if you’re nowhere near the door, make it an appealing place to gather with friends until the wee hours.

Though packed and noisy, I was won over by well-crafted drinks like the Hi-Lo Split ($8), vivid with Old Grand-Dad Bonded whiskey, Cynar, lemon, passion fruit syrup, grapefruit bitters – a stunner, actually. Also by Road to Ruin ($8), with a rye whiskey base, dry vermouth and bitters, set apart by cardamom notes from Cardamaro Amaro and texture from lemon oil.

TEARDROP LOUNGE

Despite the widespread respect garnered for this chic, centrally located bar in downtown Portland, Teardrop Lounge was the one disappointment of my bar excursions. It’s long hyped as being one of PDX’s best, and depending on the bartender, I’m sure it could be. The space centers around a dramatic round bar, open air windows ushering in a gentle breeze on a nice day. Even with well-prepared drinks, I found touristy clientele and disinterested bartenders during my visit soured the experience.

The menu reads well, including a glossary of terms educating non-cocktail geeks on terms like oleo-saccharum (a traditional punch base of lemon peels macerated in sugar to extract oils) and Batavia Arrack (an early 16th century, palm sugar-distilled spirit tasting of spice, citrus, anise – often used in punches).

There’s sections of House Cocktails, Classics (like Sky Rocket from 1919 or a Morning Glory Fizz – from the Savoy Cocktail Book, 1933), and one called Friends highlighting bartenders’ drinks from other cities, including SF locals: Kevin Diedrich’s Whiskey Wallbanger and Ryan Fitzgerald’s Rodriguez).

Though intriguing, a Wanderlust ($12), made of Banks white rum, a house sherry blend, Marolo chamomile grappa, medjool date bitters, orange bitters, and flamed absinthe was musky sweet without the hoped-for layers jumping out. However, Of Praise for Tulips ($9), was a brightly elegant aperitif, floral with Clear Creek pear brandy, dry and bitter with Cocchi Americano, Dolin Dry vermouth, Barenjager, Boston bitters and Pacifique absinthe.

THE DRIFTWOOD ROOM

They had me at ’70s wood-paneled walls, cocktails ($9-12) named after classic actors (e.g. Sydney Poitier, Elizabeth Taylor), and old school, Rat Pack bar vibe. When asking bartenders at “mixology” havens around Portland where they liked to drink off hours, more than one of them said The Driftwood Room. Granted, it’s in Hotel deLuxe (opened in 1912 – the bar opened in the ‘50s) and forget catching a cab from the hotel any time after 11:30pm when the train isn’t running (apparently, neither are cabs), but for a mellow, retro vibe with boozy-but-crafted drinks, Driftwood is a welcome respite.

Both Bittersweet Symphony ($10 – Temperance bourbon, Punt e Mes vermouth, Pelinkovac http://www.wineglobe.com/13047.html, Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters) and Old Tom Cocktail ($11 – Ransom gin, Agwa de Bolivia coca leaf liqueur, Krogstad Aquavit, lime juice, barrel aged bitters) pack a punch while maintaining balance.

CIRCA 33

Another bartender off-hours favorite is Circa 33 in Southeast Portland. For me, flat screens and sports interfered with a vaguely retro, laid back vibe. A library-like wall of American whiskey and bottles line the back wall with wood ladder for easy access. Easy-going bartenders can create cocktail classics, even if they don’t know them. I requested a simple but perfectly classic Old Pal, executed solidly per instruction. It’s the hidden back bar that draws industry folk, an intimate space ideal for conversation.

KASK

Though not overwhelmed with creative vision at Kask, the newer sister bar to neighboring Austrian restaurant Gruner, I enjoyed the corner casual chic in a small space with welcoming bartenders. Here can linger with friends, actually hear each other, and savor solid cocktails ($9-12).

