Outerlands - San Francisco

On a sunny summer day in San Francisco, what’s more perfect than brunch by the beach? I can tell you, not much. I first heard about Outerlands from my good friend Tye who heard about this place through her boyfriend who is friends with friends of the owner. And boy, I’m so glad I received the tip!

Outerlands has an uber hipster vibe. I’ve been told the hipster crowd is slowly migrating over to the Outer Sunset, and by the looks of this restaurant and its clientele, I would say that’s accurate.

When the menu hit the table, my eyes were drawn to the fried egg and bacon open-faced sandwich. It was so delicious! A thick and chewy slice of sourdough topped with crispy bacon, cheese, and two over-easy eggs. I popped my eggs immediately so that the yolk dripped into the crevices of the bread like a thick and creamy sauce. Oh so good.

After our sandwiches, we nibbled on their homemade soft-chew caramels and sipped on some Sightglass Coffee which they served in a neat looking carafe. The caramels was such sweet buttery goodness, good thing I only had one otherwise I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

I can’t wait to come back to Outerlands to try more. Everyone around our table seemed to be ordering the grilled cheese sandwich that is pan fried in butter with a side of soup. Seems like the perfect brunch this July 4th weekend!

Our first set of furniture - Plastic Molded Chairs

Plastic Molded Chairs

Construction has officially begun at the K+S household. Unfortunately, we discovered a few extra repairs that need to be done which breaks our budget. As much as I hate to do this, K and I will have to wait on our new couches and dining set for now and stick to some temporary furniture some family gave us.

However, I did manage to snag some white plastic molded chairs with the eiffel base for our breakfast nook! Yes, they’re knock offs. K and I originally wanted the original Eames version, but for the price of one, we got four of these babies from Advanced Interior Designs in SF. They’re pretty close to the real deal except for the fact that the base of the seat is a little smaller and the texturing on the seat is a little different. Unless the chair is side-by-side with an original, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Love the service, selection and price at AID and I’ll definitely come back when I’m ready to purchase more furniture.

Now, we have to find a table to match! We’ve been eying these 36″ tables from Room and Board and Scandinavian Designs, but we can’t decide! Anyone have any suggestions?


Axis Table $659 at Room and Board


Becky Dining Table, $249 at Scandinavian Designs.

Satay Station in Kuala Lumpur, Malasia

A moderately clean, semi-lighted place

      Guest post by Ikai Lan


   Three men gathered at a suburb outside Kuala Lumpur. The sky was dark, yet the warmth of the equatorial Asian sun lingered, embracing the men wistfully. They sat at an outdoor table, mounted fans providing sweet respite from the heat.
 

   The well dressed Malay man spoke first. He wore a dark shirt with white stripes, slacks, and dress shoes. His skin was darker than that of the other two men, camouflaging the beads of sweat that danced down the sides of his face. His face was jovial, but behind his spectacles, his eyes spoke of a man who had seen much, loved much, lost much, and yet - thrived. He had a strong frame, but when he sat his midsection protruded, having seen better days.
 

   “In Malaysia, we have a problem.” The well dressed man uncrossed his legs and crossed them again from the other side. “The men - the men stray. They stray from their wives. And as a response, the women have formed a society: ‘The Obedient Wives Club.'”
 

   The American listened. He tilted his head to the side, curious, as if to say, “tell me more.” His eyes sharpened, betraying a mix of general confusion as well as titillation. He wore a faded green t-shirt, the word “Vegas” sprawled underneath a sketch of the glamour of Sin City, editorially omitting the city’s underpinnings of broken dreams, lost fortunes, and the general hawkish exchange of pleasure for cold, emotionless cash. This was his first time in Malaysia, and initially, he found the heat and humidity to be unbearable. In his shorts and sandals, however, his surroundings were, at the very least, tolerable. He had long given up on any goals of not drenching his clothing with the dampness of his sweat. He wore thick rimmed black glasses on a high ridged nose, and a shadow of stubble was beginning to form on the frame of his face. Many would consider him to be extraordinarily handsome. It was well known that wherever he went, women followed, blazing a trail of broken hearts, tears and jilted husbands.
 

