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Gravy Barge Arrives Just in Time for the Holidays!

Gravy Truck - Beep Beep!

Happy Holidays to all you darling people out there!
Before we dive into the wildness below, let’s open your holiday card!

Happy Holidays from Ivy Something

Aww, you’re welcome!

I hope your days are filled with mountains of mashed potatoes, buckets of Bûche de Noël, garbage pails of gravyliciousness, and truck beds of holiday turkey-ham! I’m certain there’s more than enough people out there to fill a gravy barge who relate to me and my love for the smothering sauce – and this is why I feel so comfortable expressing some of my deepest secrets here. Wait, did you say gravy barge, Ivy? Does that even exist?!!! Why yes I did – and yes it does! And here is one to prove it!

Ivy Something's USS Gravy Barge

Ivy Something's USS Gravy Barge

Ok, so maybe I didn’t fool all you seasoned Photoshop gurus out there, but I bet I had some of ya for a second!

Today marks year two-in-a-row for spending my holidays away from my hometown and family, so I’ve been on quite the reminiscing roll lately. San Francisco is a marvelous place to spread your holiday cheer around, (you can smear it across the entire 7-mile city in just under an hour – which means more time to ride the gravy barge). However, nothing beats going back home to my folks in Florida, where both brown and white gravy resides at pretty much any restaurant, coffee shop, truck stop, parking lot – you name it! Ah, there’s such a carousel of fine memories to share, but since it’s Gravy Friday I think I’ll stick to the ones that just happened upon the table cloth…

When grandma’s gravy boat hit that tablecloth during the Holidays, the true fun unfolded. My mind would explode like confetti, full of exciting questions and analytical break-downs such as:

  • If I pass the turkey tray over the gravy boat with my left hand, will it cast a dark enough shadow to hide my right hand while it grabs the gravy before anyone else?
  • If I don’t get to that gravy boat first, what are the chances there will be any gravy skin left for me?
  • If the gravy skin is gone, how long must the gravy sit untouched before the magical skin reappears?
  • How much longer are we going to say grace?
  • Why is there only one gravy boat for 20 people?
  • Will granddaddy sling extra servings of gravy in his eyebrows again and claim he’s saving it for later?
  • Look at how the candlelight shimmers off the tiny bubbles of gravy oil, like city lights on a brown velvet hill…

I wish I could say that these thoughts only existed during my childhood, but they actually followed me well into my late teens – and some still linger today (especially the gravy skin question). However, this is rather normal brainwork for a gravy enthusiast! It’s not like I’m conjuring up schematics to a gravy bomb on my napkin. I’m just pondering the daily concerns of  a woman’s life in a gravy world. Just in case you will be wondering, I have many more of these ponderings to share with you in the near future. But for now…

Alas! The mental scrapbooks are going back into the closet, and it’s time unleash a special Holiday Gravy Friday Recipe for all you good boys and girls (and naughty ones too)! Now that I think of it, this recipe is very naughty…

Bacon-Wrapped Pork Loin Cutlets over Spiced Holiday Gravy-Smothered Egg Noodles

Maple Bacon-Blanket Pork Cutlet & Spiced Gravy-Soaked Egg Noodles


Fear the Bird! Thanksgiving with the Giants No. 1 Fans (Epic Video Included)

A Place for Everyone

These past two Thanksgivings I’ve received the utmost honor to join some wonderful friends out in the lovely North Central Valley of California. In a place known as “Zinfandel Capital of the World”, robust excitement is guaranteed to go down. Participating in this local family’s tradition is incredibly special to me, since all my family members reside in the Southern US. With airlines demanding $800 a seat, I often become the California orphan during the holidays; but thanks to these friends, Little Orphan Ivy is no more! I wish everyone could’ve been there with me yesterday, so I’m gonna share my favorite memories.

Last year’s selection of deliciously prepared food, rare games like bocci ball and cornhole, endless views of grape vines spilling into the horizon, abundant wine flowing like water, and abdominal-piercing humor at the talent show had me seriously glowing for weeks. This year was just as fun: one-hand croquet (the other hand was for your wine glass), a game of pool in the barn, an improv jam session with lyric books provided, and healthy homemade food followed by heart-melting desserts. These unique Thanksgiving events bring everyone together, as it’s not only members from one family that attend, it’s also open to those who have wandered outside of their own traditional family gatherings. It’s sort of a rebel Thanksgiving, if you will – exploding with a vibrant cornucopia of charm, laughter, and togetherness. It’s a place where you find yourself effortlessly dropping your inhibitions and formalities at the door; a place to find freedom, happiness, and let your inner child come out and say, “Hey mom! I’m no longer gonna sit at the kid’s table, but I’m still gonna act-a-fool!”