Though my favorite drink was an off menu Del Maguey mezcal/citrus creation, I tasted the gamut, from Rabo de Galo, utilizing Novo Fogo’s barrel aged cachaca (a spirit popping up often on Portland menus), Gran Classico, Carpano Antica sweet vermouth, and Brazilian coffee bitters. The Black Lodge covered the whiskey/vermouth/bitter side with Wild Turkey Rye, Punt E Mes sweet vermouth, Combier Rouge, Cynar, Regan’s orange bitters, while another off menu creation, Leather Canary (a Chevy Chase reference), mixed up that profile with tart/sour: Combier Pamplemousse  – a grapefruit liqueur, rye whiskey, Gran Classico, Punt E Mes vermouth.

Kask’s service and relaxed vibe make it one of the better hangouts for cocktailians in my downtown Portland explorations.

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UP Festival will locate urban engineering ideas within the best of the SF arts scene

Andrew Lam
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Technology-driven “tactical urbanism” will be on display Sat/20 at the Urban Prototyping (UP) Festival. Presented by the Gray Area Foundation for the Arts, the Intersection for the Arts, Rebar, and global design firm IDEO, the UP Festival will feature over 20 projects whose creators hope will be at the forefront of urban innovation. The various projects will be showcased on the streets and in parking lots in a three-block zone centered on the corner of 5th Street and Mission, and soundtracked by a rather stellar lineup of local theater, live music, and DJs. The festival promises to be an explosion of DIY tech meets DIY civic engagement meets SF art scene.

Each digitized urban mashup venture presented will essentially be a miniature replica of the desired development. The projects will include public urinals, reimagined urban gardens, and glowing crosswalks. In addition, one particular display that caught our eye entitled “Faces,” is a facial recognition plan that takes pictures of passing pedestrians and projects them on a nearby wall. Scary? Cool?

Hip-hop collective Felonius performs with theater group Campo Santo this weekend

Expect to see an array of some the best entertainment in the Bay, too. Hot Pocket, the Latin-funk ensemble comprised of Bayonics members will perform, along with Jazz Mafia and a host of other live music groups. Festival goers will get the privilege of a performance by Intersection for the Art’s resident theater company Campo Santo who collaborate on a piece with hip-hop collective Felonius. The GAFTA stage will host DJs from Haceteria’s Tristes Tropiques to Honey Sound System’s DJ P-Play, latter doing a set with visuals by Gabriel Dunne. Kicking off the festivities will be a live graffiti battle, for which artists like Ricardo “Apex” Richey and Jan Wayne Swayze will spray up works of art as you watch (don’t get too close unless you dig aerosol-head.)

UP Festival Expo

Sat/20, free

Mint and Hallidie Plazas

5th St. between Mission and Market, SF

sf.urbanprototyping.org

Drunks, drugs, kung fu, and rock ‘n’ roll: just another week at the movies

Sue Vaughan
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Drunks, drugs, kung fu, and rock ‘n’ roll: just another week at the movies

This week, get thee to the Roxie for “Not Necessarily Noir III” (Dennis Harvey’s preview here), or the wind-whipped moors for Andrea Arnold’s brutal new Wuthering Heights (my chat with Arnold here). Other new stuff we haven’t reviewed yet: the not-screened-for-critics-because-let’s-face-it-these-movies-are-critic-proof Paranormal Activity 4, and Tyler Perry’s first Madea-free enterprise in some time, Alex Cross.

Read on for more new reviews!

Bel Borba Aqui “The People’s Picasso” and “Brazil’s Pied Piper of Street Art” are both apt descriptions of veteran artist Bel Borba, who has spent decades bringing color and imagination to the streets of Salvador — his seaside hometown, and a place already graced with the nickname “Brazil’s Capital of Happiness.” It’s not a stretch to imagine that Borba’s commitment to public art (a giant Christmas tree made of plastic Coke bottles, a rhinoceros sculpture crafted from old boat planks, hundreds of large-scale mosaics, even a painted airplane) has done its share to lift spirits. Bel Borba Aqui isn’t the sort of doc to delve into its mustachioed subject’s history or personal life (despite a few angry cell phone conversations randomly captured along the way); instead, it’s much like Borba himself — freewheeling and spontaneous, and most alive when it’s showing art being created. Great soundtrack, too. (1:34) Roxie. (Cheryl Eddy)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-SQ0pgjXm0

