Here, Eat This! The Adventures of Kiki Maraschino

People have questioned my selection of restaurants in San Francisco.

My selections were often a matter of practicality, as I was with an ever-revolving group of people, and I had a conference to attend for six out of the eight days. I spent most of my time around Union Square and the Financial District, not of my own voilition.

However, within these parameters, I did have some decisions to make. And some of them were made as a result of Bauer’s The Dish on LA. I felt like Bauer was kind of a Zagat victim. Nothing against Zagat – I faithfully take their surveys and even get giddy when I recognize my quotes. But because of Zagat and that whole school of thought, he reviewed the biggest, flashiest names. He definitely did not use Counter Intelligence as his guide. Bauer’s review was criticized for ignoring some of our excellent local and “ethnic” food. I hate the term “ethnic” food. All food is ethnic food to someone, but I’ll save that rant for another time. I was determined not to be seduced by the hippest and most happening hotspots. So I left the Zagat Guide at home this trip.

So first, I chose the oldest restaurants I could find, the grand dames – Sears, John’s Grill, and The Tadich Grill. Classics. Then I went looking off the beaten foodie path – Tommy’s Restaurant, Tommy’s Joynt, Blondie’s. I tried to balance things out with some newer and brighter spots – Millenium, Out the Door, and the Slanted Door. Some places were sheer happenstance or serendipity. I was hungry. I turned around, and there it was. Sometimes this worked in my favor, like B Restaurant, and sometimes not so much, like with the Jazz Bistro. You win some, you lose some.

Now here we are, two days left in the city, and I am going to make the most of it…

THURSDAY

The Ferry Building

Thursday we headed down to the Ferry Building. I had been staring at its clocktower all week from afar, like a beacon of hope. I was kind of shocked when I offhandedly asked my nephew, “Hey, want to go buy some artisinal cheese?” and he actually set down the computer mouse and followed me. I guess it runs in the family. Cowgirl Creamery, the mecca of goat cheese lovers, was my first stop. I picked up their cute mixed bag (Hint: Don’t buy the 60 dollar bag Giada buys on TV. The 20-dollar bag is perfectly good. You don’t need a 40-dollar cheese board). Plus, I had to get their infamous Purple Haze, which is an herbed goat cheese.

Oh, Miette, with those delicate little macarons and lavender shortbread. Their pastel china just makes me want to throw a bridal shower!

And ScharfenBerger, who has rhubarb truflles and delicate little mushroom-shaped chocolates right now. And chocolate covered currants! Next time I am definitely taking the factory tour.

Slanted Door

After loading up on treats for friends back home, I wanted to try The Slanted Door. I was really just interested in going there because so many people had told me that I would never be able to get a table. Unfortunately, I am easy prey for a double-dog dare and discouragement only made me determined. And I must admit, it was slightly complicated. They stop seating in the restaurant sometime after 2. but you can still order from the full menu at the bar until 2:30. But that means you can only eat it at the bar; you cannot carry it 2 feet over to a table in “the lounge”. After the full menu ends at 3pm or whenever, you can order from a limited “tea” menu at the bar and at the lounge. This complex maneuver had me ordering very quickly and seating my 15-year-old nephew at the bar.

Luckily, the bartender was friendly and recommended a beef dish. I tried to pronounce it. Xiao Tsing Beef? It was just “Shaken Beef”. I also ordered crab noodles, chicken noodles, and a crepe. Like the irresponsible aunt I am, I left my nephew in the bar to watch our seats while I found my husband who was parking the car. Which in San Francisco is like one of the labours of Hercules.

This time I LOVED the servers. Both of the bartenders were extremely friendly and attentive. I was even charmed into ordering a nectarine caprihana. I noticed “unfriendly waiter” from Out the Door when he came to the bar with a drink order. He gave me that weird “I see you; but I’m ignoring you” look normally reserved for ex-boyfriends. I thought it was strange he would recognize me, because he was the one waiter who had been rude to me the week before, whereas I was only one of hundreds of customers he had probably been rude to. Later I remembered that two members of my party blatantly undertipped him. So he probably did remember me.