   “What does it mean to be an obedient wife?” The American raised his glass of lemon tea and took a sip.
 

   The answer came from the man with the goatee to his left. He was the eldest of the trio, but his disposition was by far the most youthful. His face had inherently soft features, but they were juxtaposed against sharp, brush-like eyebrows and facial hair. His garb was similar to the American: a beige t-short and shorts. Even the most cursory look at both men, however, would leave no doubt in anybody’s mind that he was a local. The American could not help but draw comparisons between him and a famous Hong Kong actor who was often cast in the role of a triad boss. “Obedient wife: lady in public, a whore in the bedroom.”
 

   “And does it work?”

 

   “Who knows,” said the well dressed man. “There’s a parody called the ‘Obedient Husbands Club‘.”
 

   “In truth,” said the goatee. “The movement is a parody in and of itself.”
 

   The well dressed man reached for his glass and sipped his sirap bandung. As if he had forgotten and was only now reminded, the goateed man reached for his glass as well. The American reached for a skewer of satay. His glass of bandung was conspicuously still nearly full, ordered for him by the two Malaysians as a sample of local flavoring. He had tried to like the drink, pairing it with both his curry noodles earlier as well as both the beef and chicken satay, with no luck. In general, he always tried to accommodate the hospitality of his hosts wherever he traveled, but this time he could not overcome the strong taste of pink bubble gum and its even stronger aftertaste. He had asked what was in it and was told it was non-dairy milk mixed with a special type of syrup. His hosts had caught on to his taste, and instead of choosing to be offended, they called on the waitress and ordered him a lemon based drink less foreign to Westerners. He was grateful for the perception of his hosts, because the salty-sweet taste of the satay had left him parched.
 

   The American took his beef satay and dipped it into his bowl of peanut sauce. He had peanut sauce before stateside - it was his first choice when eating at hot pot restaurants - but something about the richness here, blended with the satay filled some primordial desire for meat on a stick. Most of the skewers were divided into three regions: two pieces of lean meat at the ends, with fatty meat in the middle. In the beginning, he devoured entire skewers indiscriminately, but as his skewer count grew, he found the fatty section to be less and less satisfying each time, eventually opting to simply remove it rather than ingest it. At he ate this piece of satay, he smiled as his imagination wandered, likening himself to a Tyrannosaurus Rex tearing apart lesser reptiles. Perhaps this is what is is like to be king of the lizards, he mused, no regard to rules, cleanliness or the whims of others. Eat what I want, when I want, and to hell with my critics. His companions saw him smile, and he quickly wiped it away. They must not know my mind; they must not know the lion that eats in their midsts.
 

   The well dressed man’s phone rang, and he answered. “We are at Satay Station.” He switched to speaking Malay, into perhaps one of the longest driving instructions of the decade, before switching into English, turning to the American, and saying, “There are six other places named Satay Station in this area.”
 

   “… and none of them are actually known as ‘Satay Station’,” the goateed man finished his thought. The three men had worked their way through forty-five or so of the fifty skewers they had ordered. “Normally satay is an appetizer. This is one of the few places where it is, in and of itself, a primary dish. You’ll see a wide range of of prices and sizes. For instance, here, the skewers are three times as large as at some other places. The prices are also reasonable, costing about eighty ringgit a skewer.”
 

   The American had been in Kuala Lumpur long enough to automatically apply a rule of dividing by three whenever he heard value denominated in the local currency, the Malaysian ringgit. So - each skewer was roughly an American quarter. Certainly a fair deal. He reached for a chicken skewer, though he enjoyed the beef skewers much more - the texture and flavored simply meshed much better with the peanut sauce. A brown cat walked by between the tables. No one seemed to pay it any mind, and the cat returned the favor.
 