Fat Kid Rules the World It really does suck to be Troy (Jacob Wysocki from 2011’s Terri). An XXL-sized high schooler, he’s invisible to his peers, derided by his little brother (Dylan Arnold), and has lived in general domestic misery since the death of his beloved mother under the heavy-handed rule of his well-meaning but humorless ex-military dad (Billy Campbell). His only friends are online gamers, his only girlfriends the imaginary kind. But all that begins to change when chance throws him across the path of notorious local hellraiser Marcus (Matt O’Leary), who’s been expelled from school, has left the band he fronts, and is equal parts rebel hero to druggy, lyin’ mess. But he randomly decrees Troy is cool, and his new drummer. Even if he’s just being used, Troy’s world is headed for some big changes. Actor Matthew Lillard’s feature directorial debut, based on K.L. Going’s graphic novel, is familiar stuff in outline but a delight in execution, as it trades the usual teen-comedy crudities (a few gratuitous joke fantasy sequences aside) for something more heartfelt and restrained, while still funny. O’Leary from last year’s overlooked Natural Selection is flamboyantly terrific, while on the opposite end of the acting scale Campbell makes repressed emotion count for a lot — he has one wordless moment at a hospital that just might bring you to the tears his character refuses to spill. (1:38) (Dennis Harvey)

The House I Live In Much like he did in 2005’s Why We Fight, filmmaker Eugene Jarecki identifies a Big Issue (in that film, the Iraq War) and strips it down, tracing all of the history leading up to the current crisis point. Here, he takes on America’s “war on drugs,” which I put quotes around not just because it was a phrase spoken by Nixon and Reagan, but also because — as The House I Live In ruthlessly exposes — it’s been a failure, a sham, since its origins in the late 1960s. Framing his investigation with the personal story of his family’s housekeeper — whose dedication to the Jarecki family meant that she was absent when her own son turned to drugs — and enfolding a diverse array of interviews (a sympathetic prison guard, addicts and their families, The Wire‘s David Simon) and locations (New York City, Sioux City), Jarecki has created an eye-opening film. Particularly well-explained are segments on how drug laws correlate directly to race and class, and how the prison-industrial complex has played a part in making sure those laws remain as strict as possible. (1:48)  (Cheryl Eddy)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1vOw9ykpQk

Middle of Nowhere All the reasons why movie publicist turned filmmaker Ava DuVernay scored the best director award at the Sundance Film Festival are up here on the screen. Taking on the emotionally charged yet rarely attempted challenge of picturing the life of the loved one left behind by the incarcerated, DuVernay furthers the cause of telling African American stories — she founded AaFFRM (African-American Film Festival Releasing Movement) and made her directorial debut with 2008 LA hip-hop doc This Is The Life — with Middle of Nowhere. Medical student Ruby (the compelling Emayatzy Corinealdi) appears to have a bright future ahead of her, when her husband Derek (Omari Hardwick) makes some bad choices and is tossed into maximum security prison for eight long years. She swears she’ll wait for him, putting her dreams aside, making the long bus ride out to visit him regularly, and settling for any nursing shift she can. How will she scrape the money together to pay the lawyer for Derek’s parole hearing, cope with the grinding disapproval of her mother (Lorraine Toussaint), support the increasingly hardened and altered Derek, and most importantly, discover a new path for herself? All are handled with rare empathy and compassion by DuVernay, who is rewarded for her care by her cast’s powerful performances. Our reward might be found amid the everyday poetry of Ruby’s life, while she wraps her hair for bed, watches Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974), and fantasizes about love in a life interrupted. (1:41) (Kimberly Chun)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80_L_LsOexE