The “shaken beef” is made with filet mignon and is unbelievable. Unfortunately, the “chicken noodles” were not the “5-spice chicken noodles” I liked, and they were pretty greasy. My nephew reminded me, “They ARE pan-fried.” Which equals greasy. The crab noodles, made with transluscent cellophane noodles contained very fresh crab, but were pretty bland. The crepe was unexpected. It was more like an interpretation of egg foo young. It was a big omelet, stuffed with a stir-fry. It was extremely greasy, and no one ate more than a tester helping. But it did come with a sweet sauce that I used to liven up the crab noodles.

The thing about The Slanted Door (and Out the Door) is that everything is hit or miss. Some of the menu selections are breathtakingly delicious. If you know what you’re doing, you could have a truly memorable meal there. But choose wrong, and you will get a lumpy, greasy dish full of bland. And if you know to ask for “moustache” with the mullet, or the two cute servers from my picture at the bar, you will have an excellent time and make new friends. But if you get stuck with “unfriendly waiter” – ok, lets just say it – “bitchy waiter” you are going to have a terrible time. I would recommend going to the Ferry Building’s Out the Door takeout where you don’t have to deal with waiters, and just eat outside where you can look at the gorgeous bay. But don’t fill up, because there is still Taylor’s Refresher waiting for you.

Taylors Refresher

Of all of the low-budget restaurants I sampled, I would have to crown Taylor’s king. And I am not the only one, In 2006, Taylor’s received the James Beard Foundation American Classics Award. We were so sorry we had filled up on soggy noodles and had to split a hamburger. This hamburger was beyond compare. The edges were charred and the inside was juicy, bursting with greasy goodness. I will crave this burger forever and compare all other burgers to this one. I am ruined. The french fries were hot and probably double-fried to get that kind of crunch. But the thing that makes Taylor’s stand out from the rest of the pack is the pistachio milkshake was rich and creamy with real ice cream, like a good vanilla shake should be. The pistachio flavor did not taste artificial in any way. It was clean and pure, like you always wished pistachio ice cream could be, without even realizing it. When I reached the bottom, there was a small pile of pistachio nuts in the cup. I asked them if anyone had ever choked on one, and the employees looked surprised and slightly frightened, like that had never occured to them before. As we walked out, everything on every table I passed looked delicious. I wanted to pick up the hot dog and fish tacos from a neighboring table and put them in my purse. I wanted everything. Taylor’s turned me out.

Recchiuti

Sometimes I try things just for the adventure, knowing they are going to be awful. When I put a pink peppercorn and star anise chocolate in my mouth, I thought maybe they could pull it off, maybe it wouldn’t be dreadful. It never occured to me it could be better, that it could possibly be the best chocolate I had ever tasted. Better than See’s California Brickle. Better than homemade marshmallows from Eidelweiss. It was nothing short of an epiphany. I realized that I had been limited in my thinking about spices. That there were so many new possibilities! That there were new horizons of flavors to explore! I bought boxes and boxes of chocolates in order to bring this amazing flavor back, so I could tell everyone what I had discovered like a converted religious nut. My conversion was short-lived. I left the bag on the counter in the airport and when I returned they said they had to turn them in to security as a suspicious package. Security claims to have never received them, Someone is either enjoying a sugar rush right now or 100 dollars worth of gourmet treats have been detonated in a field outside of Oakland.

Chez Panisse

For my big final meal out, my brother and his wife took us to what is perhaps the epicenter of the slow food movement, and every other movement promoting fresh, local ingredients, Chez Panisse. Alice Waters is truly a pioneer, and everyone was excited about our meal as we walked up to the big craftsman. We chose to eat in the “upstairs” cafe instead of “downstairs” because “downstairs offers only a single, prix fixe meal. Mondays are usually more laid back, the meal does not offer a dessert, and runs about 55 dollars. The rest of the week the menu averages 65 to 85 dollars and features events such as an “all duck dinner”. “Upstairs” in the cafe/bar, the menu offers a simpler prix fixe menu at around 28 dollars. They also offer a limited menu of around 6 salads, one appetizer, one soup, six mains and four desserts as well as a cheese plate. We prefer the cafe for last-minute meals or when dining with a group because sometimes you don’t like what is being served downstairs. A few comments I have read on the internet insinuate that the cafe is inferior to “downstairs” but maybe they are just snobs.

