Food & Drink

The importance of being imported

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If you think of Mateus or Lancer’s when you think of Portuguese wine, then you may soon be thinking anew. Portugal’s food and wines have been overshadowed by those of Spain, its larger Iberian neighbor, over the last generation or so, but the Portuguese viticultural tradition has its roots in Roman times and produces wines that compare favorably with any in the world. The issue at the moment is distributing them to that world – in particular, to us – and that means finding importers.

To judge by the offerings of a recent trade show, Portuguese winemakers aren’t going to have much trouble convincing the public about the quality of their wines nor about their value. I found myself, after rapturous sips of this and that, asking what a particular bottling might sell for at retail in Europe and repeatedly hearing, "2 euros 50" or "3 euros" – in other words, $3 or $4. I would have bought several cases on the spot if I’d been able to, the whites being especially appealing.

At least one wrinkle for Portuguese winemakers who want to sell their stuff here is that there is no restaurant infrastructure to serve as a wedge into public consciousness. Our Iberian restaurants are almost all Spanish, and there aren’t even that many of them; I am aware of only the Grubstake, a Polk Gulch hamburger salon, as an offerer of a full-scale Portuguese menu in the city, and even there you have to know what you’re looking for, lest you end up with a BLT from the regular menu. Some years ago, Stars, in one of its post-Jeremiah Tower configurations, made a point of featuring Portuguese wines, but that program went down with the restaurant.

Perhaps there will be a breakthrough wine, a Portuguese answer to gruner veltliner and albarino. (The Portuguese grow the latter, incidentally, as alvarinho.) I might place a small bet on white wines produced from antao vez, a grape indigenous to Portugal and grown in the Alentejo region southeast of Lisbon. The name looks a bit forbidding to the Anglophone eye – an unhelpful detail in a brand-name culture like ours – but the wines are bright and fresh, with a green fruitiness gently crisped by acid. Wines like these at $3 to $4 a bottle would be too good to be true – but maybe $5 or $6 is feasible?

Paul Reidinger

> paulr@sfbg.com

El pollo greco

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Herbs tell stories, and the association of certain herbs with certain experiences can be specific and powerful. Basil, for instance, is summer and tomatoes, while sage is Thanksgiving and bread stuffing. Oregano? Its strong perfume is the smell of pizza — but it’s also Greek. It is, in particular, the herb that gives Athenian or Greek chicken its bewitching character.

For years I tried without much success to create at home a plausible version of the Athenian chicken that we found so irresistible in Greek restaurants. The restaurant chickens often seemed to have been roasted on rotisseries, and while I couldn’t match that, I did have my trusty vertical roasters, which produced (with day-before rubbing of kosher salt and Herbes de Provence) wonderful Zuni-style roast chickens. My basic theory was to substitute oregano for the Herbes; this worked, but the results were underwhelming, certainly no match for their Zuniesque brethren. Smashed garlic and lemon slices under the skin? These helped a little, but the birds still seemed to lack the sought-after verve.

Of course, there is more than one way to roast a chicken. Roasting says oven the way oregano says pizza, but it need not be so. Let us not forget pan roasting, a near relation to braising, in which the item in question is cooked on the stove top in a small amount of fat or other liquid. I had a time-tested recipe for pan-roasted lemon-rosemary chicken; what if I dropped the rosemary in favor of (dried) oregano? I did: eureka!

Start with an oregano-and-salt-rubbed chicken, cut into pieces. Put the pieces in a large nonstick skillet over lively heat for a minute or two, turning occasionally until they’re lightly seared. Add a couple of tablespoons each of sweet butter and olive oil to the pan, along with a good pinch of salt, a heaping tablespoon of dried oregano, and three cloves of smashed, peeled garlic. Cook for a few minutes more, shaking the pan and turning the pieces. Add a cup of dry white wine, and bring to a boil; reduce the heat and simmer, partly covered, for 30 to 40 minutes, turning the pieces now and then. When the chicken is golden brown, remove from the pan and deglaze with the juice of one lemon. I use a gravy separator for the pan juices, but you don’t have to. Serve the jus on the side and say oompah!

Paul Reidinger

› paulr@sfbg.com

Esperpento

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› paulr@sfbg.com

Spanish food may have struggled for recognition in this country and will almost certainly never be as well loved as its near relation, Italian cooking, but in the last decade or so the Iberian peninsula has given us at least one big present: the tapa. Tapas, the little plates that could, are so big now that they’re often not even remotely Spanish: we find Cuban and nuevo Latino and even American versions, while small plates from other cultures end up being called "tapas" for convenience’s sake. People might not know about, and might be chary of ordering, a meze platter, but if you call it Turkish or Greek tapas, they’re in.

At Esperpento, which turns 15 this year (the name means "absurdity"), the tapas are still tapas, still Spanish — the kinds of things you’d have with a beer or a glass of verdujo or rioja in the middle evening at some restaurant near the Plaza Mayor in Madrid. The venue itself, with its forest of support columns and cheerful, well-scuffed yellowness, looks like such a place and offers us a reminder that restaurant interiors evolve or accrete meaning through use and are not necessarily complete when created, no matter how elaborately and expensively they are designed. But what most amazes about Esperpento is the paella, which is actually better than good — quite near excellent, in fact. While I cling to my view that the best paella is likely to be made by a home cook, I can no longer say that restaurants can’t pull it off. Esperpento can and does, though, as with soufflés, you are given notice that there will be a 30-minute wait.

If you have to wait a spell for your main dish, what better way to pass the time than by noshing on tapas in a house of tapas? Esperpento’s selection is huge, turn-around time is short, and a surprising number of the small plates are vegetarian friendly. You could easily order up a meatless feast here without disappointing meat eaters in the slightest. Especially fabulous are the alcachofas a la plancha ($5.50), disks of thinly sliced artichokes grilled with a simple combination of garlic and parsley. And not far behind are the patatas ali-oli ($4.50), crispy-tender new-potato quarters generously spattered with garlic mayonnaise. If you like your potatoes a little less free-form, you might prefer the tortilla de patata ($6), which the menu describes as an "omelet" of potatoes and onion but is really more like a cross between a quiche and a tart and is far tastier (and substantial: the pie yields six decent-size slices) than its modest list of ingredients might imply.

As in Italian cooking, simple preparations yield potent results. Mushrooms sautéed with garlic ($5.25) were as meaty and fragrant as chunks of kebab. A salad of roasted julienne red pepper ($5.50) dressed with a house vinaigrette was gorgeous, even though the peppers were just the ordinary kind rather than the fancier (and slightly hotter) sort from Navarre. Boquerones ($5), Spain’s famous white anchovies, were dipped in batter and flash-fried, so they resembled french fries, while calamares a la plancha ($6.50) took a turn on the grill quick enough to keep them tender. One plancha-style dish did disappoint: clams ($6.25), which were not bad, just pallid despite garlic, parsley, and olive oil. And a salad of white beans ($4.75) could have used a boost of something.

A common booster in Spanish cooking is pimentón ahumado, or smoked paprika. This is the spice that gives Spanish chorizo its distinctive flavor, and it turned up big in the sauce of the rabbit stew ($6.75), a quasi-signature dish. The meat itself, still on the bone, was fine if not remarkable, but we carefully sopped up all of the sauce with rounds of white bread from the continually replenished basket.

The paella — de carnes y mariscos ($26 for two, but plenty for four if sufficiently preceded by tapas) — arrived in due course and was inspected. We noted the traditional two-handled pan, the wealth of meat, mussels, prawns, and green peas, and the bright yellowness of the rice — an indication that there has been no stinting on the saffron. The grains of rice were plump and glistening, a sign that they had just been cooked straight through rather than parboiled, left to wait, then finished in haste.