Simon and the Oaks Despite being gripping or heartwarming at times, Simon and the Oaks, based on the novel by Marianne Fredricksson, fails to cohere, serving as another reminder of the perennial dilemma of converting literature to film. It tells the story of Simon (Bill Skarsgard — son of Stellan, younger brother of Alexander), a boy coming of age in World War II Sweden. He befriends Isak, son of a Jewish bookkeeper who fled Nazi Germany, and their families become close when Isak’s father nurtures Simon’s love of books and Isak begins to heal his emotional scars by diving into carpentry work with Simon’s father. The moments of true human compassion between the two families begin to falter as the story jumps around to follow Simon’s search for love and identity. More missteps: Simon’s discovery of classical music is conveyed via a series of “artsy” montages, and his brief affair with a fiery Auschwitz victim — problematic, to say the least. (2:02) (Molly Champlin)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtT1cKo4RX4

Smashed A heartbreaking lead performance from Mary Elizabeth Winstead drives this tale of a marriage tested when one partner decides to get sober. And it’s time: after an epic night of boozing, first-grade teacher Kate (Winstead) pukes in front of her class, then lies and says she’s pregnant, not anticipating the pushy delight of the school’s principal (Megan Mullally). Plus, Kate’s gotten into the habit of waking up in strange, unsafe places, not really remembering how she stumbled there in the first place. Husband Charlie (Breaking Bad‘s Aaron Paul) sees no reason to give up partying; he’s a music blogger whose “office” is the home his wealthy parents bought for the couple, and his problem isn’t quite as unmanageable as hers (at least, we never see him peeing in a convenience store). After Kate joins AA, she realizes she’ll have to face her problems rather than drinking them away — a potentially clichéd character arc that’s handled without flashy hysterics by director and co-writer (with Susan Burke) James Ponsoldt, and conveyed with grace and pain by Winstead —an actor probably best-known for playing Ramona Flowers in 2010’s Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, but just now revealing the scope of her talent. (1:25) (Cheryl Eddy)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LSX_UH0F9g

Tai Chi Zero A little boy dubbed “the Freak” for the curious, horn-like growth on his forehead grows up to be Lu Chan (Jaydan Yuan), who becomes a near-supernatural martial arts machine when the horn is punched, panic-button style. But activating the “Three Blossoms of the Crown,” as it’s called, takes a toll on the boy’s health, so he’s sent to the isolated Chen Village to learn their signature moves, though he’s repeatedly told “Chen-style kung fu is not taught to outsiders!” Stephen Fung’s lighthearted direction (characters are introduced with bios about the actors who play them, even the split-second cameos: “Andrew Lau, director of the Infernal Affairs trilogy”), affinity for steampunk and whimsy, engagement of Sammo Hung as action director, and embracing of the absurd (the film’s most-repeated line: “What the hell?”) all bring interest to this otherwise pretty predictable kung-fu tale, with its old-ways-versus-Western-ways conflict and misfit hero. Still, there’s something to be said for batshit insanity. (Be warned, though: Tai Chi Zero is the first in a series, which means one thing: it ends on a cliffhanger. Argh.) (1:34) (Cheryl Eddy)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWIAjsf9Xq0

The Waiting Room Twenty-four hours in the uneasy limbo of an ER waiting room sounds like a grueling, maddening experience, and that’s certainly a theme in this day-in-the-life film. But local documentarian Peter Nicks has crafted an absorbing portrait of emergency public health care, as experienced by patients and their families at Oakland’s Highland Hospital and as practiced by the staff there. Other themes: no insurance, no primary care physician, and an emergency room being used as a medical facility of first, last, and only resort. Nicks has found a rich array of subjects to tell this complicated story: An anxious, unemployed father sits at his little girl’s bedside. Staffers stare at a computer screen, tracking a flood of admissions and the scarce commodity of available beds. A doctor contemplates the ethics of discharging a homeless addict for the sake of freeing up one of them. And a humorous, ultra-competent triage nurse fields an endless queue of arrivals with humanity and steady nerves. (1:21) (Lynn Rapoport)

Appetite: Tasting spirits

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Appetite: Tasting spirits

An array of new liquor tastes, and a Whiskyfest recap

NAVY STRENGTH GIN REACHES US SHORES

Unforgettable: my journey to the south of England town of Plymouth and its legendary distillery with Master Distiller Sean Harrison. Possibly the most beautiful distillery I’ve yet visited. I relished drinking Plymouth Navy Strength ($34.99) while in the UK, a bracing version of their classic gin at 57% ABV/114 proof, the preferred gin of the British Royal Navy.

