The Richmond. Utter that small collection of phonemes three times in a row a la Beetlejuice and you might suddenly find yourself clad in a thick, grey knit sweater, gazing thoughtfully over the thick foaming head of a pint of stout from a plush barstool at flocks of angry asian women fighting over dragon fruit and flip-flops on the sidewalk outside

The quest for the finest offal in the city. A Multi-Colored Brick Road (ahem) strewn with Brains and Heart for the Courageous.

I’ve got some awesome news! We received a grant from the Civic Joy Fund to put out a literary magazine celebrating SF and acting to counter the stupid “Doom Loop” narrative. It’s a gift to the people of San Francisco. And after months of working on this project it’s now available

For those interested in the consumption of fine entrails, we present to you here within The Organ Trail, a weekly collection of macabre signposts pointing towards zones of high offal-saturation scattered throughout our little slice of peninsular heaven.

The Argentinian food scene, which I had found fairly monotonous heretofore, is improved markedly the closer your proximity to Bolivia and Peru.  The most remarkable city of that region is Salta, a frenetic, dirty pearl dropped into the psychedelic northwestern desert.  The eyes are more native brown than European hazel

 Worms Belen Market is like a big liver planted in the heart of Iquitos, a chaotic, thrumming organ through which an Amazonian torrent of fruits, vegetables, meats, barks, salves and black market sneakers is caught and dealt with in some fashion or another. Iquitos, in case you haven’t heard of

Hakka Restaurant Most restaurants, or rather, most businesses tend to line up along urban trenches of varying size and length, barnacles barely clinging to the wave-buffeted crags of commerce. But, once in a while on a ride or walk about town you’ll come upon a singular little place wedged into

Ippuku’s sake on tap There was a time when we as a people lived in fear of eating under-cooked pork.  Casting my mind back to the early 80’s, when A-Ha’s “Take On Me” was annoyingly inescapable and dudes everywhere sported see-through mesh t-shirts, our mothers and fathers were unwitting violators

              Take as much as you want from the buffet, and cook it all over your own electric flame   The Ocean View neighborhood is as lonely, wind-swept and economically depressed as any in San Francisco.  It lies in a forgotten little crevice just