Best of all was the caramelized crust that had developed at the bottom of the rice layer. One of the big differences between risotto and paella is that the former is stirred more or less constantly, with a creamy result, while the latter is stirred hardly at all. The result of this stasis is the crust, which is something of a delicacy, though scraping it off and folding it into the rest of the dish can be an indelicate operation.

Paella is one of life’s more festive dishes, and Esperpento, despite its advanced age, has to be one of the more festive restaurants in the not-exactly-somnolent Mission: large parties wait at the door, tables are pushed together, cheerful voices are raised, plates laden with tapas fly from the kitchen (to return a few minutes later, stripped clean), service staff move nimbly among the tables like performers in some high-wire circus act. It is chaos, yes, but functional chaos, absurd as that might sound. *

ESPERPENTO

Lunch: Mon.–Fri., 11 a.m.–3 p.m. Dinner: Mon.–Fri., 5–10 p.m. Continuous service: Sat.–Sun., noon–10 p.m.

3295 22nd St., SF

(415) 282-8867

Beer and wine

AE/DISC/MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

>

Making it

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› le_chicken_farmer@yahoo.com

CHEAP EATS The Craigslist ad said "blood-soaked carnivore." And I wish I could remember the rest of it, because it was unusual and well written, but all I needed to know, really, was "blood-soaked carnivore."

By the letter, it wasn’t even what I was looking for; it wasn’t M or FTM or F (w/a SOD)…. It was BSC. Blood-soaked carnivore.

That’s my favorite kind of carnivore!

Talk about a hook with my lip written all over it…. It’s almost not even fair. It’s almost cheating. It’s like deer hunting with land mines, or something. I didn’t need to see no pictures or nothing. I was stacked steaks in white paper, brown tape; and I wrote back immediately and was all, like, "WheRE do you wAnt to EAt?!?!"

She mentioned some places, and we ate at all of them. We ate bacon burgers, chili burgers, barbecue, and Filipino food. Her name is Twinkle Wonderkid, and she lives in Cowgirl City, which looks a lot like the Tenderloin to me. And I know that’s a foofy-sounding name, Twinkle Wonderkid, but this BSC used to be in the Navy and the Merchant Marines, and I think she used to be a cow puncher too.

What else she used to be was a dude. The one thing I said I wouldn’t do!

Well …

Three words: Blood. Soaked. Carnivore. And you can ask her yourself if I ain’t the cuddliest, snuggliest, heat-producingest little campfire she ever poked.

So: thus endeth my 2 1/2-year drought, the longest length of itlessness I’ve had to endure (in case anyone was wondering) since the 19 years it took me to lose my male virginity.

Speaking of which, it’s kind of ironic, probably, that I got axed to the prom for the first time ever on the same day I got made into meat. It wasn’t a pimply, awkward high school boy who asked me, either. It was an all-growed-up and entirely cool chickenscaping client of mine named Aunt Stink. We were having kind of a business meeting. In exchange for dinner, I was going to help her conceptualize her budding Pacifica backyard chicken farm.

So that was what we talked about, chicken farming this and chicken farming that, over a vegetarian burrito for her and a big huge bowl of fishy soup for me.

Then she invited me to the prom. (I love my life!) Well, it wasn’t like that exactly. I mean, she did invite me to a party, and it was a prom-themed thing, but she already had herself a partner. And I didn’t know if I wanted to third-wheel it with them or go alone or go at all. Or … I mean, the thing was that I didn’t have anything to wear. I’ll be damned if I’m going to finally go to the prom, in my 40s, and not wear a prom dress.

And I don’t even know what that is, so … maybe in my 50s.

But this soup! The name of the place is El Toro Loco, or crazy fuckin’ bullshit, and it’s my new favorite restaurant. Best place to eat in Pacifica, anyway, according to two different people and now me. The sopa siete mares, or seven-horse soup, is just fish fish fish, mostly tentacles, which I love love love.

And I’m in my element, right, advising Aunt Stink on all the philosophical intricacies of chicken farming, like hawks and raccoons and shit, with calamari tentacles dangling out of the corners of my mouth most of the time, when all of a sudden it occurs to me that I’m famous. In my own small, farmerly way.

People contact me when they want to know about chickens. They see me in a bar and go, "Chicken Farmer!" And in one case, recently, I was paid $25 and two free drinks to stand up in front of a couple hundred people and talk about chickens. People want to eat with me, on them, and if that ain’t making it …

Well, it’s not the kind of making it I been looking for. And that’s why as soon as I got back to the city I started calling everyone I know and asking, "You got a prom dress I could borrow?"

First one to actually pick up the phone was the Wonderkid, and she’d just lost her job and had cried herself to sleep. Didn’t feel like going out, but if I wanted to come over and watch a movie …

She had popcorn, she said, and a bottle of wine.

I got the movie. I got the flowers. *

EL TORO LOCO

Tues.–Sat., 12–8 p.m.; Sun., 10:30 a.m.–5 p.m.

1624 Francisco Blvd., Pacifica

(650) 355-5548

Takeout available

Beer and wine

AE/MC/V

Wheelchair accessible

>

Assault on batteries

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The urban forager is generally looking for something to eat, but this does not have to be the case. While there is an undeniable pleasure in bringing edibles (blackberries, nasturtiums) home to the table from the metropolitan wild, there is also satisfaction in gathering up rubbish and disposing of it properly. And just as the city is a remarkably fertile place, so too is it rich in articles it would be better off not being rich in.

We have all seen the plastic water bottles rustling in the gutters like autumn leaves — husks emptied of their pricey elixirs and tossed away. They are easy enough to pick up and put in the nearest blue recycling bin, and that was how I started. But once I began to see the gutters as traps for stray Evian bottles, I began to notice that they hold other sorts of trash, less conspicuous but more worrisome. They hold an awful lot of batteries, in particular, with a decided tilt toward the AA size. I would like to think that even blithe people do not make a practice of throwing objects as thick with toxic chemicals and heavy metals as batteries on the sidewalk or into the street, but I seldom travel more than three blocks by foot or bike without finding at least one, often smashed or mangled by traffic.

My little foraging project for the past six months or so (since winter is a bleak time for urban food hunting; the weekday chef’s menus have heavily featured cabbage and broccoli) has been to collect all the discarded batteries I come across and put them in an old measuring cup on the pantry counter. When the cup fills, every few weeks or so, I take it to Walgreens and empty its contents into the recycling pail. Batteries do not belong in landfills almost as much as they don’t belong in the gutters, and by accepting them and sluicing them into the recycling stream, Walgreens is performing a large, if undersung, public service.

My hope is that once people start to notice that yes, there are AA batteries all over the gutters and yes, they can be picked up and recycled, people will pick them up and recycle them. Walgreens stores are easy to find in these parts, and a city whose streets are cleansed of old batteries will be a better city.

Paul Reidinger

› paulr@sfbg.com

UB V2?

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› paulr@sfbg.com

The obvious question to ask about V2 is: what about V1? What happened there? Was it an experimental version that didn’t quite pan out, like one of Hitler’s 11th-hour rockets? Or is it still out there somewhere? Fearless of spirit, we put our obvious question to our server and were told that V2 — a small but spiffy Malaysian restaurant that opened toward the end of January in a rapidly changing quarter of SoMa — is in fact the younger sibling of V Café, which occupies the old Whiz Wit space on Folsom near 10th Street and serves a menu similar to its predecessor’s, with the cheesesteak at its center.