Though still smooth like Plymouth gin, Navy Strength packs a greater botanical punch, enlivening cocktails. The good news is it finally arrived to the US merely weeks ago in September so drink up.

It’s radiant in a classic Pink Gin (2 parts Plymouth Navy Strength, 3-4 dashes of Angostura bitters, lemon twist to garnish), which I enjoyed in the hills above Plymouth made by Harrison using fresh drops of reservoir water from the reservoir we enjoyed tea alongside.

www.plymouthgin.com

RECAPPING WHISKYFEST 2012

This year’s WhiskyFest was another memorable one. The hilarious Martin Daraz of Highland Park and the uber cool Beer Chicks, Christina Perozzi and Hallie Beaune (their book, The Naked Brewer, just released), killed it with their laughter-packed seminar. There wasn’t enough room for all who wanted to attend their tasting pairing Highland Park whiskies, all the way up to the glorious 30 year, with well-chosen craft beers selected by the Beer Chicks – a number of pairings went shockingly well together. This seminar should definitely return next year, giving all those who missed it a chance to partake of the joys.

Digging further into the independent distillery line of BenRiach whiskies with international Brand Ambassador Stewart Buchanan was a highlight, whether the affordable steal of 10 year Curiositas, a robust, elegant 1995 Pedro Ximenez Cask #7165 (at cask strength, 52.3%) or the otherworldly, perfectly balanced 25 yr. The BenRiach line is a nuanced alternative to an Islay Scotch. Though peaty, these whiskies corner balance, letting the peat shine alongside other layers.

On the American side, the standout was St. George’s 30th Anniversary XXX Single Malt Blend, a layered blend of whiskies from three generations of St. George distillers, Jörg Rupf, Lance Winters, Dave Smith. This new release (only 715 bottles) is a rare blend of whiskies: Winters’ first single malt distillation, his 1999 single malt aged in Rupf’s pear brandy barrels, a small portion of Lot 12 whiskey, and a whiskey distilled in 2007, aged in a port cask made of French oak. Pear notes shine in this bright whiskey as does ginger, butter, banana, hazelnut and orange peel.

Another Scotch standout was Classic Malts’ Glen Spey 21 year, a limited edition whisky maintaining a lively profile in spite of age from bourbon casks with notes of coconut, caramel, toffee.

THE FIRST SF CRAFT SPIRITS CARNIVAL

Held this past weekend in the massive Fort Mason, the first SF Craft Spirits Carnival was yet another opportunity for the consumer and industry to sample a wide range of international spirits. Though burlesque felt off in the middle of the vast space, acrobatics were more in line as we explored a US craft spirits-heavy selection with a good mix of Scotch, tequila, rum and the like from around the globe surrounded by gorgeous Bay and Golden Gate Bridge views.

While a number of my usual favorites were there (Highland Park, St. George, Old World Spirits, Charbay, Rhum Clement), there were quite a few new releases to taste. Charbay started importing beloved Tapatio tequila earlier this year, one of the best values out there for quality tequila, and at the Carnival, poured Tapatio’s just-imported Reposado and Anejo tequilas. Finally in the States, both are green, bright beauties thankfully allowing the agave to dominate over barrel wood.

Local distiller Don Pilar just released a refined Extra Anejo (aged a minimum of three years). Though I am typically not a big Extra Anejo – or sometimes even Anejo – fan when it masks agave properties with too much oak, Don Pilar manages complexity with agave liveliness.

Greenbar Collective’s http://www.greenbar.biz/ (aka Modern Spirits) spiced rum ($30) from downtown Los Angeles could have been too sweet – as their fruit liqueurs were for me – but the spiced rum is subtle, nearly dry, aromatic with allspice, clove, cinnamon, vanilla, and orange zest, redolent of fall.

Michter’s from Kentucky (I’ve long appreciated their 10 year bourbon and their rye) poured their two brand new releases out this month, a decent Sour Mash (86.6%) aged over 4 years, mixable more than sippable, and a robust, cask strength (114.2%) 20 year single barrel bourbon, aged over 20 years with a definite rye spice, although they can’t disclose any information whatsoever on the grain make-up or distilling location.