Fruit Strike

Fruit Strike!

This year was extra special, given that the SF Giants just won the World Series and the thrill of it all still remains as fresh as the San Francisco fog. A Giants-themed Thanksgiving was inevitable. Appropriately coined of course as “Fear the Bird“, yesterday’s party was a Giants fan free-for-all, some new and some well-seasoned, but all came full with the spirit of the Giants.

As we gathered around with our delicious butternut squash soups, fresh turkey, apple cider gravy, mounds of cranberry relish, and sherry mushroom risotto, everyone shared detailed and colorful stories of their personal fulfillment and nearly-blinding joy that took place the exact moment the Giants claimed the World Series title. Although my own Giants moment was a delayed joyous reaction, beginning as a realization that I lived in the ghetto when my neighbors starting shooting real guns outside; however, the drama subsided quick and the joy did set in. I didn’t share my moment at the table yesterday for fear of throwing off the topic, so I’m borrowing the textual real estate here since you’re still reading. Thanks for letting me have my moment. 😀

The black-and-orange-filled home was adorned with Giants gear, special effects, personalized name cards, Giants figurines jiggling their heads while I got seconds on gravy, orange pom-poms, lapel pins, black beards, and yes, even an orange thong (which has a special cameo in the video below)! Basically, not a single inch was left un-Giantized.

Aside from the mind-blowing array of specialty cheeses from Point Reyes and France scattered across the piano (which offered mouth-watering medleys to blend on crisps and crackers), we all still managed to out-cheese the cheese itself! This very special, once-in-a-lifetime SF Giants Thanksgiving was not about to end without some way to forever document the hilariousness and raw spirit of it all! What better way to do that than to grab the talented cameraman in the family and assign him the job?!

Making Room for Round 2!

When the creative chaos unrolled, I found myself somehow wearing a panda mask that the Obama cardboard cut-out was sporting earlier in the evening. I was then shuffled into the kitchen nook to stand on my X and await my cue. We were given lyric sheets to Ashkon’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’, a couple minutes to brainstorm our parts to match the lyrics, and one practice. It all went down in a matter of minutes and was over before we even realized what happened. There was one continuous shot that captured it all. It was honestly the closest I’ve felt to reliving my childhood and being a sports fan all at the same time!

Fear the Bird! An SF Giants Thanksgiving

[Filmed by Clayton W. / Original music by: Ashkon – Don’t Stop Believing (Official Giants 2010 Anthem)]

A special thanks to the Worfolk family and everyone attending for the great memories and wild times.

Traditional Walk to the Oak Tree Down Yonder

Gravy Friday Found Cheating on Thursday!

That Gravy Crazy!

That Gravy Crazy!

Yesterday seemed to last much longer than an average Thursday. With an evening that creeped in as slow as a little piglet after feeding time, it’s no question as to why Gravy Friday was caught cheating last night – Friday was just too far away! Now I’m not justifying this unfaithful act here just because Thursday was extra lengthy, but I will stand forth and admit that I had everything to do with it. “What is the definition of a gravy cheating”, you might wonder? Well it sure isn’t as simple as eating gravy on days other than Friday – because obviously that’s encouraged!

I am a firm believer of gravy worship any day of the week. I sometimes bask in gravy 3 times a day. So what’s the big deal? How does one cheat on Gravy Friday and how does Gravy Friday cheat in general? It’s simple. Take a walk by Tommy’s Joynt in San Francisco on any other night besides Friday and see if you don’t dive into the door like they are about to serve the last meal on earth. The thought alone of Tommy’s gravy had me drooling down my own chest before I even arrived there last night. And that was just the beginning…

As I passed by Tommy’s Joynt, my dear I knew it was all over. An early Gravy Friday it would be! I walked in and ordered a BBQ beef plate, a side of stuffing, and I watched the carver create the masterpiece of future liquid infidelity right before me. First he poured on the thick, creamy brown stuffing gravy, then drenched the entire plate au jus style. Finally, he smothered it all in BBQ gravy while I nearly banged my forehead on the safety glass shelf pictured below.

Safety Glass Protects Beef from Cheaters Like Myself

So how is this cheating?  I was just eating gravy like I do any other day of the week, right? Incorrect!

Waltzing into Tommy’s Joynt on a Thursday is cheating on Gravy Friday because:

  1. It calls for 100% premeditated intense gravy celebrating that is far too good for just any day of the week.
  2. You are subjecting yourself to THREE different types of gravy, all swirled together (aka “gravy threesome”), which should be reserved for Gravy Friday only (but mistakes happen).
  3. Devouring this luscious threesome gravy pool glistening before you on a non-Friday also subjects you to admit to a “Gravy Friday cheating” for the following reason:
  • A gravy cheating is nobodies business unless there are three or more gravies involved. – Ivy Something

So now that you understand why I have admitted to this disloyalty so willingly, (it’s kind of embarrassing to break your own rules in public), I’d like to say I have not a single hard feeling about it, other than the fact that I did not invite you. Oh and also, it was awesome.