We all enjoy trying a little bit of everything, so we chose to eat “family style.” We split a Caprese salad with Wild Boar Farm tomatoes and fresh mozzarella. It is so refreshing to eat ripe tomatoes, and the light vinagrette was perfect. The garden lettuce salad was simple, but it was one of those must-have items for my brother, who is a serious devotee of their salads. We split a main as a starter – the pizza with hot and sweet peppers. Ok, Bauer, if you have been reading these blogs and wonder what any of this has to do with you, listen up – here is your payoff. You wondered why San Francisco lacks pizza like Mozza, well here is your pizza. Call Chez Panisse every night until they have this pizza. You will never bemoan the state of Bay Area pizzas again. Hot banana peppers in the mix made this pizza just hot enough to be exciting without overpowering. The cheese, of course, was farm fresh – and that crust. Seriously, this is the pizza you have been waiting for. Pray that they offer some variation regularly.

Between the six of us, we ordered two orders of “Sonoma County duck-leg with corn fritters, green beans and morels”, two orders of “Grilled James Ranch lamb leg with black-eyed peas and tomatillos” and one order of “Hand-cut pasta with heirloom tomatoes, basil, and Bellwether Farm Ricotta.”

To be honest, the pasta was a little bland. The texture of the hand-cut pasta was perfection, the cheese was creamy, but it just needed some kind of punch. Maybe the hot peppers on the pizza had dulled my palate too much. The duck shown in my photo is a double order on one plate, and it was fantastic. The meat was tender without a hint of gaminess, more like free-range chicken. The corn fritters were the star of the show. Man. I wanted to grab them all, but all those Sesame Street songs about “sharing” have socialized me just enough to make it through a dinner party. The lamb was also excellent, without a hint of gaminess. I can really getting into game when it is this high quality. The black-eyed peas were a homey touch, but the tomatillos seemed a little out-of-place.

We decided to split desserts – a bittersweet chocolate pave (like a broken paving stone – really, it was similar to those molten lava cakes that were all the rage, but without the lava filling) and a strawberry sherbert. We all took polite bites, but it was clear that most of us were too stuffed to deal with anything else. One person took over the chocolate, and another devoured the sorbet while the rest of us groaned. There was a slight mix-up, and we had a hard time getting our bill, which turned out to be sitting on the counter right above my head the entire time. My brother hosted, and attempted to hide the bill, but it looked like it averaged out to about 50 dollars per person. Not bad for salad, appetizer, mains, dessert and 5 glasses of wine. As we left, my brother remarked, “I love this place. I don’t know why we don’t come here more.”

Friday

De Young Cafe

Friday we spent the day at Golden Gate park and the De Young Museum. Out of convenience, I had lunch at the museum’s cafe. I have to say, museum cafes have really come into their own. The sandwich was first-rate, and the bread was just as good as all of the other bread I was served in San Francisco. This city is into bread.

And again with the fresh, local ingredients:

As part of Bon Appétit’s pioneering “Farm to Fork” program, these ingredients are grown or produced within 150 miles of the kitchen where they will be prepared. The de Young menu includes cheeses and dairy products from Point Reyes Farmstead Cheese Company, Straus Family Creamery, and Cowgirl Creamery; breads from Berkeley’s Acme Bakery…

On Friday evenings, when the De Young holds special community events, the cafe offers a dinner menu. During the summer, they are offering a Cinema Supper Club, showing films featuring famous artists.

Contrary to what my favorite angled photo technique suggests, the cafe is not actually located on a boat that is weathering a storm.

Monette’s

I would never be such an ungrateful houseguest as to leave out the fantastic meal prepared for us by my sister-in-law Monette on Friday night. My entire family can cook, from my mom all the way down to my youngest nephews, who have “Iron Chef” competitions at home for fun. We all have our specialties, but no one can set a beautiful table like Monette. I have always envied her ability to take a few sprigs of Chervil and make a dish look like it should be on the front cover of Gourmet. She barbecued steaks and albacore tuna, and made gorgeous salads with haricot vertes and a delicious cherry tomato caprese. I didn’t help matters by stuffing her full of Cowgirl goat cheese and champagne before dinner. But it was truly one of the best meals I was served, and a lovely way to end the trip. Plus, Monette works for Sephora and I got her tipsy enough to let me rifle through her samples box! Score!

Final Thoughts

To make any kind of pronouncement, I feel like I would need another month in San Francisco. There were so many places I didn’t have a chance to try – Herbivore, Tu Lan, Swan’s Oyster Depot, Little Joe’s. I didn’t even touch Chinatown or the Mission District. But after barely dipping my toes in the bay, I have to say I was was impressed with the value San Francisco places on food. It is the kind of dedication that made me fall in love with New Orleans.