The tasting highlight of the weekend belonged to Rhum Clément. Already a fan of their elegant rhum agricoles from Martinique, I was pleased to see they just released a fresh, smoky 6 year old ($56), and a cinnamon, wood, vanilla-inflected 10 year old ($73), both aged in virgin and re-charred oak.

In addition, Rhum Cément Cuvee Homere is aged in French Limousin barriques and re-charred bourbon barrels, smooth with tastes of biscuits, almond butter, hazelnut, chocolate, black pepper, while the stately, pricey Clément XO Rhum, is a Cognac-reminiscent treat blending rhums from highly regarded vintages, like 1952, 1970, 1976, complex with fruitcake, toffee, tobacco, leather. My favorite ended up being a cask strength (though still reasonable under 100 proof) 10 year old Rhum J.M. Millesime 1997, unfolding with toasted nut, lemon, sage, passion fruit, white pepper, cinnamon.

Subscribe to Virgina’s twice-monthly newsletter, The Perfect Spot, www.theperfectspotsf.com

The Performant: Boxed in at Boxwars

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Putting the glad into Gladiator

You are a warrior. Sheathed in armor of the finest corrugated paper pulp and armed with the righteousness of a hundred possible causes (pick one, any one), you grab your war hammer, fashioned perhaps from a couple of paper towel tubes and an empty case of 21st Amendment Brew Free or Die, and hie thyself to Dolores Park for the grand melee.

The last-gasp October sun beats down hot on the sloping hills of the park, which are covered in defiantly bared flesh and picnic supplies, while blimps slowly drift across the impossible blue of the afternoon sky. A gladiatorial spirit vibrates through the giddy ether, doubtlessly carried over from the Giants and 49ers games being played just a couple of miles away. It’s a good day to do battle. It’s a good day for Boxwars.


Entering the park you start sizing up the competitors, an assortment of deceptively nonchalant combat geeks nursing Tecates and sporting bulky breastplates, cumbersome helmets, cardboard shinguards, and Samurai-inspired shoulderplates. One calamity-courting individual has what appears to be a target centered on his chest, another, dressed like Captain America, pronounces himself “Middle Class America,” perhaps in honor of the ass-kicking he will soon receive at the hands of his fellow combatants. A creative array of medieval weaponry bristles from the hands of each box-warrior: lances, maces, battle-axes, and swords. Some people carry shields. Some have left no holes for arms and therefore carry nothing at all.
“That’s a poor choice,” observes one sage spectator near me.

Entering the battlefield is a man perhaps too congenial to be taken seriously as an uncontrolled berserker, holding a megaphone. This is Mat Kladney, co-creator of the UK version of Boxwars (which originated in Australia), and driving force behind the San Francisco edition. One by one, he introduces the combatants by their *noms de guerre*: the aforementioned Middle Class America, Robox, Tower of Power, I love Microwaves. Five year-old Ben Michaels captures the “aww cute” vote in his self-decorated cardboard cube, while Dapper Ehren (Tye) and Awesome Ashley (Raj) capture the “hell’s yes” award with a pre-battle marriage proposal and acceptance of same—moments before all assembled box-warriors are given the go-ahead to clobber the snot out of each other.

After a countdown from the crowd, the cardboard-clad foot soldiers rush into the mostly unstructured fray, pummeling whoever happens to be nearby. Alliances are forged and broken almost immediately, an armless Gameboy is beaten down and set upon by a mob. Awesome Ashley, recovered from her beau’s surprise announcement, swings her cardboard war hammer with experienced vigor, while a pair of disarmed legionnaires start wrestling each other instead. Just fifteen minutes after it begins, the battle is effectively over, a growing pile of destroyed armor and discarded weaponry left in the middle of the field. There is no clear winner of a Boxwar, which Kladney (whose fight philosophy is simply “have fun”) emphasizes as the point.

“Everyone wins at Boxwars,” he asserts. “When winning…comes into play, people start to take things way too seriously.