If you could have been there, I’m sure you would understand. I was speechless. Just look at this plate and tell me to my face that you wouldn’t cheat. (If you’re too embarrassed, you may also tell me here.) I apologize to all the vegans and vegetarians out there who are on the verge of throwing up their bowels right now, but please consider cutting me some slack. I was a label-reading hardcore vegan for 5 years and a vegetarian for 2 more – and it was a tray of bacon that did me in. But I did put in my time and now I am on a gravy train journey to the land of meat sauce and other wild things. Warning: extremely seductive beef and gravy photo below.

A BBQ Beef & Gravy Threesome

A BBQ Beef & Gravy Threesome

I would like to send a special thanks to Manz0r for treating me to this unforgettable gravy cheating.

Why not stop by yourself? Let me know what you think!

Tommy’s Joynt

1101 Geary Boulevard

San Francisco, CA 94109-6815

(415) 775-4216

Open Daily 10am-1:30am

The Farmers Market: Food, Fun…and Forgiveness?

Two Persimmons

This morning I strolled solo to my local farmers market downtown, which is the glorious wonder that pulls me out of bed early on Saturday. Actually, I did have some company this time – the Dracula soundtrack by Philip Glass. As I’m typing this, I’m noticing the irony of Halloween and this music choice, but I swear it must have been subconscious.  I actually chose the soundtrack for the motivating dramatic string orchestra, which I thought would set the mood right while I rapidly sorted through delicious produce with the other hungry market goers. With prices around $0.50 per pound, you gotta be fast like a maniac violinist! Little did I know this trip to the farmers market would bring me much more than just a fridge full of goodies. But I’ll save that part for the end.

A Farmers Market Lunch

A Farmers Market Lunch

I will say, I’m generally one who avoids routine due to the lack of surprise it offers. However, when it comes to food shopping I always bust into what I like to call ninja-mode, where I browse the entire selection of goods before making a purchase. Yes, it takes time and patience, but it’s all in the name of my glorious sanity and financial future. I might be going off on a bit of a tangent here, but ninja-mode has been such a life saver. For example, finding a $6 flat of strawberries moments after buying an $8 certified organic one is not my idea of a good day and surely does not reflect the usage of epic ninja-mode. This happened to me once and it made the strawberries taste less awesome when I got them home. I also could have bought two-pounds of apples with that extra two bucks, darnit! Ironically though, in a scenario like the strawberry mishap, I learned some very valuable information. Those two flats of strawberries were both grown organically without pesticides, but only one paid to carry the certified seal. The only way to know something like this is to ask the grower. Often the high costs of being certified organic is a turn-off to farmers, even if they meet the certified organic standards. In fact, many certified foods come with a hefty price tag because of the certification costs, not because it costs more to grow organic. Of course, such isn’t the case for everything and I’m always down to buy certified when necessary, but it helps to inquire about farming practices instead of going by what’s printed on a box, or a big sign. Knowing more than what a label tells you is great power for your health and wallet my friend! And it will make you an awesome food-hunting ninja. With that said, comparison shopping goes beyond just prices, because quality is just as important. This is one of the most golden rules of ninja-mode. Well, that and skipping breakfast to fill up on the free samples while one gets their ninja on.

Silky Chicken, photo courtesy of


There are many wonderful farmers markets all over the bay area and world. But I’m going to share a little bit about my favorite one. Each week at the Vallejo Farmers Market you will find a variety of bountiful, fresh and insanely affordable produce. The venders are full of personality as well. You are guaranteed to run into the following characters every Saturday:

  • The Bolani guy who I adore, and who always fills me up with samples. However, his prices are almost comparable to taking out a mortgage. But show him small bills and he’ll work with you every time.
  • The sweet Thai woman who is so amused by my eagerness to learn about her produce, she nearly charges me half price. She also won’t let me pay for habanero peppers.
  • The generous egg man with a sense of humor: “$5 flat of eggs, I sell to you for $4.99!” (he’s just kidding). His eggs are rich and full of flavor.
  • The awesome fruit stands that mark everything down at noon. I admit, I troll around with my last few dollars until the clock strikes 12 and I then “fill-er-up!” It’s how I keep my sweet biceps in shape.
  • And my very favorite, the raw honey and salami man, who undoubtedly has the most delicious honey on earth. He also has the greatest heart-warming stories about his silky chicken AND he shared his salami sandwich with me today. By the way, that’s a photo of a silky chicken above in case you’re wondering. So cute it hurts.
All that for under $20? It must be 1981!

