Ethan Kanat's Backstories - The Bold Italic - San Francisco

A Slice of Life, Chapter 2

Ethan Kanat — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 10:15:12 -0800

A sharp knife is a beautiful thing. When used correctly it can slice a ripe tomato, kill a wild pig, or stop the bad guy in a horror movie from coming back to get you in the sequel. I look at this unique slice of San Francisco to learn more about the care, use and deadly application of knives.

Anybody who has ever harbored any delusions of becoming a master knife fighter has likely gotten the idea from movies. Or the internet. Or some drunk guy at a bar claiming to be a Navy SEAL. The reality is that the best defense against a knife attack is always the "Nike" defense - i.e. run away whenever possible. If you try to stand and fight somebody with a sharp knife, 99% of the time you will end up with a bloody pile of your own guts in your hands.

The other thing to consider is that the person trying to stab you won't need any special skill to do it. The prison yard shank is just as effective as a poke from a butterfly knife flipped open in a wild ballet of sharp metal - which means the idea of learning the art of knife fighting is a bit of a fallacy. Sharp knives are dangerous no matter what, so you can't really practice knife fighting without getting seriously hurt.

What you can do is try to learn the art of Filipino sword fighting, known variously as eskrima, kali and arnis. Eskrima practitioners engage in an elaborate dance, sliding and dipping in a series of random parabolas while trying to slice each other to shreds with swords and long knives. The idea is to incorporate a set of proven techniques into a seemingly random series of movements that an opponent would be unable to anticipate. The end result looks like a break dancing battle crossed with a samurai duel.

If you want to learn eskrima in SF, the best person to talk to is Maija Soderholm. She studied Visiyan Eskrima under the legendary Sonny Umpad and YouTube is plastered with videos of her masterful flow, or improvised dueling matches. Hoping to understand the eskrima approach to knife wielding, I took a private lesson with Maija in her East Oakland backyard. With wild chickens running around us and trains blowing by every few minutes, Maija taught me the basics of eskrima offense and defense.

Dividing the upper body into four quadrants, Maija showed me a basic strike and defense for each quadrant. We used real blades (with dulled edges) and took turns slicing at, and then defending, the respective quadrants. Next, Maija demonstrated the eskrima footwork through a drill that involved mirroring the opponent's footwork. "With the blade...if you mirror the opponent's angle, you are guarding what they are pointing at so they have to change angle to find an opening," she says, "which you can then see and change also." The idea is to develop to the point that the opponent's movement is just background noise - which allows you to stop thinking about it and concentrate on your own attack.

Before I knew it, Maija and I were actually dueling. We danced around her courtyard, slashing at each other's vital parts. Using my small arsenal of strikes and movements, I attacked and defended against Maija with about a 60% success rate. To be fair, she took it really easy on me and limited herself to the few things she had just taught me.

It's important to note that a 60% success rate in real live knife fighting still probably means death. A sharp blade swung with force at your torso is going to hurt you very badly, even if you block it four times before hand. Which is why Maija stresses the practical aspects of eskrima over any magical ability to win a back alley knife fight. "Apart from great exercise, mind/body connection, getting light on your feet, and hand eye coordination, eskrima is a game of strategy. In the same way that Myamoto Musashi's book about sword fighting is also read by business men around the world, Filipino style dueling teaches you about how people tick. It'll up your game within martial arts and without."

The Unseen City

Ethan Kanat — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 06:28:08 -0700

San Francisco is about as far west as you can go in the continental United States. It's a frontier city in a frontier state, founded by pirates and gold miners. As such, it makes sense that the city would have its secrets; ways to indulge private pleasures, people who can connect you to the fringes of society and secret places where the deal might go down. These are the city's hidden corners, the kind of spots one might pick for a secret lover's tryst, a shady drug deal, or maybe an exchange of ransom money. Out of the way locales known only to the most local of locals. Here are but a few.