The line of descent seems a little skewed here. If you like V Café, you aren’t necessarily going to be prepared for V2, though you might like it as well or even more. Despite the laconic sleekness of the name and the modesty of the physical plant, V2’s kitchen turns out striking, full-flavored dishes at prices that almost seem as if they’re part of a throwback promotion. Virtually everything on the menu, even at dinner, costs less than $10, and portions are not small.

Tomorrow, meanwhile, rises like Kuala Lumpur a few blocks away, in the form of those huge residential pillars of glass under construction on Rincon Hill. There has already been a certain amount of hand-wringing about the self-containedness of these sky-suburb developments, but the popping up of V2 in the vicinity is a sign that the occupants of the towers are, at some point, expected to grow hungry and come forth in search of food — good food, the kind you find in your favorite neighborhood restaurant. While at the moment V2 is a neighborhood restaurant waiting for its neighborhood to take shape, its presence means the area will not be entirely given over to such chain gangers as Starbucks and Au Bon Pain.

Malaysian food per se isn’t yet a commonplace around here, but because Malaysia is part of Indochina and counts as its neighbors Thailand, Indonesia, and Singapore — with China and India not too much farther away — the cooking is not all that foreign. Curry figures widely in V2’s seasoning repertoire; there is an obvious kinship to Indian and Thai curries, with the Malaysian varieties being a little smoother and richer than those of India and a little less fruity and hot than their Thai counterparts.

Malaysian curry beef ($7), for instance, consists of strips of meat and cubes of potato in a thick, reddish brown sauce reminiscent of the gravy (supposedly concocted of ketchup and cream to appeal to English tastes) that gives the Anglo-Indian dish tikka masala its endearing character. The curry nose was more pointed in (as the name implies) Indian mee goreng ($7), a stir-fry of spaghettilike noodles in a chili-fired, onion-breath red sauce. You can get chicken or (shelled) prawns for a buck or two extra, but even if you don’t, you will find items of interest folded among the noodles, among them flaps of wonton skin, like slices of gratin potatoes, and little stir-fried flour dumplings we thought at first might be tofu. There was an even sharper curry bite, along with a faint yellow iridescence, in cabbage with minced pork, one of the continually varying lunchtime specials. (You get two choices for $7.) There was a faint acridity here, and one suspected the use of commercially prepared curry powder.

If not curry, then sambal belachan (belacan is a more common English spelling), a paste of chiles and shrimp that’s used as a condiment in much of Southeast Asia. It turns up, mutedly, in a lunchtime stir-fry of chicken and neatly trimmed string beans; we detected a slight brininess and some heat, but the dish looked so Chinese that we had trouble understanding it as not Chinese. The distinctive flavor of shrimp, interestingly, also went missing in the prawn crackers ($2), those pastel-colored undulations of flash-fried rice flour that, when gathered on a plate, look like miniature versions of all those fake-rock Class M planet surfaces Kirk, Spock, and the gang were forever beaming down to. Despite the prawn deficit, we inhaled them.

One of the liveliest preparations on the menu is beef ribs in OK sauce ($6). The ribs are knuckle-size, and the meat’s a little tough — you must use your fingers for efficient separating of flesh from bone — but the sauce is sensational. It looks like cherry Jell-O that hasn’t yet set and combines elements of sweetness and barbecue savory to near-addictive effect. We were scooping up the last of it with spoons long after the final bone had been stripped bare.

Dessert means bananas, fried. We opted for honey ($2.95) rather than vanilla ice cream, on a wan theory of calorie containment. But it probably didn’t make much difference in the end, since either way you end up with a half dozen banana fritters: chunks of the fruit dunked in egg batter and deep-fried until golden. We couldn’t finish them.

V2 occupies a midblock storefront, which means it’s basically a large shoe box with a single set of windows, looking southeast. Nonetheless, the visual flavor is clean and modern, from the cinnamon-colored bamboo floors to the serene beige paint scheme on the walls, along with a few photographs of Kuala Lumpur. As in all such simple, Spartan spaces, noise is a concern; the shrieks and giggles of a trio of iPod-equipped young women several tables away filled the restaurant and actually made us flinch a few times. But that’s so often the way it is with neighbors. *

V2

Mon.–Fri., 11 a.m.–8:30 p.m.; Sat., 12:30–8 p.m.

518 Bryant, SF

(415) 974-1922

Beer and wine license pending

MC/V

Slightly noisy

Wheelchair accessible

>

Love’s labours

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› le_chicken_farmer@yahoo.com

CHEAP EATS I’m a fickle fucking farmer, I know that. So … sorry, Doc, I’ve got a new favorite person. Her name is Zidane de la Cooter, and even though she only weighs 6 pounds, 13 ounces, she just about broke Crawdad’s back trying to bonk her way into this sad and blurry world.

I got to be there for part of it. Not that I was invited exactly, but that’s where my press pass comes in handy. I was brushing aside doctors, nurses, midwives, midfielders, and middle linebackers, flashing my credentials and saying, "Excuse me, excuse me, sorry I’m late, damn the traffic. OK, push. I’m here," I said, looking at the wristwatch I don’t wear. "Let the baby begin."

Just kidding. Really, they said, way back at the front desk, "Press pass?"

And: "Chicken farmer?"

There were two of them. And as much fun as I generally have fielding goofy little questions like these, just this once I didn’t have time for philosophy. I went straight for my trump card: "Listen," I said, "those unmuffled screams and cries and curses … that’s my ex-wife we’re waltzing to out here. And if you don’t think she needs me in there right now, then clearly neither one of you has ever been divorced." I paused for effect, then added, "Which, frankly, strikes me as statistically unlikely."

Blink. Blink … Bingo! Tears, hugs, apologies, phone numbers, passionate three-way sex, earthquakes, floods, the sound of birdies tweeting, and — blink — I was in the room. There was my brother Phenomenon and Deevee and Trotwood. There was some woman I didn’t know. A guy with a camera … scooped again by the daily news, damn it.

And there was Crawguy de la Peter, proud father-to-be, at the place of honor, right in Crawdad’s ear, saying all the right things. I tapped him on the shoulder. "OK, Dad, great job," I said. "You can go to the bar now. I’m here."

Aaaaaaaaahhhh!!! How the hell did I write myself into an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm — which I only saw once and didn’t even like? I’m trying to be funny here, and this is a serious Cheap Eats moment. This is huge! It’s Crawdad de la Cooter’s baby. This is no time to try to be funny. I must succeed. Now more than ever, my sanity depends on my being able to find the joke.

When in doubt, I always say … surrender. Immediately. Give up. Fall back on the truth, even if it ain’t funny. The truth is I’m not an idiot. I’m a chicken farmer, and this was one of the most joyous and difficult days of my life for a variety of reasons.

I was wanted, and I wanted to be there. There’s probably nobody in the world whose happiness I care about more than that of my ex-wife and beloved friend Crawdad. And there’s probably nobody in the world whose pain I feel more feelingly. The truth is that I am not strong or competent. After a couple hours of her pain and agony, I needed an epidural myself. So I went and got me one: a burrito.

Early evening. Walnut Creek, of all the unfamiliar planets in my solar system …

When I jittered out, all twisted and wrung and traumatized, the attending professionals were just starting to look at each other with question-marked eyeballs, and I was either hearing or imagining words such as suction, vacuum, surgery, toothpaste, and maybe corkscrew.

When I returned, rubbing my own pregnant belly and breathing more or less normally for the first time all day, Zidane "Z.Z." de la Cooter existed. Crawdad was all stapled up and very much on drugs. My assumption is that Phenomenon performed the operation, but I could be wrong.