Live Shots: ABADA-Capoeira’s “The Spirit of Brazil”

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Sparking machetes. Lots of them, clanking against each other, as the dancers holding them ran in circles.

I’ll be honest, sitting in the front row was slightly intimidating, and also rather exhilarating! The ABADÁ-Capoeira dance troupe, plus special guests from as far Switzerland, filled the stage with pure energy, in rehearsal for the troupe’s “Spirit of Brazil” show, running Thu/18-Sun/20. 

One of the dances tells the story of an ancient church in Brazil, where people of all religions went to be blessed. It was a moody and beautiful piece. There’s live music, soulful singing by the musicians and the dancers, and, yes, seriously speedy dance moves involving very large, sharp knives. It’s primal, wild, and filled with history. Go see it — just make sure your eyebrows don’t get shaved off!

ABADÁ-Capoeira San Francisco’s “The Spirit of Brazil”
Thur/18-Sat/20, 7pm, $23
Sun, October 21, 3pm
ODC Theater
3153 17th St., SF
www.odcdance.org

Burner-built Peralta Junction brings a West Oakland lot to life

Sasha Cuttler
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Burner-built Peralta Junction brings a West Oakland lot to life

Bay Area artists and other creative types have been building cities from scratch in the Nevada’s Black Rock Desert for two decades now, forming their culture and honing their ability to fill blank spaces with unique and wondrous offerings. In recent years, they have increasingly turned their energy and vision toward their own backyard, with the latest manifestation being Peralta Junction.

The long-vacant triangular lot near the corner of Mandela Parkway and Grand Avenue in West Oakland (2012 Peralta St.) has now blossomed into an old-timey midway, where visitors can play twisted adaptions of carnival games, check out cool sculptures, shop at artisan craft boutiques, paint personal artworks on a central wall, take in free live entertainment or the weekly movie night (they’re showing Men in Black this Thursday), or just hang out and enjoy the time-warp feel of this communal space.

And, like much that burners build, this temporary installation will enliven this sleepy corner of West Oakland and then disappear into dust in mid-December. The project is produced by Commonplace Productions and One Hat One Hand and sponsored by The Burning Man Project (the nonprofit offshoot of the LLC that stages Burning Man), the Crucible, Stageworks Productions, CASS Recycling, and American Steel Studios – all vaguely burner-related crews.

In fact, Peralta Junction is sort of an annex to its neighbor across the street, American Steel Studios, the behemoth workspace that has birthed some of the biggest projects ever built for Burning Man, from 2007’s Crude Awakening (whose worshipful figures are now bound for a permanent home in Brazil) to this year’s Zoa by the Flux Foundation. Many of the artists involved in Peralta Junction work out of American Steel, which has been developing an increasingly public face with cool, semi-permanent installations like the Brothel and Front Porch projects originally developed for the playa.

Peralta Junction aims at the local West Oakland neighborhood as much as the larger community of burners, and so far it’s been well-received by both. “I think people are responding really well and positively,” Leslie Pritchett, with Commonspace Productions, told us. “The response we’re getting from the people who have been there is just fantastic.”

But after a strong initial surge of people in the week after its Oct. 4 opening, Pritchett is concerned that the lack of foot and car traffic past this low-key spot will make it challenging to support the vendors, food trucks, and other offerings she’s bringing in. That would be shame, because I thought it was super cool when I checked it out last weekend. So get on down there, support the local artist community, and have a great time.

Frog killers in the heat: San Juan’s first street art festival

Andrew Lam
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Sego painted a coqui. That makes sense because the soft-spoken Mexican mural artist dabbles luminously in the animal kingdom, improbably creating detailed scenes of magical realism with little more than aerosol cans.

The coqui is Puerto Rico’s mascot, the tranquil frog that defines the nighttime soundscape, and plagues tourists unused to the noise with its chirps. Sego’s wall, part of the first street art festival in San Juan history Los Muros Hablan, was an “aww” moment for the passing cars (and there are a lot of them. Sweltering San Juan lives and dies by the air-conditioned automobile.)