Photo by clairity

Eagle Point

If you head out to the Legion of Honor on a foggy weekday and decide that, instead of visiting the museum you would rather do something secretive, suspicious or illegal, you won't have to travel far. Simply drive past the big fountain in front of the museum entrance. When you hit the golf course, turn left and go all the way to the end of the parking lot. There you will find piles of dead fairway and a couple of haphazardly placed barriers blocking what looks like a hiking trail. This is the entrance to Eagle Point.

The Eagle Point trail winds down behind the golf course toward a look-out point that features a stunning vista of a giant rock covered in bird shit. The trail itself is a deserted warren of hobo hidey holes and other little out-of-the way places that look like they were worn into the flora by repeated use. Any one of these little tree caves would be ideal for pot smoking, trading top secret information or semi-public sex. A few other people will occasionally walk by though, so it's probably a good idea to bring a camo-colored blanket and keep your voice to a whisper.

Photo by clairity

Sutro Caves

The ruins of the Sutro Baths lie directly beneath the tony Cliff House restaurant at the outskirts of Ocean Beach. Tourists stop by the bus load to pose in front of the cameraobscura and take in the champagne brunch on the weekends. But most people steer clear of the big, fetid puddle that is all that remains of the famous San Francisco landmark below. Fewer still take the time to walk down the hill and plumb the depths of the dark, dank caves at the far end of the site.

This will work to your advantage if you're looking to arrange a secret rendezvous or just privately enjoy the sound of mating harbor seals. Simply wind your way down any one of the crumbling trails that lead to the baths from the street. The caves are lurking ominously in the far corner. Some of them are blocked by a few lengths of rusty chain. The largest cave is easily accessible, but still spooky and somewhat foul. Just follow the light and the wet foot smell to the end of the cave. There you will find a rocky precipice where you can drink beer from a paper bag or have a conversation that will be lost among the sounds of crashing waves.

Photos by candiedwomanire

The Wave Organ

The Wave Organ was designed by a team of scientists from the Exploratorium in the late 80s, and it seems their sole purpose was to create a secret destination for curious San Franciscans in the throes of a psychedelic journey. Tucked away at the end of a jetty at the end of a narrow parking lot behind the yacht club at the end of Crissy Field, The Wave Organ is not something you just stumble upon. To find it you would have to be guided by either a detailed map or some sort of drug-induced vision.

If it is the latter that brings you to The Wave Organ, prepare to have your mind blown. The organ consists of a series of tubes and pipes that have been built into a Stonehenge-esque array of benches and platforms sticking out into the middle of the bay. One end of the tubes runs under water, stopping at various lengths to pick up the gurgling sounds of the rising tide. The other ends poke out in various clusters around the organ, creating a bizarre symphony that changes depending on where you sit or stand. The sound is similar to an upset stomach, as played on a broken tuba.

For the best experience, go to The Wave Organ in the middle of the night. Leave your map at home and simply park your car somewhere in the Marina and start walking toward the water. It may take you a while to find it, but the journey will make you feel as though you have wandered into a strange, bubbling netherworld beneath the fog.

Photos by haruspex and brad-514

Macondray Lane

Since taking a staring role in Armistead Maupin's Tales Of The City, Macondray Lane can hardly be considered much of a secret. The upscale residential alley runs between Taylor and Leavenworth and features well manicured landscapes and beautiful multi-million dollar homes. At best it is a secret place to sip chardonnay and trade interior design secrets.

Still, Macondray Lane is a charming little grace note to the city's already stunning landscape. It's worth a look for its views alone.

Photos by fatemeh and wheatland

Bourbon & Branch and Otis

In a city obsessed with eating and drinking, the idea of a "secret" bar seems a little false. Even the most tucked away watering holes will be discovered, reviewed and filled to over-flowing within weeks of opening. But a late night rendezvous is nothing without a little intrigue, so if a secret bar is on your agenda, it's best to pick a place with no discernible sign or marking on an otherwise unremarkable street. At the very least you won't have to worry about clueless out-of-towners stumbling in and spoiling the mood.