My farmer market score from a few weeks ago. All that for under $20? It must be 1981!














Every Saturday I lug home two to three large bags full of the freshest and most delicious foods from the bay, for about $20-$30 tops. If I went to Whole Foods (or as my friend Rita Lux likes to call it, “Whole Paycheck”) and bought an identical selection, it’d run me about $85 – and that’s including the discount for bringing my own burlap sacks. Plus, I love the farmers market, as it gives me the opportunity to meet the great people who are feeding me – literally. And I mustn’t miss out on all those adorable silky chicken stories!

Before & After

Before & After

While shopping around today and  feasting my eyes on all the beautiful produce, the cool bay mist continued to pour in, competing with the sun as noon approached. I was inspired to grab some sweet potatoes and garlic to make a nice warm soup later on. I also splurged on a tiny sweet potato pie from Michelle’s Golden Brown Breads in Modesto – just in case I couldn’t wait for the soup. That surprised me because “splurged” and “couldn’t wait” are rarely in my vocabulary of life. Perhaps this Dracula soundtrack was influencing more than my creative thirst for good music and a good time? The mist and eerie music combined was really starting to have an effect on me. I was feeling a bit sporadic and mysterious…and I  kept looking over my shoulder a few times. Was Dracula at the farmers market as well, shopping for blood oranges in ninja-mode just like me? But wait, I thought blood oranges weren’t in season here until November. Spooky.

Suddenly I felt a breeze push up from behind me as I walked through the middle of the street. And then, a firm tap on my shoulder! I whirled around, holding onto my red hat to keep it from falling off. Dracula? Nope. It was a young woman, standing alone with her eyes wide and clear. Her second-ago fearless energy had quickly simmered down to somewhat of a hopeful confusion. “Rosemary?!” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m not. My name’s Ivy…” I smiled back. She stared boldly into my eyes as if I had said nothing to her. “Rosemary, I swear it’s you.” Her eyes shifted away from mine and she gazed off into a place somewhere between where she and I stood. After a moment’s pause, she gathered her thoughts. “I’m sorry. You look just like this girl Rosemary from high school. See…I was mean to her and I just wanted to tell her that I’m sorry.” My heart sank when hearing this, but something inside me kicked in and I immediately wanted to cheer up her up. “Well you can tell her you’re sorry vicariously through me!” I quickly said back. In the middle of my sentence, the young woman threw her arms open and embraced me, as if she already knew what I was going to say. She literally sank into my body like a long lost friend. The tiny drops of mist floating on the fibers of her jacket rubbed off onto my cheek, mimicking the feeling of having just cried. I actually did feel like crying. It was a warm hug and oddly familiar for her being someone I did not know at all. As she let me go, she stepped back and looked at me with the greatest sense of relief I’ve ever seen on a quiet face. “Thank you,” she said. I reached out and grabbed her hand, “You’re welcome.” We did not say goodbye and without another second passing, we exchanged smiles and walked away in opposite directions.

I came across some fuyu persimmons and gala apples just a few steps ahead and began sorting through them. The unique encounter with that young woman was circling in my mind and tugging at my heart like salt-water taffy on a pull. Who was she? What did she do to Rosemary and was I meant to be mistaken for her? Then it hit me. None of these details mattered because I had just given that young woman the chance to forgive herself. I did this unconsciously, as I was without any other intentions aside from cheering her up. Even without knowing anything about her, or Rosemary, or any details as to why she was seeking forgiveness, I was still able to offer her something to fill the emotional gap. It only took a small moment of my time to give a stranger something that could possibly last a lifetime.

Two Persimmons

Friends for a moment

Upon realizing this, I looked down at my hand and noticed I picked two of the tiniest persimmons out of the bunch. They were nowhere near each other in the pile, but they seemed to belong together. I don’t mean to get all mushy and spiritual, but sometimes things just feel right, like they belong. Ok I’m lying, I do mean to get all mushy and spiritual because those are some of my favorite parts about life! You know, when things feel so strong, it may often lead you to a much bigger feeling, perhaps even a decipherable one that brings great knowledge later on. As simple as these two tiny persimmons in my palm were, in that moment they became a huge inspiration: we may all grow alone as individuals, but we still grow together as people, where even the smallest gesture of kindness has a chance to leave an everlasting impression. This is not the first time I’ve had this feeling and when it comes around I know it’s rare and special. I didn’t get the chance to ever ask the young women what her name was, but that’s okay, as I still feel we were friends in that short minute of interaction. I have to say, this was by far the most inspiring trip to the farmers market yet.

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