The important thing was that everyone was OK now and that, through some miracle of lucky timing, I got to be in the recovery room when they brought Crawdad’s new little soccer star to her, all measured and crusty and shit, just squirming and kicking with wonder. Cutest thing you ever saw. And there ain’t a dry eye in my house every time I think of the look on Crawdad’s face when, finally, they set her baby against her skin.

The daily newsman was gone now so, appropriately, I got to hold Crawguy’s movie camera for what will likely remain the most profoundly beautiful sight I’ve ever seen: little Z.Z. finding out for her first time ever what was for dinner. I can’t speak for her. For me: carne asada. (Old friend!) Thanks to which, like a drunk on drink, my hand did not shake. *

TAQUERIA MEXICAN GRILL

Daily, 9 a.m.–9 p.m.

1359 Locust, Walnut Creek

(925) 932-8987

Takeout available

Beer

AE/MC/V

Quiet

Wheelchair accessible

>

The big town

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From the air, Chicago in late winter looks like a giant crepe sprinkled with crushed peppercorns and minced scallions: a brown flatness textured with bits of black and white and wan hints of green. It’s a cold crepe, of course; you land and you can see your breath, though within a day or so the temperature will have risen into the malarial mid-70s, and the sky will be filled with purplish green, swelling clouds right out of The Wizard of Oz. Summerish heat in March suggests (apart from global warming) the imminence of tornadoes, to be followed by a blizzard, though not mosquitoes.

One evening we wandered west through River North to Scoozi, the Rich Melman–Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises restaurant that turned 20 last year. The place was something of a pioneer when it opened; the neighborhood was still slightly sketchy, and the setting — a remade temple of heavy industry, with an enormous barrel ceiling supported by wooden cantilevers so as to leave the dining room clear of pillars — gave some sense of what imagination could do with grand old spaces that hadn’t been built with food and restaurants in mind. I thought Scoozi was spectacular when I first visited it, soon after it opened, and it seems to me none the worse for more than two decades of wear; in San Francisco, only LuLu begins to compare in the category of warm spaciousness. Even Scoozi’s big, red, and curiously flattened tomato still hovers, cigar volante–style, above the front door.

The metro-rustic food too was — or is — as good as I remembered it. We particularly liked the grilled artichoke hearts, which seemed not merely to have been marinated in lemon juice and garlic but to have been braised or parboiled in that combination before hitting the barbie. Clue: the potent pair was present throughout the vegetables, making the flesh tender, moist, and fragrant, rather than being just a surface phenomenon. And I am not particularly an apostle of artichokes.

Chicago is underrated as a food city, as in so many other ways. Its reputation is one of rust, Al Capone, Vienna beef sausages, and the clattering El — but that is the old city. The new one is, like our own, a forest of cranes and high-rise apartment buildings whose residents want something interesting for dinner. Excuse me, did someone say crepe?

Paul Reidinger

› paulr@sfbg.com

Open city

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› paulr@sfbg.com

There could hardly be a more welcoming name for a restaurant than aperto — "open" in Italian, and Aperto is an Italian restaurant — except, possibly, Welcome. The north face of Potrero Hill is home to lots of restaurants, but Welcome isn’t one of them, at least not yet. While we wait, we can wait at Aperto, which offers a handsome wooden bench outside the front door for the convenience of those whose tables aren’t yet available and are too weary to stand. Aperto is small, and it is busy, and everyone seems to know about it. This is fitting, because it’s been there since 1992 and over its 15 years of life has become the jewellike Italian restaurant every urban neighborhood should have at least one of.

For some or no reason, Aperto is a place I’d never been to until recently. Regular reports, most of them favorable, did reach me from friends who seemed to go all the time, and these debriefings perhaps soothed my curiosity. I had noticed that the restaurant, after reaching a crest of sorts in the mid-1990s as one of the San Francisco Chronicle‘s top 100 restaurants, seemed to have receded in later years from public awareness. This could be due to fatigue, but it is certainly not due to the focaccia, which flows from the open kitchen to the dining room in a steady stream and is just exemplary: soft (though with a hint of crust), warm, and gently scented with olive oil. It’s the bread equivalent of the perfect hotel pillow and is at least as good as the focaccia at Blue Plate. And that means it’s awesome.

When you are dishing out complementary focaccia of this quality and keeping water glasses full and prices modest for well-executed, lovable Italian dishes, you are likely to be a successful restaurant. Aperto isn’t up to anything radical; its look and food are classical and timeless, and the restaurant, as an experience, presents itself unobtrusively. It’s like a favorite coat, well made and warming, you might wrap around yourself on a chilly night.

Few cuisines can match the Italian for inventive frugality. Despite a public image of flamboyance, Italians tend not to waste food. Stale bread finds a home in panzanella or ribollita, while grape pomace (the mush left over from the wine crush) is fermented and distilled into grappa. (Then exported and resold to us at a tidy profit.) Because Aperto’s menu is pasta-rich and pasta is among the most flexible of starches, the restaurant’s recycling program uses it to impressive effect. One (chilly!) evening I found myself staring into a broad white bowl of papardelle ($13.50) sauced with a sugo of osso buco. Osso buco, also known as braised veal shank, is a tine-intensive production, not ordinarily to be undertaken just to come up with a pasta sauce. But, should there be surplus from the night before, the leftover meat makes a lovely pairing with pasta, rich and just hinting of the beefiness that makes veal so attractive. Throw in some spinach for color, add some grana shavings on top, and you have a dish of elegant simplicity.

Glancing slightly upmarket, we find striped sea bass ($17.75), coated with arugula pesto, roasted, then plopped into a beanbag chair of lemon mashed potatoes, with an encirclement of ratatouille and a hairpiece of microgreens. This was a handsomely composed, colorful plate of food whose lemon mashed potatoes actually carried a distinct whiff of the advertised ingredient and whose seafood star (as I learned ex post facto from Seafood Watch) is in the "best" category. I give Aperto a big gold star for this alone. If a smallish neighborhood restaurant can keep itself within the boundaries of sustainability without making a huge fuss or overcharging, then everybody can.

The restaurant doesn’t give short shrift to seasonality either. On one late-winter menu we found crab cakes ($9.75 for a crottin-shaped pair), presented on a bed of shaved fennel and radicchio, with pomegranate seeds scattered around the plate like rubies and squirts of spicy aioli atop the cakes themselves. The same menu yielded strands of fat spaghetti ($11.50) tossed with shelled fava beans, leeks, sun-dried tomatoes, and goat cheese — a distinctively NorCal when-seasons-collide moment.

Given the limitless focaccia, which produces a filling effect similar to that of chips and salsa in Mexican restaurants, the first courses are in some danger of superfluousness. Among the best of the lot is the platter of oven-roasted mussels ($9.50), swimming in a buttery shellfish broth perfumed with fennel and garlic. The broth is nicely soppable with the accompanying spears of well-grilled levain (topped with the customary rouille), and when that was gone, we picked up the slack with focaccia.

Only the soups seemed flat: good, but a little slow out of bed in the morning. Lentil ($4.50) did feature shreds of crispy pancetta, but the floating chunks of celery seemed slightly clumsy, like flotsam after some sort of accident. And cream of roasted tomato ($5) was creamy — and cheesy! — but might have been made more interesting, visually, at least, by an addition as simple as minced parsley.

If the overhead chalkboard listing the day’s specials includes the mascarpone brownie ($6), you won’t be sorry if you ignore your diet and have it. Brownies sound juvenile, but this one isn’t; it’s marbled, moist, and just sweet enough, like homemade cake. Whipped cream? Yes, but not too much; same with the hot fudge sauce piped around the edges of the plate. The brownie might not be authentically Italian, but I suspect even a lot of authentic Italians would be open to its charms. *

APERTO

Lunch: Mon.–Fri., 11:30 a.m.–2:30 p.m. Dinner: Mon.–Sat., 5:30–10 p.m.; Sun., 5–9 p.m.