Bourbon & Branch is well-known for their role in the current handmade cocktail craze, and it's a role they take very seriously. This is not the place to order a watermelon cosmo . If you want a fine selection of bourbons and very upscale cocktails served by gorgeous cocktail waitresses in a dark, meticulously crafted antique environment, this is place for you. Just be sure you take the time to look up the "password" online before heading to the bar. Otherwise, the hostess will make you wait on the sidewalk while she seats other, more well-informed patrons.

Photo by superde1uxe

Otis, on the other hand is more modern and laid-back. They welcome everybody from the after work crowd to the late, late night crowd. You just have to find the place first. And if you happen to be part of the aforementioned late, late crowd this may prove somewhat difficult.

Tucked into the middle of a retail section of Maiden Lane, Otis has nothing facing the street other than a door. After midnight, there are no other businesses open within a five block radius. If you find yourself at Otis in the middle of the night, it's because you meant to be there. The inside consists of nothing more than a few seats and tables and a tiny bar guarded by a giant peacock. There is also a small attic room upstairs, but you might miss it unless you happen to look in that direction on your way back from the bathroom.

Perhaps the best thing about Otis is that it is open late - 3 or 4 am, depending on how successful you are at charming the bartender. They won't serve you booze after 2am, but they also won't say anything if you want to take your lover upstairs for a little heavy petting. In fact, the place is dark and usually empty by then, so chances are they won't even notice.

Photos by Kglavin and tylerdurden

Coyote Point

Courtesy of Brandon LaSan, aka DJ Yoko Solo and co-owner of Quaketrap Records

"If one were to drive down 101 past the airport to Coyote Point, entering Coyote Point, taking the first right at the ranger gate and driving past the mammoth playground, one might find a giant lot overlooking a crumbling path. One can wander along this path to a freakish beach filled with dead crabs and old carpet as fucking insane jumbo jets descend to land and hang in the air absurdly before you, the bay stretching out and looking semi-retched, but beautiful. There are people swimming too, but more importantly there are big jets big jets big jets every 3 minutes."

Presidio Pet Cemetery

Courtesy of Hannah Sitzer, owner of Antlre Design Agency

"Ok, besides the Seward Slides - it sounds freaky, but it's not - I like the pet cemetery under the Golden Gate Bridge. It is full of letters and art saying things like 'Fluffy, you were the only one who understood me. Thanks for letting me dress you up like a ballerina.'"

Photo by pbo31

Sutro Tower

Courtesy of Bruce O'Leary, aka DJ Doc Fu

If you ever wanted to hide in plain sight, there's a parking lot within a parking lot on top of Twin Peaks. Instead of parking by the edge to look at the view, pull behind and park underneath Sutro Tower. I've seen some pretty shady stuff go down there in full view of the City.

Illustrations by sloanro and Thomas Duchnicki

Street Corner Disaster

Ethan Kanat — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 16:59:33 -0700

If you're going to be a street musician in SF, you first have to make a decision: do you want to make money or do you want to make art?

If it's money you're after, that's easy. Just grab an instrument and a tip jar and set up shop at the Powell St. cable car turn-around. You should average about 20 bucks an hour as long as you stick to a repertoire of jazz, soft rock and other genres favored by European tourists in matching track suits.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kuchingboy / CC BY-SA 2.0

Of course, being a rookie

rookie you might make a few rookie mistakes. Lucky for you, I talked to Art, who plays sax accompanied by a karaoke CD down in the BART station. He is old and crotchety and dispenses wisdom like a street smart Grandpa Simpson. Here are his basic busker guidelines:

1: Pick a place

With lots of foot traffic. Duh.

2: Good acoustics

You want to get the most volume possible from your surroundings. Office alcoves, underpasses, and BART or Muni stations are all good.

3: Tie down your tip jar

It gets windy in SF and you don't want your profits blowing away. Also, crack heads might steal it.