I was particularly impressed by San Francisco’s dedication to preservation. The number of classic restaurants still standing was a welcome surprise. In an era when newer is better, it is heartwarming to see history respected. From the Tadich Grill, the oldest restaurant in San Francisco, to Chez Panisse, a place of quality is never “over”.

In the tradition of Chez Panisse, emphasis is placed on quality ingredients. In even the cheapest hole-in-the-wall, tomatoes were red, lettuces were crisp, and I was never served a single slice of bread that did not taste fresh and homemade.

There also seems to be much more of a focus placed on beer and wine as opposed to LA’s ever-present cocktails. Smaller-label organic wines and interesting microbrews were readily available. A larger selection of wines are offered by the glass, and it seems like less of a formalized ritual. Only one restaurant offered to send over a sommelier and it was with that same half-serious tone that TV cops use when they offer to send in a lawyer. The only time I even drank a cocktail was in the Slanted Door, and only because I was sitting at the bar.

From the simplest taqueria to white tablecloth dining, there is a sense of continuity; every restaurant seems to feel a connection to the San Francisco’s history. From the restaurants of San Francisco’s past, one can follow the lineage eventually into the Educated Palate. You can see the pride in the instructor’s eyes, and the smiles on her student’s faces. In their classroom restaurant, they strive to provide the same high level of service one finds at Tadich’s Grill. They serve only the freshest ingredients, as Alice Waters would have them do. They are here to provide the continuity that will link San Francisco’s treasured past with its future.

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The Educated Palate

Amongst all the restaurant talk at the conference, I did pick up one invaluable tip (Thanks Francine!). Across the street from the conference, the city college’s cooking school ran a restaurant called the Educated Palate. I was told they had an incredible lamb sandwich. It was good timing, since the restaurant was preparing to close for a 2-week semester break (They will re-open August 23rd).

We managed to make their last lunch service. Everyone ordered sandwiches, but I thought I would be risky and went for a Moroccan chicken dish. It turned out to be a large filo-encased mixture of ground chicken and spices with a tomato concasse. It was kind of intense, and probably would have been better in a smaller, appetizer portion. But the flavors were well-balanced and the filo was perfect.

I split my chicken dish with a friend in exchange for half of her lamb sandwich. Lamb is often too gamey for me. The only lamb I have ever really enjoyed was in Guy Savoy’s Bouquenistas in Paris. This lamb was as good as, or may have even surpassed Guy Savoy’s. That is pretty fantastic for a cooking school; I dare the CIA to take them on. Fresh mozzarella took this sandwich over the top. I can’t recommend the Educated Palate highly enough. When we asked for separate checks, they even split the bottled Pelligrino three ways, and the dessert four ways on our bills. I have never had a restaurant do that before.

The friendly instructor, Barbara Haimes, not only allowed me to photograph her restaurant, but proudly gathered her class together for a photograph. She had a mixture of competence and kindness that can turn all business when needed, qualities I recognized from some of my favorite instructors. She immediately asked me about Mozza, so I knew she was up-to-date, and when I mentioned Bauer’s article, she was extremely diplomatic.

Later that evening I stopped in at Parc 55’s Siam Thai to grab take-out for the hotel room. It was not very memorable, and I didn’t even photograph it. But my room-mates had brought me back a piece of chocolate cake that was outstanding. As vegans love doing, they waited until after I had eaten it to announce to me that it was a product of sneaky vegan sleight-of-hand. Judging from the cake alone, I’m sorry I missed joining them for dinner at Herbivore.

Wednesday

B Restaurant and Bar

Wednesday marked the end of the conference, and my husband picked me up to visit MOAD (Museum of African Diaspora) and YBCA (Yerba Buena Center for the Arts). On my previous walks through the park, I could see Samovar above the waterfall and it had piqued my interest. I meant to go there, but we accidentally stumbled upon B Restaurant and Bar. What serendipity! The room was uncrowded and open, almost like a continuation of the park. High windows made it feel airy and light. It was elegent, yet comfortable. Thus far, I had experienced competent service, friendly service, and unfriendly service, but B Restaurant and Bar was the first time that I fell in love with my waiter. I stood up to wash my hands at the exact moment he arrived with our drinks, and instead of bumping into me, he smoothly slid an arm around me to help me up, and we ended up standing together arm in arm as if we were dates at a party. Grant Goodrich (He even has a good, strong, name) was so comfortable with us, chatting about the menu, and generally treating us as if we were guests in his home. He was without question my favorite waiter.