1434 18th St., SF

(415) 252-1625

www.apertosf.com

Beer and wine

AE/MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

>

Wing clippings

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› le_chicken_farmer@yahoo.com

CHEAP EATS My new favorite person is this guy Doc who I play baseball with. He’s not a medical doctor. He knows about chicken wings. We weren’t even on the same team, and he said between innings, "Have you ever been to San Tung?"

"Never heard of it," I said.

"Best chicken wings," he said.

"Where?"

"Irving," he said. "Between 11th and 12th."

We were in the Golden Gate Park, Big Rec. That put chicken wings pretty much almost exactly on my way home to Sonoma County, give or take a block.

It was a good game, my favorite kind, a pitcher’s duel, nothin’-nothin’ (nothin’-nothin’-nothin’-nothin’) … but I’m not a nihilist or a sports writer. Wait a minute, am I a nihilist? I can’t keep things straight anymore, damn it. Hold on. [Sounds of papers rustling, drawers opening and closing, coffee spilling.] Where’s my identity?

Chicken farmer!!! People have been writing to me and saying, Chicken Farmer, what about Houdini? Houdini being my famously wayward escape-artist chicken, and "what about" being that I was going to eat her, I said, if I couldn’t figure out how she was doing it — "it" being finding her way into the neighbors’ flower bed and being generally disrespectful to the colors, smells, and natural beauty of it.

"It" being said flower bed.

Damn, I really do need to learn to write. No I don’t. I need to learn to chicken farm because, no, I never did discover her escape route. This, in spite of 24-hour surveillance cameras, stakeouts, and the clandestine cooperation of two "plants" on the inside.

Houdini’s a genius. Nevertheless, I didn’t eat her, not yet. Thanks for asking. She was saved by my chicken farmerly surrealism. I’m not a genius, but I do know how to deflect criticism by not making any sense whatsoever. I bought the neighbors an amelioratory bag of wild bird seed, some oranges, and a package of pretty stickers, and informed them in a letter that I was transsexual and should thenceforth be referred to as Ms. Chicken Farmer, if they please.

Essentially, this was a stalling tactic, designed to buy me and Houdini another week, at least, while my neighbors wobbled and just generally lost sleep.

Not long into that week, when Houdini was next found by me to be luxuriating among the forbidden flowers, I held her down and clipped her wing. It was a desperate measure but not necessarily cruel. Chickens are flightless birds to begin with. What do they need wings for?

Well, balance. It’s more like a haircut than surgery, see? You’re only clipping the feathers, and only on one wing, so that afterward they feel all asymmetrical and artsy and don’t crave flowers anymore. Theoretically.

It’s working, but it’s also only a matter of time, I know. Feathers molt and grow. And smart animals, with the possible exception of me, only get smarter.

So I’m packing up the pickup truck, all dolled up for a gig, when my neighbor comes strolling over with his hands in his pockets … thanks for the seeds, you shouldn’t have, and congratulations.

"I don’t know," he said, checking himself. "What do you say to a trans person? Is that what you say?"

"Congratulations is nice," I said, loading up my steel drum and stand. I like my neighbor Dave. We get along, chickens in flower beds notwithstanding.

"So what do your groupies think about this?" he said. He knows I’m in a band but not what kind, apparently.

I smiled. "Dave," I said, "my groupies are 80-year-old shut-ins with bad eyes and Alzheimer’s. Not that they could ever quite tell if I was a boy or girl, but …"

"Well, congratulations," he said. "You’ve got the hair for it, anyway."

And he went back to his flower bed, and I went to my gig, and Houdini gazed into the chicken coop mirror and felt progressive.

Every time I have to clip a chicken’s wing, I can’t help fantasizing that some day, if there is a god, we will have genetically modified chickens that regenerate missing parts. So that chicken farmers can clip off more than just the feathers. We will harvest chicken wings like asparagus and eat like kings or college students.

But there’s not a god, of course, and that’s where San Tung comes in handy. Doc was right. *

SAN TUNG

Mon.–Tues. and Thurs.–Sun., 11 a.m.–9:30 p.m.

1031 Irving, SF

(415) 242-0828

Takeout available

Beer

MC/V

Bustling

Wheelchair accessible

>

FEAST Spring 2007

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FEAST: the Guardian Guide to spring food and drink

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Click here to check out out FEAST picks!

Taking it in

It’s no secret that we are what we eat. But it’s as true on a collective level as it is on a personal one. I’ve been struck by this fact as I’ve toured my new hometown with an eye for Bloody Marys and bloody steaks, learning about the life, vibrancy, art, and activism of San Francisco through its tamales and tajines. Having come most recently from Los Angeles, with the strip-mall predictability of its restaurants, I find myself falling more in love with this bayside city with every PBR I polish off. Not that there aren’t good places to eat in LA — there are. But a city’s culinary landscape is indicative of its culture, values, and politics — and while LA’s sweet spots are few and far between, hidden, often elitist, usually too expensive, and always hard to get to (hello, traffic), San Francisco’s are plentiful, varied, egalitarian, ecofriendly, and accessible. They have personality and heart. They provide nourishment and pleasure. Most of all, they serve damned good food. This is a guide to this city’s characteristic places for dining and drinking, the places that express our great diversity and our activist nature, the places that cater to our exciting nightlife and to the many ways we recover from it. From green restaurants to places to get cocktails, from high-end to lowbrow, from ethnic treasures to all-American classics, these are some of our favorites. This list is by no means comprehensive, as we are blessed to live in a city with so much to offer that a full list of places worth visiting would read like a phone book. For even more, check out our weekly restaurant reviews, in the paper and online at www.sfbg.com, and keep an eye out for our Best of the Bay issue in July. And in the meantime, raise your glass — or your fork — to the fact that we live in one of the most exciting, eclectic, good-eatin’ cities in the world. I for one am happy to drink to that.

Molly Freedenberg

Feast 2007 editor

molly@sfbg.com

FEAST: The art of the splurge

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Splurging — not to be confused with surging — is one of those activities whose scale and pleasures tend to vary according to where the fluttering bill comes to rest. Who, in other words, is paying? Because San Francisco is to tourism something like what Rome is to Catholicism, with all roads leading here, we the citizenry of this city are certain to find wanderers from afar turning up on the doorstep sooner or later. They are glad to see you and perhaps accept your hospitality, and in return they offer to take you and yours out to dinner at the best restaurant in town.

It helps if these willing souls are rich, or parents, or both. (European friends aren’t bad either, since they probably wield the mighty euro, and America for euro wielders is one huge fire sale.) They will be grateful for your expertise in choosing the restaurant, and you will need take no notice of the bill, when at last it arrives, nor of its proportions, which, if there is significant wine involved, could vaguely resemble a month’s rent. Glance at the harmless-looking little chit if you must or if you are curious; otherwise, pay a visit to the restroom while the putf8um AmEx card does its work.

These kinds of blowouts are fun, like showing up empty-handed at somebody’s party and gorging on the food and drink everybody else brought, but the more meaningful splurges are those we pay for ourselves. Yes, there can be a certain pang when ordering, since we know the damage is coming right out of our pocket; there can be an even greater pang when the server presents what the French discreetly call l’addition. But there is also a sense of having earned the moment and its satisfactions and of having spent money not on a yacht or a marbled bathroom with gold-leaf fixtures worthy of Nero but on an experience that will last a few hours at most and will be just a memory even before we get into bed for the night. That is priceless. (For everything else, there’s MasterCard.)

