Hoppin' John

Last year, a friend of mine mentioned he always serves Hoppin' John at his annual New Year's Day party. As an Orange County-raised son of non-Southern parents, I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Hoppin' John?

Once he finished rolling his eyes at me, he explained that eating black-eyed peas (the primary ingredient of Hoppin' John) was considered lucky if eaten on New Year's Day. The act of eating them is supposed to ensure prosperity, since it was believed that, when cooked, these little legumes resemble coins. Apparently, collard greens are supposed to look like folded dollar bills, too. Southern people seem to have very active imaginations, which is probably why I have such a strong affection for them. I chalk it up to their near-starved state during the Civil War. Union soliders, in an effort to starve out the Confederates and make life generally unpleasant, took whatever food stuffs they could find for themselves, leaving crops like corn and black-eyed peas untouched because, at the time, they were considered pig fodder and, therefore, unfit for human consumption. Black-eyed peas are a symbol of resourcefulness, of survival.

My friend never did know where the name Hoppin' John came from. No one is in agreement as to the etymology of the dish. Some say it comes from a children's game, wherein the little tykes hop around the dinner table chanting and rhyming. Other's say it comes from a one-legged slave who created it. Other sources are suggested, but does it really matter? The dish is here and, hopefully, here to stay. We need all the luck we can find. If it can be found in a little cowpea from North Africa, then so be it. I'm willing to give it a try. It certainly cant hurt, unless I eat a large quantity of them uncooked.

I missed last year's New Year's Day party and the Hoppin' John. I ate Popeye's Fried Chicken instead. Not surprisingly, my year was not what I would consider remotely prosperous. This year I'm hedging my bets. I suggest you do, too.

Happy New Year.

Hoppin' John

There are countless variations of this recipe (I even found a recipe for Hip Hoppin' John), but the basics remain the same-- black-eyed peas, some sort of smoked pig product, onion and water. Everything else that might be included seems to be a matter of either taste, region or whatever one might think is lucky. Throw in a diced rabbit's foot or a horseshoe-- I doubt anyone would notice. Here's my version:

1 pound dried black-eyed peas
1/4 pound thick slab bacon, diced into 1/4 inch cubes
1 onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 bay leaf
1 stalk of celery, finely diced
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 cups water
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
about 10 shakes from a Tabasco Sauce bottle
roughly the same amount of shakes from a bottle of rice wine vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

In a large Dutch Oven, fry up bacon until browned. Turn heat down to a lowish flame. Add celery, onion, garlic and chili flake. Cook until translucent (about two minutes). Cover with water. Add thyme and salt. Bring to a simmer, reduce heat to low, cover and cook for about one hour or until al dente-- longer if you want them mushy as some people might insist upon.

When done. Add tabasco, vinegar and pepper. Adjust salt, if necessary.

Serve over rice. Throw in a side of greens for extra luck. Sit passively and wait the Publisher's Clearing House representative to arrive in his van with a bouquet of ballons and a gigantic check.

Serves 6 to 8.

Christmas Eve

Years ago, while having dinner with my college roommate in New York, I smelled something odd. The smell, originating in the kitchen of Vucciria, had found its way onto Craig's plate and into my nostrils. "What the hell is that?" I asked. "It's bucatini with anchovy and fennel. Have a bite." At twenty-two years old, bucatini was, to me, as foreign as it sounds and anchovy was something to be avoided. Fennel? I doubt I had any real idea what fennel was. But, since Craig thought it was really good and, in the four years we lived together, never lied to me, I dropped and twirled my fork onto his plate and took a bite.

I nearly choked. Not from getting food caught in my windpipe nor because it was so distgusting my throat muscles refused it entry into my esophagus. It was because the moment it hit my mouth, I had a vision of my grandmom beating a baby octopus senseless against to porcelain of her kitchen sink. True, dead animals lack any sense, good or otherwise, but it was my fantasy. The mind plays tricks.

Craig's random menu choice released a lot of memories I never even knew I'd put in lockdown. His main course was the focal point of a very traditional meal I loathed as a small child-- Chrismas Eve dinner. I have now, sadly, managed to effectively wipe much of the meal from my memory. So has the rest of my surviving family. When trying to recreate the pasta dish I offer up today, my father couldn't remember much of what was in it. "I remember it had some crumbly, crunchy stuff on top." "You mean breadcrumbs?"I asked. "I think that's what it was, I never really liked it, so I don't remember. I guess Grandmom was just trying to keep a tradition alive." I don't remember the exact year my Grandmom finally gave up trying to force tradizione down the quarter-Sicilian throats of her grandchildren, but the Christmas Eve we smelled red sauce cooking in the kitchen, there was much inward rejoicing.