Luckily, chef Aaron Webb was equally skilled in the kitchen (Although he did not come out to hug me). I was in the mood for hamburger and he delivered. The grilled Angus was cooked to my liking, and the tomato was actually red – a gorgeous ruby red. I realized I have never been served a perfectly ripe tomato on a hamburger before. What? Was I raised in a cave? Perhaps it was not quite as dramatic as the moment in the Wizard of Oz where everything turns technicolor, but this organic, sustainable, locally grown thing has really got something to it. The catfish brandade was kind of deconstructed, with the seared catfish steak served over what I assume to be potatoes brandade, whipped with the garlic and cream. We weren’t exactly sure what it was, but it was rich and delicious and our only complaint was that we wanted a bigger portion. The dessert, a layered chocolate cake with a Black Forest spin arrived with a small carafe of icing, but I found myself wishing for something lighter, like whipped cream.

I kept their menu as a memento, and just reading it makes me want to rush back : Baked crab ratatouille, Saffron risotto with seared dayboat scallops, grilled torpedo onions and riccolla. Riccolla! OK, you got me. It is not in any of my culinary dictionaries. Internet searches keep bringing up The Divine Comedy. What the hell is riccolla? And Tofu Bucco? Like Osso Bucco? Really? How in the hell do you pull that off? Bring it on! Pour me a lime rickey and let’s go to town.

YBCA:

Tadich Grill

The Tadich Grill is the oldest restaurant in San Francisco. Sure, it’s changed names and moved around a few times (who hasn’t?). It’s been in the same family since 1913. The tag “The Original Cold Day Restaurant” is not because of the hot coffee and hearty soups, but from the ballsy slogan of a failed politician back in 1882. This place has serious history. And a serious following. A long bar runs the length of one side of the restaurant, and everyone obediently lines up against the wall for the anticipated 45-minute wait for a table. I run upstairs to wash up, then take a leisurely stroll around the restaurant, and who should I run into but Marian and Vivian, “The Twins.”

The next thing you know, I’m sitting at their table and they are regaling me with stories about their lives in the midwest, warning me against marriage and giving me lots of vague advice with finger-waggling emphasis, like, “Only you can sink your own ship.” When our table is finally ready, my husband is not in the least bit surprised to find me sitting with someone else, not after he sees the twins.

Once we had our table, service was swift and super-efficient. Our waiter, who had a heavy accent of indeterminate origin, managed to keep things humming without rushing us at all. I was jealous of the diners who had the luck and large enough groups to sit in the old-fashioned cubicle-like wooden booths. I usually only see those in Chinatown. I started with a crab cocktail, as clean and refreshing as any other. The cocktail sauce was mild, with no discernible trace of horseradish. By the time I finished the crab cocktail, my soup had been sitting at my elbow for about five minutes. The waiter offered to bring me a fresh bowl. When I finally figured out what he was saying, I was so impressed with him that I touched his arm tenderly, which probably freaked him out a little. The clam chowder was exactly what I was looking for – the quintissential flavors of San Francisco.

Although I knew it was madness, I couldn’t stop myself and ordered the cioppino. Soup with soup. The waiter raised an eyebrow, but put the order in. I always remember my brother Greg’s story about the Italian fishermen sharing a communal pot and telling each other “chip-in” “chip-in-oh” The Italian accent was so bad, it took me a long time to finally believe there was any truth to that legend. My cioppino arrived with a big hunk of garlic bread for dipping. The fish was rich with the taste of the sea, and the shrimp and scallops were delicate. On my third course, not including the sourdough bread, there was no way I could finish it. But I did manage to pick out the best chunks.

When we arrived back at my brother’s for the night, he asked how dinner was. “Did you have clam chowder?”

“Yes.”

“Was your waiter from somewhere mysterious, like Croatia?”

“Yes.”

“And you met The Twins?”