4. Don't stay too long

The best spots are highly coveted. If you play for more than a few hours you will probably piss off other buskers. Unless you want to fight for your temporary bandstand, it's best to keep it short and then graciously move on.

Now, if it's art

you want to make, you have to try a little harder. Your sound, look and location are all equally important. And don't forget your audience. Your original material played for the wrong crowd is a like the tree falling in the forest. You might as well not even make the sound.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/freeloosedirt / CC BY-SA 2.0

Let's say you're a burgeoning rock band and you want to put on a guerrilla concert. You want to do it in a neighborhood full of drunk kids wearing skinny jeans and expensive tattoos. In San Francisco, that means the Mission. Parts of Lower Haight can also work, and maybe even Polk St. But I'd stick with the Mission.

In fact, you would be well-advised to follow the example set by The Ferocious Few. The duo plays a distinctly West Coast style of cowboy punk, and they do it on sidewalks and street corners across the city. On a recent weeknight they set up on the corner of 16th and Valencia and played uninterrupted for over an hour.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/leesean / CC BY-SA 2.0

It takes guitar player/singer Francisco Fernandez about 20 minutes to set up. Drummer Daniel Aguilar erects his tiny drum set and then spreads some home made CDs out in front of their impromptu stage. A crowd of hipsters and bike messenger types starts to gather as they rip into their first song. One girl texts her friends to come join her:

"Sweet band playing in front of check cashing place."

A few minutes into the show, a glassy-eyed derelict moves in next to the band and starts playing tambourine. He has a wild, unkempt beard and is wearing a skirt and 2 aprons. He is definitely drunk and/or off his meds. He dances and shakes the tambourine in erratic, off-time bursts, talking to himself in between songs. Aguilar and Fernandez simply ignore him. (Note: if you're going to ad lib a rock show on a Mission District street corner, you have to accept the fact that drunk cross dressers may invite themselves to play with you at any time.)

Unlike other Valencia Street musicians (see: Omer aka "Bum Jovi"), The Ferocious Few are actually good. This is something to keep in mind when contemplating your first guerrilla show. Not only do people tolerate FF's music, they stop to listen to it. They buy CDs and throw money in the kitty. And at least in the Mission, no one calls the police.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/darinbarry / CC BY-SA 2.0

So if you're thinking that a sidewalk performance is the best and most effective way to get your music heard, take note: the only real rules you really need to follow are pick your spots, know your audience, and make sure it's worth hearing in the first place.

A Slice of Life, Chapter 1

Ethan Kanat — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 14:59:23 -0700

Chapter 1: Columbus Cutlery

If you're going to do anything with knives - cut meat, open packages, neutralize your enemies - you'd better make sure they are sharp and well cared for. Your best bet is to stop in and see Jenny and Fulvio at Columbus Cutlery in North Beach. The shop has been there for 45 years and Fulvio has been working with knives since he was a kid back in Italy. He learned the trade from his dad, who learned it from his dad back when a sharp knife and a well-honed axe meant the difference between dinner and death.

Fulvio showed me how to sharpen a blade from tip to hilt, making sure the blade was between 20 and 25 degrees. You can do this with either a stone or diamond sharpener, depending on whether you want to push the edge back into place or put a new one on all together. He also told me what to look for in case I ever have to leave my knives in less skilled hands (example: make sure the grinder runs at less than 300 rpm, so the steel doesn't get too hot and lose the temper).

Columbus Cutlery is also a good spot to replenish your arsenal. They have throwing knives for long distance maiming, dive knives for underwater killing, pocket knives for close quarters stabbing and the world's largest swiss army knife for...uh...really dorky camping trips. Actually, I don't know what you would use it for, but it has everything from an allen wrench to a laser pointer, and is so big it comes with its own purse.

Up Next: Ethan learns to pirouette like a Filipino sword fighter.

