Nursing wounds -- and diving into Sugoi Sushi
CHEAP EATS After the game we went to the Pilsner Inn to drink with the other team and watch the 49ers. Who, btw, ended up winning that Sunday by twice as much as we did.
Our relatively new li'l football team, like the big ol' San Francisco one, is developing an identity as a defensive powerhouse. I like this. It was the talk of the opposition, down the bar: how we had befuddled the bejesus out of them, to the tune of four interceptions, two returned by Stringbean for touchdowns, and a fumble recovery.
Their quarterback, who sat next to me at the bar with a gigantic oozing turfburn on her leg, revisited these frustrations smilingly, and with compliments all-around. I doubt the Bills were so gracious, bellying up to the bar with the Niners later that afternoon, but I imagine they oozed too. Football is a tough sport, even when you play it with flags.
But baseball hurts more.
How I know is the next day I was at the Mission Playground with Hedgehog playing one-on-one baseball on the basketball court, and she lined one off my arm, then another one into my stomach, and then a third off the top of my knee.
Now that she's been cleared to swing a bat, she just won't leave me alone. She's making up for lost time, baseballwise. But gets bored easily with soft toss, which is a shame, because really that's the safest way to perfect your swing in an outdoor basketball court.
So now I am blacker and bluer than ever. And I am soaking in the tub with a package of frozen edamame on my knee, listening to postseason baseball and reading Great Expectations. Re-reading. Technically, if you must know: re-re-re-re-reading.
I missed Chicken Farmer's FMOIBWFIOBPFFL (female, male, or otherwise-identified bio-women and female-identified other-bodied persons flag football league) game on Sunday because I had a pre-production meeting with Pork Chop Sal, my right hand gal (Chicken Farmer gets the left because she broke it. And because I'm left-handed so, you know...) We're in pre-production on the next short movie.
And no, you're not working on it.
Why not? You really should be. Chicken Farmer caters, I boss people around ... It's just like any other day in the Chicken Farmer/Hedgehog household except there's a camera rolling and Earl Butter sits on our couch more, often with the Maze, cracking wise.
Anyways, Sugoi Sushi popped up at Hill and Valencia back in July-uary, around about the same time we popped back into town. Like us, they decided to stay. Which is good because it took us a while to get there. It took us until Monday, when the sushi mood struck. And then again on Wednesday, because Bikkets and her mister were in town and the sushi mood struck them, too.
I'm no food writer but both times the sushi was fresh, the ramen was firm, the waitstaff was friendly, and they brought little treats to the table. For free! Can't get cheaper than free. The things with prices attached aren't overly pricey, either. It's Chicken Farmer's new favorite restaurant. But be warned: spicy doesn't mean the same thing to Sugoi as it does to the rest of the world. So don't expect much heat out of the spicy sausage.
It's more like smoky, teeny kielbasa.
Cheap Eats continued
But delicious nonetheless. It reminded me a little of longanisa, those little Filipino sausages I so love.
It was the treats I took issue with. A mayonnaise-having dynamite roll one night, and mushrooms the other. And if there are two things that start with m that I don't like, those are them.
But Hedgehog is right: You can't argue with free.
As for her over-acronymization of the SFWFFL, I can argue ... but won't.
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