(To be continued…)

Educated Palate 88 4th Street SF 94103 (415) 267-6512

B Restaurant and Bar 720 Howard St SF 94107 (415) 495-9800

Tadich Grill 240 California Street SF (415) 391-1849

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Sears Fine Foods

Sears Fine Foods

Monday we settled in for our only real breakfast, and we could not have chosen better than Sear’s Fine Foods. The line stretches down the block, but moves fairly quickly. It is short enough so that you don’t feel put out, but long enough that you feel confident that the food must be good. Kitschy D-list photos on the walls and a clutch of antique typewriters scattered around give you something to ponder while you wait.

Just three years after its rescue from near-extinction by Lori’s Diner, Sears continues to serve its famous 18 silver dollar Swedish pancakes. They are so cute and adorable. I can see why children freak out over them. Rolled up with a little butter and lingonberry sauce, I was kind of freaking out myself. Their bacon and sausage are of the highest quality, service is first-rate and attention is paid to every detail. I only had to think, “I’m running low on coffee” before the psychic waiter would come running over with a refill. Spying on nearby tables, I could see that their red flannel hash is pretty popular as well. Stuffed after such a hearty breakfast, this was the one time we took the streetcar (5 bucks each! Ouch!). Clanking and rolling along with bellies full of pancakes and bacon made us feel like we were real tourists.

Vino Venue

In the afternoon, I met my brother at Vino Venue, a wine bar across the street from MOAD. At Vino Venue, you fill a card with a dollar amount, like you would at a casino or video arcade. Each kiosk has different types of wine with descriptions and a price, from around 2.50 to 4.50. You put the card in, select a wine, and have a do-it-yourself wine tasting. I discovered I like “buttery” chardonnays, like the Wise West Australian Single Vineyard 2005 Chardonnay. But I spent most of my time drinking the wines with strange descriptions – gravelly earth? I want to know what gravelly earth tastes like!

AG Ferrari Foods

To soak up the wine, I picked up a sandwich at AG Ferrari Foods, an Italian gourmet shop and deli next-door. The deli case overflowed with appealing bites, but I was saving my appetite for John’s. So I just snacked on half of a turkey sandwich in the park. The bread and garnishes were perfection, but it was a little skimpy on the meat.

John’s Grill

I was grateful that I had stopped in and made a reservation for Johns Grill earlier that morning. Group after group ahead of us were asked to wait, and it was a relief to be escorted immediately to our table. John’s Grill is famous for being the setting for the book, The Maltese Falcon, and the Dashell Hammet club still meets there. Someone had told me the interior was creepy. I thought it was rather cozy, but when I had to climb the dark stairwell to the restrooms, I had to admit, ok, it was a little creepy upstairs.

I ordered the house drink, named the Bloody Bridgid, after Hammet’s fictional murderess. The drink was so strong, I think she may have done him in with alcohol poisoning. The Dungeness crab cocktail was clean and fresh, topped with a shocking horseradish cocktail sauce. Not a single bit of shell. Icy cold. Sheer perfection. My filet mignon was unprecedented in its tenderness. Sometimes I think a good meal is like sex. It is hard to compare it to experiences from your past, because the most recent one always seems better. But try as I might, I can’t remember ever having a steak so tender. Normally with filet mignon there is one delicate tendon running through the middle, but it was such an excellent cut every bite melted in my mouth. It was a perfect meal.

We were not ready to let go, so we had to order a dessert. The chocolate cake with mousse was ok, but really just gilding the lily. I was surprised at how inexpensive our meal was, but it would be a great deal at any price. This is a place to take your parents, your boss, or the girl you want to marry. John’s is pure class.

Sear’s Fine Food 439 Powell Street SF 94102 (415) 986-0700

Vino Venue 686 Mission Street SF 94105 (415) 341-1930

John’s Grill 63 Ellis St. SF 94102 (415) 986-0069

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BLONDIE’S PIZZA

When I was a teenager, there was nothing cooler than going up to San Francisco for the weekend with a friend’s punk band. Everyone always hung out at Blondie’s Pizza. Maybe because it’s by the streetcar lines, but probably because it was cheap and there is a basement downstairs where they don’t mind if you get a little rowdy.

While I waited for my friends to meet me, I sat in the basement dining room next to a group of teenaged kids. Soon another group of teenagers sat across from them and they eyed each other until finally someone spoke up, “Hey, I know you!”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah. I do.”
(Silence)
“Yeah. last week I was on the bus, and there was some crazy motherfucker on the bus and he was punchin’ everybody.”
The accused sat and stared at his slice while everyone stared at him to see if he would admit to punching people on the bus.
Finally he broke the silence, “I must’a been HIGH.”
Then we all turned back to our slices.