Less than a mile away, Roa is working on an iguana that, despite its vampy, lounging posture, holds a dead coqui in one languid claw. Roa is Belgium, and generally acknowledged to have popularized animal drawings in this brave new world of gallery-approved street artists. Delayed by the theft of his lift’s batteries and a few dehabilitating hangovers, he’s probably still working on the piece in San Juan’s 90 degree humid swampiness.

He left the frog death and pertaining iguana paw for the end of the piece. While I lounged in the shade of an orange road safety buoy last week, I watched cars stop, belching young men whose only desire was to take a picture with Roa. All the better if he was holding his baseball cap over his face (he always is.) Later these images would pop up on Instagram, appropriately hashtagged so that we could review them easily.

I wonder how San Juan will like the crushed coqui. “You can see a lot of things in it,” Roa told me on a late-night ride out to said jungle with some other Los Muros artists and attaches. The long-ago Spanish rule of Puerto Rico, the right-now United States colonization of the island. “There’s a lot of ways to interpret it,” he told me. 

Though one will note a preponderance of animal renderings in the Los Muros Hablan renderings, it wasn’t all frogs and frog-killers in the Santurce streets. Local legend Sofia Maldonado threw up a warning about the 709 women who have been murdered in Puerto Rico between 2000 and 2011. Though Maldonado was the only female muralist at the fest, La Repuesta — the spectacular, grungy club that gave over a back room to serve as Los Muros’ nerve center and gathering spot for the Escuela Central de Artes Visuales (Center High for the Visual Arts) students that assisted, and generally mooned around the artists in the festival — did host a Los Muros ladies night, featuring an all-female cast of live painters and DJs. Women made up the bulk of the audience at an artist panel discussion at San Juan’s Museo de Arte Contemporáneo (Museum of Contemporary Art), looked up at the scenes being sprayed on their city’s walls.

Argentina’s Jaz labored over a mural so layered it came off looking like an illustration from an Illuminati-made children’s book.

Mexico’s Nuezz painted a folkloric, horizontal man in a hat along the side of La Respuesta.

Ever from Buenos Aires is working (again, altitude delays) on a six-story naked woman shooting colorful shapes from her eyes who may or may not bear a resemblance to your humble writer, whose labia may or may have been seen by a substancial segment of San Juan commuters.

Spain’s Aryz (you’ll remember him from that Aesop Rock album cover) gave birth to a mermaid-toned skeleton man on a condo building. 

Juan Fernandez, one half of the La Pandilla duo that along with mosaic artist Celso helped to organize the entire affair, drew endless loops that eventually formed a song bird. Alexis Diaz, the other half, had barely gotten started by the time I left Puerto Rico, so busy was he shuttling fellow artists from hotel to breakfast to wall and replacing stolen lift batteries. I’m sure whatever he’s working on will turn out great though. 

Painting big murals is not, for most of even its stars, a money-making proposition. Los Muros Hablan paid its visiting artists airfare to the island, kitted them out with supplies, and occasionally-late lifts to access the dizzying heights of their canvases in exchange for their services in bringing attention to the often-overlooked Santurce neighborhood.

Santurce’s blocks, though they stand a 10-minute bike ride from the city’s white sand Ocean Park, are largely vacant by night. Flashy new condo developments dot the area, betting that new inhabitants will warm to a walkable ‘hood. One wonders how they feel about dead coquis. 

In the case of its international visitors, the fest took charge of feeding the beasts, a source of consternation among the local painters. Making murals like these is generally just a way to make one’s impression on the streets, and of course the many bajillions of street art fans addicted to RSS feeds around the world.

Generally at these festivals, the artists wear their painted-ass shorts and sneakers 24 hours a day, and sleep three to a room until they’re off on the next flight — to Australia, to New York, back to Barcelona. They get paid in new tans and Instagram followers, aim for the interest of art collectors. Such is street life, even if you’re in charge of scenery. 

Check next week’s paper for the debut of my new column Street Seen, featuring my interview of all-around Puerto Rican badass — and only female muralist at Los Muros Hablan — Sofia Maldonado

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