What follows is a brief survey of places I consider splurgeworthy (not to be confused with spongeworthy). The first group consists of restaurants most suitable for the spending of other people’s money — i.e., they are expensive, quite a few of them hideously so. The second group is the spots that you should treat yourself to even if you can’t arrange for somebody else to pick up the tab. You live here, and experiencing these restaurants is part of your education: you are obliged. The last set is the best bang-for-the-buck ones; you’ll pay, but not quite so woundingly, and you’ll come away feeling that the money was well spent. (Paul Reidinger)

Somebody else pays

GARY DANKO


The experience of gastronomic luxury is nowhere more holistic than here. Everything is just right and in balance; the restaurant is handsome but not showy, lively but not overwhelming. Members of the service staff seem genuinely pleased to see you, and the food is sublime. I did notice on my last visit that the tables seemed closer together than a few years ago — the more the merrier, apparently, especially in the accounting department. Noise levels have risen a bit, and the staff seems slightly more in a hurry. Nonetheless, a visit is certain to be ethereal and unforgettable, and you will be lauded for your acumen and good taste if you agree to be taken here. NB: the food is quite rich, so adjust your cholesterol meds accordingly if applicable.

800 N. Point, SF. (415) 749-2060, www.garydanko.com

AQUA


Even people who are wary of seafood will find much to like at Aqua, which really can’t be improved on. The look has softened and warmed subtly over the years, while the food is as good as it’s ever been, maybe better. Chef Laurent Manrique (who follows in the illustrious footsteps of George Morrone and Michael Mina) brings a muscular elegance to his maritime-leaning menu, and there is even foie gras, if you are so inclined. The wine list is huge and interesting, the ceilings high (noise vanishes up there like unwanted smoke or heat), the bread warm and fresh, the staff well schooled. There is a certain formality of tone that might have to do with the restaurant’s Financial District location; at weekday lunches, hordes of money changers descend. Evening’s the time, then.

252 California, SF. (415) 956-5662, www.aqua-sf.com

FLEUR DE LYS


Being inside Hubert Keller’s restaurant is like being inside A Thousand and One Nights; the walls ripple with loose, tentlike fabric. And you can’t possibly miss the huge pot of flowers that dominates the middle of the main dining room. The cooking combines elements of nouvelle with a certain whimsy. The prix fixe menus offer lots of wiggle room, bigger and smaller portions as you choose and so forth. There is also a vegetarian menu. The cuisine is among the most visually interesting in the city; individual courses tend to be highly architectural and to arrive in, or be sauced from, a wealth of dollhouse-size pots, pans, and pitchers. For those who like to play with their food before eating it, this adds to the fun.

777 Sutter, SF. (415) 673-7779, www.fleurdelyssf.com

CAMPTON PLACE


Parents are a special case, and Campton Place is the special spot to bring them. Although the dining room is quite small, the tables are decently far apart, and a civilized hush obtains. The kitchen has launched its share of stars over the years; the alumni association includes Jan Birnbaum, Bradley Ogden, Laurent Manrique, and Daniel Humm. No matter who’s cooking, the food is superior — there is none better. What is most distinctive about Campton Place is its layered European feel; there is a sense of tradition and grandeur that does not call attention to itself because it doesn’t need to. It’s a given. Of all the city’s top-tier restaurants, Campton Place is perhaps the one that’s been most resolute in the face of fads and trends; it’s not stuffy, but it isn’t afraid of being what it is either.

340 Stockton, SF. (415) 781-5555, www.camptonplace.com/dining

You grit your teeth and pay

CHEZ PANISSE


If there’s one restaurant all Bay Area folk should have their passport stamped at (I am speaking metaphorically, of course), it’s Chez Panisse. All the mother-ship clichés are true; many if not most of our best restaurants and chefs can trace their lineage here, and they must be proud to do so. The restaurant’s understanding of California cooking remains distinctive in its unclutteredness; the big wood-fired hearth in the open kitchen means many dishes are grilled, and for rustic elegance, the kiss of wood smoke is unsurpassed. The wider experience is modulated with similar grace. Chez Panisse isn’t quite casual, but it isn’t overformal either. It’s in harmony with its arts and crafts setting, as are most of its patrons.

1517 Shattuck, Berk. (510) 548-5525, www.chezpanisse.com

BOULEVARD


Notwithstanding a bit of the Parisian brasserie look, including a fair amount of dark wood and brass, chef-owner Nancy Oakes’s longtime jewel on the Embarcadero is really quite all-American in its own high-stepping way. The restaurant is a microcosm of the city, a place of power lunches and multigenerational family get-togethers. The food is as stylish as it gets, but if you want some glorious version of meat and potatoes, you will likely find it here — and if you want a main course that knows it’s a main course and not just a puffed-up small plate, you’ll find that too. Of all the city’s top-tier restaurants, Boulevard might be the least terrifying to heartland sensibilities.

1 Mission (in the Audiffred Bldg.), SF. (415) 543-6084, www.boulevardrestaurant.com

RIP: HAWTHORNE LANE


And a quick digression to remember Hawthorne Lane, which closed at the end of the year (and an 11-year run) to be reborn a few weeks later as Two. I haven’t been to the new place, but I know that even if I like it, I will never stop missing the dearly departed. Hawthorne Lane was as comfortably gracious a restaurant as could be found in San Francisco: plush but not stuffy, vibrant but not loud, with a menu rich in style and short on intimidation. It was the sort of place 25-year-olds and their parents would be equally impressed by, and that’s saying something.

Two, 22 Hawthorne, SF. (415) 777-9779, www.two-sf.com

Good value

DELFINA


Chef-owner Craig Stoll’s Mission venue tilts toward youth — famous rock stars are said to like it, and the crowd (not to mention the service staff) has more than its share of tattoos and piercings — but beneath the hipster glamour is one of the best restaurants in the city. The kitchen turns out Tuscan-inflected dishes that reflect Stoll’s sojourn in that overfamous Italian region; Tuscan might be a cliché now, but it isn’t at Delfina. Noise has long been an issue, and while a large expansion a few years back (along with plenty of quilted sound-baffling material posted discreetly around the dining room) has helped dilute the clamor, Delfina is packed so reliably that it can never truly be calm. Older people can find it overwhelming. But … a glass of wine will help soothe any ruffled feathers.

3621 18th St., SF. (415) 552-4055, www.delfinasf.com

FEAST: 5 Vietnamese sandwiches

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Click here for more great sandwich shops: pastrami, Italian sausage, and cheesesteaks!

Drive-by history lesson: in 1887 the French declared pretty much the whole of Southeast Asia and its disparate people to be French Indochina. They made a silly-looking flag and exported a lot of tea and rubber. This lasted until 1954, when the Vietminh handed them their asses at Dien Bien Phu. What legacy did they leave? Liberté, égalité, fraternité? Well, maybe not that so much, but they definitely left the art of baking French bread. The enterprising Vietnamese did the equivalent of taking lemons and making lemonade, creating delicious sandwiches called bánh mì with said bread: a baguettelike roll stuffed with either grilled or sliced meat (usually some form of pig), cucumber, pickled carrots, cilantro, hot peppers, fish sauce, and mayo. (Duncan Scott Davidson)

SAIGON SANDWICH


Saigon Sandwich has four menu items. It’s such simplicity that I admire in Vietnamese cuisine. I once stayed in Saigon near a restaurant that pretty much only sold BBQ pork chops: two on a bed of rice with a side of fish sauce went for 50 cents. That type of value has crossed the ocean with bánh mì: you seldom find a sandwich for more than three bucks. The roast pork and roast chicken varieties at Saigon Sandwich run $2.50, while pâté and "fanci pork" (i.e., steamed pork) will cost you $2.25. I go with roast pork, spiced just right with a touch of chili powder and jalapeños that aren’t too hot, served on a crispy section of baguette with plenty of mayo — or as I like to call it, "sandwich lube." Perfect.