The secret of Blondie’s pizza is much the same as Krispy Kreme. Take whatever slice just came out of the oven. Wait for the next pizza if you have to. Fresh out of the oven, the crust is warm and soft, like homemade bread. The cheese melts into long strings and the pepperoni is super spicy. After just 10 minutes out of the oven, the pizza is mediocre at best. They also offer acceptable chicken and salads. Drink refills are 50-cents and the bathroom costs a quarter.

THE JAZZ BISTRO

Our selection of the Jazz Bistro for dinner was based on proximity to the hotel and the quality of the music being played. Red flags went up for a few of my dining partners, particularly the dirty restrooms, so there was some disagreement. But I was tired of walking and loved the music. It wasn’t a BAD meal, per se, and the service was excellent. The first glass of wine my friend was given had turned, but they cheerfully exchanged it and were more than gracious when we spilled a glass of water all over the table. The food was just dull. It was good enough. The chicken and fish were properly cooked, and the ravioli was good, but the potatoes were cold. It just really, really reminded us of banquet food. It was wedding reception food. I would go back for drinks and jazz, but only after eating steaks at John’s across the street first.

Blondie’s Pizza 63 Powell Street SF 94102 (415) 982-6168

Jazz Bistro 44 Ellis Street SF 94102 (415) 397-5397

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Tommy’s Joynt

Saturday my brother and nephews picked me up for a day of sightseeing and to sample the kind of local dives they know I love. We started out with lunch at a disappearing San Francisco institution, a hofbrau. Tommy’s had me at the gaudy carnival mural. Inside, burly men hefty huge cuts of meat and weilded long, greasy knives. What more could you ask for? Beer? But of course. I split a giant brisket sandwich with one of my nephews and enjoyed a lovely amber. I could have easily hung around all afternoon.

Tommy’s Restaurant

There were sights to see and one more Tommy’s to hit before returning to my hotel for the late-afternoon workshop. Tommy’s Restaurant, which opened in 1965, is known for its excellent Yucatan-inspired dishes and vast array of tequilas. The entire back page of the menu contained a tequila list as extensive as many restaurant’s wine lists. And they definitely pour with a heavy hand. I couldn’t even finish my on-the-rocks margarita or I would have been completely wasted at my afternoon conference. The burritos were huge, the tortillas were fresh, and my Pork Adobado was juicy and flavorful. The house salad dressing seemed to just be a pico de gallo salsa, and the black beans were much more salty than I am used to. But if I had only finished that margarita, I’m sure I wouldn’t have cared about a little extra salt in the food or anything else. As we left the comfy little neighborhood restaurant, I overheard the guy behind me drunkenly insisting, “Hey! I have NOTHING against Norwegians!”

Out the Door

Out the Door in the Westfield Mall is the low-key version of San Francisco’s much-lauded Slanted Door. We were really excited to eat there, especially because of the cool minimalist decor and the large selection of vegan options. Our server did not seem nearly as excited to see us. When we asked him questions about the menu, he would just pause and stare at us. For example, if I were to say, “I’m undecided between these two dishes; what would you recommend?” Most servers would say things like, “Well, the noodles are really generous, so it depends on how hungry you are.” or maybe “The chicken is very popular.” Our server just stared at us, pencil poised above order pad. Finally, one of my friends felt uncomfortable enough to take over the server’s duties by saying things like, “That dish has chili paste in it. Do you like spicy food?” while the server stared impatiently.

Dishes were brought one at a time, about five minutes apart, and dropped on the table by runners who would mumble the name of the dish and race off. I caught one of the runners by the arm to ask for our drinks, which had not yet arrived. My chicken curry was good, but not any better or worse than if I had ordered from a random Hollywood take-out menu left on my doorhandle. One of my friend’s noodles were pretty bland. But the 5-spice noodles – WOW. They were fantastic, with intensely bright Vietnamese flavors. I would definitely return for them again and again.