   The goateed man seized the break in conversation to change the conversation back to an earlier topic. “So the Singaporeans really told you that they have better food than we do here in Malaysia, eh?”
 

   The American responded. “Yes, very much so. When I told them San Franciscans were serious about food, I was told they were very proud of their Hawker centers, which were some of the best in Asia.”
 

   Both men guffawed at this. But it was the goateed man who spoke first for the Malaysians. “Yes, that’s why the Singaporeans drive four hours to Kuala Lumpur all the time, right? To eat lesser food? And to have our inferior bak kut teh?”
 

   “Bak kut teh?”
 

   “In Chinese - ‘meat bone tea’.”
 

   “Ah, yes, my father told me that I needed to try some on this trip in Singapore,” the American said. And with a bit of a mischievous tone, he added, “and that the bak kut teh was the best in the world in Singapore.”
 

   The two Malaysian men shook their heads again, this time with yet more vigor. It simply would not do to sit idly by as this foreigner insulted their cuisine. “Listen,” said the well dressed man. “The best bak kut teh is here in Malaysia. Even the bak kut teh you can get at the food court at the basement of Lot 10 will be better than what you can get in Singapore.”
 

   The American made a mental note to make a trek to Lot 10. He was staying near Kuala Lumpur City Centre, so Lot 10 on Jalan Bukit Bintang would not be more than a fifteen minute walk. Well, fifteen plus whatever time it would take to not be murdered by automobiles whenever he needed to cross a street. He saw children as young as five years old running, jumping across streets in the presence of oncoming traffic. Yet, he had been too conditioned by American streets and American drivers, and thus still viewed crossing the street in Kuala Lumpur with a danger factor of somewhere between jumping out of a plane and swimming in piranha infested waters. No, when choosing between being perceived as a coward and being dead, the former was preferable to the latter. Better to take longer to get to dinner and live another day.
 

   “You’re leaving tomorrow?” Asked the goateed man.
 

   “Wednesday,” replied the American. “I’m headed to Taipei. I’m going to miss Mamak.” Mamak was the name the locals used to refer to Tamil street cafes that were open late and broadcast international soccer games at into the wee hours of the morning. He had some of the best Tandoori Chicken and garlic naan of his life at the stall he was at yesterday and salivated thinking of it.
 

   The two men nodded. They had enjoyed the American’s company during his stay in their city. Their community of entrepreneurial Malaysians was small, though well connected, and his infusion of energy was refreshing. “Well, we hope you come back soon.”
 

   “So do I,” said the American. He always knew he was going to be nothing more than a transient, passing briefly, but, in spite of all his complaining about the weather and being ripped off by local taxi drivers, he was already starting to miss the chaos and life that made up Kuala Lumpur. “So do I.”

 
—-
 
Ikai Lan is an occasional guest author for The Culture Bite. Though he loves both to eat as well as write, he finds that writing a real post takes a larger block of time than he is generally able to free up. While he is generally able to tune out the Samantha’s incessant nagging for him to author more posts for this blog, at some point, he find that he cannot take it anymore and gives in, if only to buy a week or two of silence. He resides in San Francisco, California, though he’s been known to surface here and there on a whim.

Orenchi Ramen - Santa Clara

Rated: ♣♣♣♣♣

I’ve been on a ramen hiatus for a while, but my love for the soupy noodle dish was resuscitated after dining at the famed Orenchi Ramen. I’ve devoured a lot of ramen around the Bay Area (like here, here, here, here, and here), and I must say that Orenchi is pretty high on the list.