Every Donut is a Snowflake

Ethan Kanat — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 17:43:44 -0700

Ethan Kanat

makes some dough

Sara Spearin rides up to the curb on a sturdy looking bike covered in flashing lights. She quickly introduces herself and then we head inside to the kitchen at the back of Dynamo Donuts & Coffee, where Spearin is owner and head chef. When she flips on the lights, I see silver bowls and measuring cups laid out precisely on a long wooden table. Sara consults briefly with a sheaf of laminated recipes, then begins a high speed ballet across the kitchen. Bags of flour, yeast, and sugar have been carefully measured the night before. They now make their way into the mixing bowls, along with a host of other ingredients measured out on a digital scale. It's like a scene out of American Gangster, only the product here is way more addictive.

Sara moves quickly and methodically around the kitchen for the first hour and a half without stopping. Her goal is to get all the dough started and rising before 4:30. Only then does she allow herself a cup of coffee - which she doesn't even drink. Instead, she instructs me on the fine art of zesting oranges and guiding 25 lbs. of chocolate dough off the table and into a bucket 4 feet below. I also get to fill the deep fryer, which is like being in a karate match with a block of butter the size of a microwave.

Soon we are joined by two of Spearin's assistants and we being the process of turning the dough into doughnuts. The trick here is to treat the dough like a naughty lover; first you caress it and rub it with flour. Then you spank it a little. Once you've established who's boss, you roll the dough out into a wide flat sheet and use a metal form to cut out a bunch of circles. These are placed in a tray and then a smaller form is used to cut out the holes. All of this is done by hand. It takes forever, but it gives each donut its own individual shape and heft. At one point I miss the center with the hole puncher, which Sara assures me is ok. "Every donut is a snowflake," she says.

One of Spearin's partners is fond of telling her that there is a machine to do a lot of the things she does by hand. Of course, that would defeat the point. When you're making a masterpiece such as the bacon maple apple donut, you don't cut corners. I mean, Leonardo could have gotten himself a set of finger paints and just sat out in the yard drawing flowers. But that's not how you get a Ninja Turtle named after you, is it?

After frying the donuts, it's time to add the toppings. This is the second best part of the whole morning. Dipping warm donuts into a tray of gooey orange glaze over and over again is as close to zen as you can get without shaving your head and moving to Tibet. Sara notices that I seem to have retreated into myself and suggests I have another espresso drink. Reinvigorated, I get one of the high honors of donut making at Dynamo: I get to apply the bacon.

Freshly fried and drained, the bacon sticks beautifully to the maple glaze. The finishing touch thusly applied, the donuts go onto the rack along with several other impossibly delicious flavors: a candied ginger orange donut, a spiced chocolate donut, a vanilla rosemary donut. Which brings us to the best part of the whole morning: tasting. Spearin and her staff taste a donut from every single batch, and today that includes me. Which means I get a chocolate rose donut, followed by a vanilla bean donut, followed by a sticky bun, followed by more coffee, followed by more donuts.

At 10 am I am practically delirious with fatigue, but Sara and her cohorts have yet to slow down. I'm slumped in a corner chewing on what must be my 14th donut while they keep frying, glazing and experimenting with new flavors. A green tea donut appears momentarily, but is tossed due to its greenish hue. Other recipes are bandied about, while Sara simultaneously preps for the following day and greets a constant stream of friends and customers. She'll be there for another 2 hours at least, and she probably won't take a break.

I, on the other hand, am hallucinating due to a combination of sleep deprivation and having consumed enough sugar to kill Chris Farley again. I hand Sara my apron and mumble something about bed and a deep fryer. Sara dismisses me with a smile, but not before sticking another half-dozen donuts under my arm. Outside it is bright and foggy, and people line up to taste the fruits of my labor. I take my donuts and head up the street, my footsteps swallowed up by the morning crowd in front of the city's most amazing donut shop.

Cover photo by http://www.flickr.com/photos/calmenda/ / CC BY 2.0

Other photos by Ethan Kanat