My vegan friend was still waiting for her order. We all remarked upon how she always had to wait. Then they dropped a plate of chicken and noodles in front of her and whizzed away. She managed to hunt down our waiter, who had been hanging out at a table full of cute boys, chattering away. He showed her that the 5-spice noodles my other friend was eating were actually the vegan noodles. When the runner had brought them, she had clearly said, “chicken noodles.” Irritated, he took her chicken plate away, and ordered a vegan replacement. He did not offer the chicken noodles to the person who had ordered them, assuming apparantly that she had cast her lot when she started mistakenly eating the vegan noodles. Whenever we needed anything else, we stopped looking for our unfriendly waiter altogether and started seeking help from a different waiter, who my friend referred to as “The Mustache.” He was friendly and helpful. We complimented him to the manager as we left. I left “unfriendly waiter” a low 10-15 percent tip, but a few other people in our small party left him only a dollar.

Lefty O’Doul’s

It is no easy task getting a big group of out-of-towners to all be in the same place at the same time. After copious text-messages flew back-and-forth Saturday night, we all ended up at another San Francisco institution, Lefty O’Doul’s . Running along one side of the room is a carving station with big hunks of meat ready to be carved, hofbrau-style. It gave the place a weird half-bar, half-high school cafeteria feel. They stopped serving at midnight, and by the time we arrived at 11:45 pm the choice was either roast beef or ham. I chose roast beef. The sandwich could have been better, but I got the feeling that had I arrived at a more reasonable hour, it would have been. My friend declared her cherry pie first rate, although I’m not sure it was worth it to have to hear that fucking Warrant song over and over again after everyone started getting drunk. The draft selection was impressive (Bass! Fat Tire! Yay!), and the piano at one end of the room cranked out a strange mixture of requests, mostly golden hits of the 70s. If there was a place like Lefty’s around the corner from me, I would be there all the time.

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As timing would have it, my trip to San Francisco last week came right on the heels of Michael Bauer’s controversial article, The Dish on Los Angeles. Unlike many Angelinos, I did not get the impression that his article was maligning our entire restaurant scene. I thought it was a pretty standard assessment of a certain class of restaurant – the good, the bad, and the Patina Group. I did find it puzzling that he would be so suprised by the “industry” types he ran across, considering the fact that he mainly ate at “industry” restaurants. Everyone knows you don’t go to the Ivy to actually eat. You go there to be photographed by the paparazzi so everyone will know that you are straight/still in love with your wife/signing with Fox. Another charge lobbed against Bauer was his narrow scope. He stated that his selections were made with care using a combination of guidebooks and advice from friends. But that book was more likely the Zagat Guide than Counter Intelligence. Bauer does address and acknowledge the lack of “ethnic” restaurants as as well. I have no beef with the man and do not feel the urge to challenge him to a culinary dance-off.

As I prepared for my trip to the Bay Area, however, a few people suggested that I “take them on”. An epicurian throw-down! But as I said, I have no beef with Bauer, and I am not exactly in a position to go toe-to-toe with a bonifide restaurant critic, much less take on an entire city. So this posting is not meant to be a culinary dance-off.

That being said, I did just eat my way all over San Francisco and I can’t wait to dish!

I arrived in San Francisco with a few business colleagues last Friday for a 6-day conference, to be followed by two days of sight-seeing with my husband. I didn’t do too much research beforehand, knowing that my dining choices would be limited by the conference. The only advice I sought was from the good people over at www.roadfood.com who always know where to find the hidden gems.

Friday

Millenium

After my friends and I checked in, we decided to have a nice evening out at Millenium, a white-tablecloth vegan restaurant in the ultrahip-looking Savoy Hotel. Our reservations were for 9:30 pm. We were starving, so we arrived an hour early, and sat at the bar and ordered drinks and an appetizer. One of our foursome was not ready when the bartender took our orders, and the bartender never returned to take her order. We were sitting by the cash register, which you would think put us in the thick of things, but we had a very hard time getting another bartender to finally take her drink order. The deep-fried wild mushrooms I ordered as a starter were excellent hot, and the chutney was a nice accompaniment. But as the mushrooms cooled, the coating became an unappetizing dried-chickpea-like goo. Our reservation time came and went. Finally the hostess told us we would be seated any minute, so I settled up the bar tab.

As we continued to wait, and wait, the fast food across the street began to call to me. Finally, an hour after our reservation time had passed, I told my vegan friend that I loved her but that I was going across the street. She decided to just place her order to go. I ended up at Taqueria El Sol. They made me a beautiful made-to-order carne asada burrito. I walked back across the street and shamelessly set the bag on the bar while my friend waited for her to-go order. Later, in our room, she said the tempeh was excellent. My 4.95 burrito was also damn good.

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