Between 4 people, we shared 2 appetizers: the pork belly and fried garlic. The braised pork belly was soooo sinful. Slowly cooked and perfectly tender. My advice: do not cut off the fat. The fat in the pork belly gives it a distinct flavor. It’s more robust, and somewhat nutty. Believe it or not, the fried garlic was BETTER than the pork belly. Orenchi takes the entire bulb and deep fries it in hot oil until the cloves become soft and creamy. They serve the bulb with a side of dipping sauce (almost like a thousand island). When garlic is fried, it looses its spicy garlicky taste. The flavor becomes much more subtle. You don’t even realize how garlicky it really is until you smell yourself the next morning. Gross… but completely worth it! 🙂

Orenchi Pork Belly

Orenchi Fried Garlic

I ordered Orenchi Ramen with a tonkotsu soup base. Drumroll please! Dudududuudud… it’s delicious! I ordered with less fat and less salt for peace of mind, but the broth was still very thick and rich. They pour in some special black oil to top off the dish. Not sure what it is, maybe toasted sesame oil? The toppings in the ramen are definitely far superior compared to other ramen places. There was a slice of that delicious pork belly again. The best part is the soft boiled egg. Orenchi has perfected the soft boiled egg. All of ours were perfectly runny and gooey in the middle. The thick and creamy yolk was liquid gold. If only I had a bigger stomach to eat more!

Orenchi Tonkotsu Ramen

If I were to rate the ramen restaurants in the Bay Area, it would look something like this:

1. Orenchi (tonkotsu broth) at Orenchi Ramen, Santa Clara
2. Miso Ramen at Ramen Halu, San Jose
3. Karage Ramen at Katana-ya, San Francisco
4. Karage Ramen at Santa Ramen, San Mateo
5. Deluxe Miso Ramen at Himawari, San Mateo
6. Karage Ramen at Halu Ramen, San Francisco
7. Tofu and Vegetable Curry at Muracci’s Japanese Curry and Grill, San Francisco

But, my all time favorite ramen would be the Koterri Ramen (chicken collagen soup base) at Tenkaippin in Honolulu, HI. It’s the most unique ramen experience I’ve ever had (sticks to your ribs kind of ramen) and I can’t wait to go back to Hawaii to eat more.

Orenchi Ramen
3540 Homestead Rd
Santa Clara, CA 95051

Pi Bar - San Francisco

Rated: ♣♣♣

Pi Bar isn’t just a clever name, it serves good pizza too! A few friends and I went here one Saturday to put them to the pizza test. I’ve always been a fan of Neapolitan style pizzas and I was hesitant to try Pi Bar because of their New York style pizzas. To my surprise, it was actually pretty good! Pi Bar makes pizza eating fun and simple. You pick you sauce and your toppings and they’ll throw it all together for you. For beer connoisseurs, the restaurant serves up a large variety of craft beers from stouts to ciders.

We ordered a few appetizers to start - crispy polenta sticks and fried bacon and gorgonzola zeppoli. Both were very delicious. The polenta sticks were like crispy fat fries, but instead of potato, the inside was creamy cornmeal. The zeppoli was so sinful. The little fried balls were perfectly crispy on the outside and creamy and salty on the inside.

Now for the pizzas. The first combination was put together by me. I ordered a VERY large pizza with mushroom sauce topped with bacon and sausage. This was definitely my favorite of the night. The sauce wasn’t too creamy and rich and the salty toppings were piled on high. The crust was surprisingly good. Thin and crispy on the edges and gooey in the center.

Next we had a combination of pepperoni, mushrooms and bell peppers. This was like an average combo pizza, but with fresh ingredients. I’ve never really been a fan of combo pizzas, so I was sort of indifferent on this one.

Last pizza we ordered was a cheese and onion pizza. Interesting combo, but it was pretty good. The sweet onions balanced the salty cheese.

All in all, I was pretty impressed with Pi Bar. Tony’s Pizza Napoletana and Zero Zero will always be my favorite pizza joints because of their Neapolitan style pizzas, but Pi Bar has become a runner up as my new favorite New York style pizza.

Pi Bar
1432 Valencia St
(between 25th St & 26th St)
San Francisco, CA 94110
Neighborhood: Mission