What I find amusing, if a bit sad, is that, as a thirty-seven year old man, I now love all the things that old broad made for us. The bucatini dish, the anise cookies, the braised octopus. I remember the terror of seeing her cleaning and beating the octopus in her sink, as previously mentioned. Unfortunately, I had recently seen a horror film one Sunday starring a giant octopus at my father's place, so I was not pleased to see my grandmother playing with monsters. I told her I would have none of it though, unlike in The Bride of the Monster, this octopus lost its wrestling match and ended up an unwelcomed first course. "Michael, you eat this every year and you're gonna eat it tonight. You told me last year you liked it and that's why I'm making it again-- for you." With the little sea creature in a stranglehold, she managed to pin me to the mat without even looking up. Neither of us was much of a match for her.

I am now nostalgic for those dinners I never thought I liked in the first place. But, like the U.S. savings bonds she placed under the Christmas tree every year, I matured and learned to appreciate.

Bucatini with Fennel and Anchovy

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
10 anchovy filets
1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 bulb fennel, halved and thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/4 cup pine nuts, toasted
1 cup bread crumbs, finely ground and toasted
1/4 cup parmesan cheese, finely grated
1 pound bucatini pasta (use whatever pasta you want, I'm not particular)

Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add anchovies, mashing them with a fork into the oil. Add fennel, onion, garlic and pepper flakes. Be careful how you heat this. Do it gently, or these bulbs will burn. Cook until tender, about five minutes.

Meanwhile, cook pasta in a large pot of boiling water until al dente. Drain and reserve 1 cup of the pasta water. Add water and pasta to the cooked fennel mixture and toss, coating the bucatini well.

Combine bread crumbs and grated cheese. Transfer pasta to the serving platter of your choice. Sprinkle liberally with breadcrumb mixture, pine nuts and fennel fronds.. Serve immediately

Serves 4 adults or about 15 small children who won't eat it, no matter how much you threaten.

Falletti Foods

Falletti Foods is open. Perhaps I should say "Falletti Foods has re-opened in a new locating after a long absence." Whatever the case, it now exists at 308 Broderick Street.

I had only a slight idea of Falletti's previous existence, even though I have lived here eleven years. and then, it was only in passing-- quite literally. I was driving down Fulton Street a few years ago with a friend. The new Albertson's was near completion. My friend asked, "Ever go to Falletti's?" He was annoyed that what he considered a good, local grocery store was being replaced by a mega-chain. I thought of a poor little Italian grandmother getting muscled out of the neighborhood by a gang of corporate thugs. This may or may not have been the case, but I have a thing for Italian grandmothers, so the idea was disturbing to me nonetheless. My friend, who is not a man I would consider nostalgic, sighed. Apparently, I had missed something worth sighing over.

Well, grandma got a brand new house. She was welcomed to her new neighborhood on November 7th. I finally made my way to visit her a couple of days ago, a little wary of disappointing myself, all those false memories of a place I had never before visited popping into my head, a little apprehensive of reviewing another grocery store. Will there be picket lines?

I almost walked by the store as I wandered up Fell Street. I had my nose in a book, so that is not surprising. I peered up from my paragraph, looked around me and backtracked a few yards. The sign was small, unassuming. I was expecting something big, something bright that yelled "Shop Here." I was expecting a slightly toned down version of Bristol Farms. I was wrong.



What I found was surprisingly small. Delightfully so. And very well organized. There is little chance of getting lost at Faletti's. Doubtful you will here mothers shouting the names of their out-of-sight children. I think I was initially a little disappointed. Is that all? Where's the durian jam? Where's the speck? I realized that I had become so inured to gigantic grocery stores-- organic or otherwise-- that a small store felt so...small.

What I finally got through my thick head after roaming the place for a while was that this is a neighborhood grocery store. It serves its community. It's even adding to the community, with 70 condominuims freshly built right above the store-- a sort of built in customer base.


Falletti's has teamed up with a couple of well liked San Francisco stores to fill some of your other gustatory needs. Grab a cup of joe at Peet's Coffee to keep you company while you stand on line at the DMV across the street. Or, similarly, console yourself with a piece of bread pudding from Delessio Market & Bakery after failing your driver's test. Again.

By the way, you should be pleased to know that, though not a union store, Falletti's offers it's employees health benefits and, according to General Manager Alan Miloslavich, pays them a wage higher than union scale.

So... if you live in the neighborhood, drop by and shop with a clear conscience and an empty belly. Even if you don't live nearby, go for a little visit, just to see what a neighborhood grocery store should be like, in case you might have forgotten, like me.