560 Larkin, SF. (415) 474-5698

WRAP DELIGHT


Unlike its neighbor up the street, the inexplicably named Wrap Delight boasts a huge selection of bánh mì: 25 varieties, including the classic "combination pork" (which is usually ham, head cheese, and pâté) and some westernized options such as turkey, tuna, and hard-boiled egg. I like the BBQ chicken and pork combo, served on a mammoth French roll for a meager $2.75. The surprise is the topping, which the sandwich maker called "barbecue sauce" but had a subtler, more gravylike taste than your typical, sugary stateside condiment. The thing was packed full of meat with that tender, falling-apart feel of a Memphis pulled-pork sandwich. Wrap Delight, despite not selling any wraps (maybe spring rolls?), definitely lives up to the "delight" claim.

426 Larkin, SF. (415) 771-3388, www.freewebs.com/wrapdelight

LITTLE PARIS COFFEE SHOP


I was introduced to the joys of the Vietnamese deli in general, and bánh mì in particular, at the Little Paris on Clement. That location has since changed into a medical supply store, its windows constantly advertising a sale on adult diapers, so I’m forced to hit the Chinatown locale to relive the golden sandwiches of my youth. My favorite combo is a bowl of spare rib pho and a BBQ pork croissant sandwich. Yeah, you heard me: a croissant. Take that, French colonialists! We have your beloved flaky crescent roll, and we ain’t givin’ it back! Dip the sammy in the soup, and you’ve got a one-way ticket to flavor country. Of course, if you eat everything, you’ll be grossly overstuffed, but so will your wallet: Little Paris is dirt cheap.

939 Stockton, SF. (415) 982-6111

PHO CLEMENT


While somewhat devastated at LP’s closing, I was stoked to discover Pho Clement. For one, its grilled pork pho rocks my world. But this is about the sandwich, and Pho Clement doesn’t disappoint there either. My favorites are the grilled beef, which isn’t that common at most of the places I’ve been, and the Xiu Mai, or meatball, sandwiches. The beef’s tender and generously stuffed into the roll, while the Xiu Mai is smashed into bits and accented with a tangy BBQ sauce that adds zip. A warning or two: the sandwiches are more expensive here, though still reasonable, with the grilled beef being the crown royale of the fleet at $3.75. Also, the shop’s jalapeños might as well have been cultivated on Mercury, since they’re nearly as hot as the sun. But never fear: you have a big slice of cucumber to cool you off.

239 Clement, SF. (415) 379-9800

VIETNAM


The sammies at Vietnam (not to be confused with Vietnam II, on Larkin) might be the best bánh mì in town, though it only offers two varieties: grilled pork and grilled chicken. They’re loaded with meat, and the chicken has a smoky five-spice flavor that’s hard to top, though top it the chefs do — with the requisite cucumber, fish sauce, cilantro, pickled carrots, and some pickled, shredded white stuff the counter guy called "white carrots" but which I think is daikon. There’s lettuce on the chicken ‘wich (and not the pork), which normally would’ve bummed me out but in this case was inexplicably delicious. These sandwiches are just the ticket to keep you from running up and down Broadway shooting drunk frat guys in the face.

620 Broadway, SF. (415) 788-7034 *

For more suggestions from our resident sammich fanatic, including where to get the best hot pastrami and Philly cheesesteak in town, check out our Web site, www.sfbg.com.

FEAST: 6 green bars and bistros

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The road to hell is paved with recycled soda cans. I know you mean well, turning off the water while you brush your teeth and sorting your trash, but don’t you know it takes more than that now? We’re saving the world, yo, and boy, does it need saving. So what else can you do besides buy your toilet paper at Trader Joe’s? How about support green businesses — and green restaurants in particular? Because with all the day-to-day hard work and heartache it takes to run such a place, it ain’t easy being … well, you know. Luckily, the world has people like Ritu Primlani, founder and executive director of Thimmakka’s Resources for Environmental Education. Thimmakka’s mission is to help restaurants conserve water and energy, prevent pollution, and minimize solid waste — and then reward them for their efforts by publicizing them as certified green businesses. And though some of the classic do-gooders are on the list — Chez Panisse and Café Gratitude among them — Thimmakka also makes a special effort to work with lesser-known, ethnic, and lower-brow venues. The following is a small set of Bay Area bars and clubs that have undergone Thimmakka’s greening program and come out a healthier shade of jade. For more, in the Bay and elsewhere, visit www.thimmakka.org. (Molly Freedenberg)

ELIXIR


Far from being your typical dive, this Mission saloon is all about going above and beyond. It organizes charity bartender nights, hosts meetings of green-leaning politicos, and impressed Thimmakka with its myriad of earth-friendly measures: using rechargeable batteries, ultralow-flush toilets and double-sided printers, reusing recycled content in construction materials and tabletop covers, and letting dry waste sit for a day or so (to save trash bags). Plus, there’s nothing like a good pour of Stella to help you forget for a moment that global warming is going to kill us all.

3200 16th St., SF. (415) 552-1633, www.elixirsf.com

TASTE OF THE HIMALAYAS


Wonder what Nepalese food is like? It’s a lot like Indian food but lighter, fluffier, and, in the case of this Marina eatery, greener. Though stark and a bit lonely during the day, this is the kind of place that could be cozy and festive when packed on a weekend night. And there’s every reason for it to be — the greens are surprisingly spicy, the garbanzo bean stew both sweet and savory, the naan so airy it’s positively gravity defying, and the service as friendly as friendly could be. Plus, it’s Thimmakka approved.

2420 Lombard, SF. (415) 674-9898, www.himalayanexp.com

RAMBLAS TAPAS BAR


Not just a home of tiny plates of food and large pitchers of sangria, Ramblas is also an exemplar of green goodness. It has discarded grease and oil picked up to be reused as biodiesel or soap. It donates electronic equipment. It uses a special vent that keeps grease away from the roof so it doesn’t wash into storm water. And all its chard and spinach are organic. Feel that high? It’s not just the fruity wine-and-spirits concoction you had with dinner. It’s the buzz of environmental righteousness.

557 Valencia, SF. (415) 565-0207, www.ramblastapas.com

BISTRO LIAISON


This Berkeley bistro stays true to the French tradition of well-portioned, perfectly seasoned, richly flavored delights. But it shucks the age-old restaurant convention of waste, waste, waste. Among its other envirofriendly accomplishments, Liaison manages to recycle and compost 80 percent of its solid waste. C’est responsable!

1849 Shattuck, Berk. (510) 849-2155, www.liaisonbistro.com

SAN MIGUEL


The shabby exterior and faded sign aren’t doing San Miguel any favors, but inside this Mission eatery is a kitschy, cozy, Disneyland-does-Guatemala affair with maps under glass on the tables, rows of Latin American tchotchkes hanging from the corrugated tin ceiling, and a soundtrack of music that can only be described as south of the border polka. And in addition to doing good for your taste buds (try the sour and savory salpicon), this place is doing good for the planet. It uses potpourri and a special degreaser instead of Pine-Sol and aerosols, it’s outfitted its bathrooms with special aerated taps, and it’s learned how to identify and repair leaks. So go ahead: have your camarones asados with a side of environmentalism.

3263 Mission, SF. (415) 641-5866, www.forored.com/sanmiguel

BLONDIE’S BAR AND NO GRILL


"Really? Blondie’s?" That’s the response I get when I tell people this Mission dance club is one of Thimmakka’s darlings — not because the walls are papered with Styrofoam and baby seal eyes or anything, but because the scene is so far from the hemp and hacky-sack culture usually associated with envirofriendliness. But it’s true. This bastion of Yelp.com ambivalence serves organic vodka, reduces paper waste by posting bulletins on a board rather than handing out individual letters or memos, conserves water with special dishwasher systems, and reduces chemical pollution by using a diluted pesticide that’s 200 times less toxic than Raid. Best of all, though, Blondie’s encourages people to get out of their cars by having parking for bikes — no big surprise if you know owner Nicole Dewald’s mother was a major player in getting bike lanes and one-lane streets in the city. "It’s their claim to fame," Primlani said.

540 Valencia, SF. (415) 864-2419, www.blondiesbar.com *

FEAST: 9 hidden gems

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What the heck is a hidden gem, anyway? The phrase rises from the mist of culinary cliché, a cheery, primordial beast eager to swallow any eye-opening San Francisco dining experience that wanders unchained out of our delicious quotidian. So precious! So unexpected! It’s hard to lift a fork around here without poking it into something tasty and unique, be it handmade sushi in a Tenderloin liquor store or home-style Polish in West Portal. So why draw a line? This is a city of hidden gems by design — opening a Sizzler in SF limits would be front-page food news — and even those establishments that receive the most press would be labeled "kooky food" by puzzled Midwesterners. Good for them. Below is a handful of my personal hidden gems, called that for whatever reason — and to be a foodie show-off. (Marke B.)

CAFE ANDREE


A superb and tiny (26 seats only) gourmet nook in Nob Hill’s Hotel Rex. It’s a literal nook: the location is a former bookstore, and shelves still line the walls, making for clever service stations. Executive chef Evan Crandall’s menu is heady and romantic — maple grilled pork chops, lobster mashed potatoes, and a fantastic beet Napoleon that’ll have you swooning to the root.

Hotel Rex, 562 Sutter, SF. (415) 217-4001

EIJI


No Name Sushi down the block may trump this little Japanese joint near the Castro for scruffy hipster appeal (although reservations here are getting harder to come by), but Eiji holds all the cards when it comes to the house specialty: oboro, or handmade tofu, dutifully stirred to order and served at the table like a steaming custard. It’s sweet and creamy, a cloud in a tureen. Specials such as whelk with uni powder and crunchy dried abalone also abound for the adventurous.

317 Sanchez, SF. (415) 558-8149

IL BORGO


Hidden in plain sight, Il Borgo is a kitschy-looking Italian place at the corner of Fell and Laguna that most people speed past on their way to the more boutique tastes of Hayes Valley. Ah, what they’re missing: Northern Italian home-style cooking, heavy on the white beans; mind-blowing pastas (I still dream about the lobster ravioli); and extremely motherly service. Nothing here will be on your diet, but you can wiggle your hips to the awesome Italian pop music on the stereo and burn off a carb or two.

500 Fell, SF. (415) 255-9108

KATHMANDU CAFE


A Himalayan hot spot in the Western Addition — just the kind of multiculti mix that makes SF dining great. There’s no yak, alas, but the butter chicken and dal ko jhol (lentil soup) will have you searching Orbitz for a night flight to Nepal. Also especially good: the momos (steamed Nepalese dumplings) and machha, a curry with fish cubes that melt in your mouth.

1279 Fulton, SF. (415) 567-5100

BASQUE CULTURAL CENTER


Northern California has a huge Basque population, which relocated here for the shepherding opportunities, and Basque cuisine — if you can get past all the x‘s, z‘s, and k‘s on the menu — is as hearty and satisfying as befits an ancient mountain people. The cultural center serves delicious rabbit stew and beef tongue, but it’s the delectable traditional soups that really scale the heights.

599 Railroad, South SF. (415) 583-8091

BAMBOO VILLAGE


Quality Indonesian food is getting easier to come by — Borobudur in the Tenderloin is an excellent example — but Bamboo Village has the best, and the shaggy, cozy ambience of this sort-of Inner Richmond spot perfectly balances its menu’s exoticism. A selection of dog-eared Indonesian fashion magazines makes perfect reading while you dive into the ikan balado (deep-fried Pompano fish), Kangkung water spinach hot pot, and earthy oxtail stew.

3015 Geary, SF. (415) 751-8006

CHEZ MAMAN


This teensy bistro is pretty well known, I admit, but it often gets overshadowed by Chez Papa, its expansive (and more expensive) husband. That’s almost sexist! Brie-smothered hamburgers and some spiffy seafood dishes come with a side of French satisfaction — and the house-made panini sandwiches and warm goat cheese salad, plus a glass of wine or three, make it perfect for lunch. If you can squeeze in, that is.

1453 18th St., SF. (415) 824-7166; 2223 Union, SF. (415) 771-7771. www.chezmamansf.com</B>

EGGETTES


Who doesn’t hanker for a Taiwanese snack after hiking the scenic wonder of Glen Park Canyon? Intriguingly known as a Hong Kong waffle, an eggette is an addictive cross between a sugar cone and a cheap truffle, with rich fillings in a variety of flavors ironed into oval pockets between two crispy layers. Eggettes the place also has an astounding menu of tapioca bubble drinks and the best selection of plastic-toy vending machines this side of Taipei.

2810 Diamond, SF. (415) 839-5282, www.eggettes.com

SECRET GARDEN TEA HOUSE


This place really freaked me out when I first saw it — it’s like Little Lord Fauntleroy exploded all over Marie Antoinette. You want frills? It’s got ’em. But sleek modern teahouses are all the rage these days, and this fairy-princess wonderland is a delightful antidote. The tea service is exquisite (with Devonshire cream, even!), and the zesty preserves and doll-size sandwiches blow a bracing British breeze up my pinafore.

721 Lincoln Way, SF. (415) 566-8834, www.secretgardenteahouse.net *

FEAST: 9 reasons to eat your way through the East Bay

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The East Bay’s feisty radicals, Neurosis fans, hyphy heads, agro hippies, torrid potters, gimlet-eyed gardeners, 924 Gilman suburbo gutter punks, Oakland First–ers, Black Panther vets, passionate nesters, and working-class heroes understand: there’s plenty there to lure SF-oodies over the bridge — construction shutdowns and late-night lane narrowing be damned. Many culinary establishments fall in line with the gospel according to Alice Waters, but still others, such as those overseen by burgeoning eatery empire–builders Haig and Cindy Krikorian (owners of Sea Salt, Lalime’s, Fonda, and T-Rex), are charting new paths in regional cooking and making good food that comforts one’s soul and boosts one’s morale, using sustainable ingredients. But food is so much more than sustenance — why stop there? Farther off the path of nutritional wisdom are other, less-posh grub spots that are no less beloved, for the homier glories of butterfat and chicken gizzards — they make the journey east that much more mouthwatering. (Kimberly Chun)

ART’S CRAB SHAK


Don’t be deterred by the deliberate misspelling and the forbiddingly windowless ’50s- and ’60s-era exterior: Art knows his crab, man. On Sunday afternoons Baptists in all their bright-hued finery pile into this classic, cork-walled and Naugahyde booth–lined joint to don plastic bibs and chaw massive buckets of Dungeness crab swimming in butter and button mushrooms, along with platters of fried okra, hush puppies, and garlic noodles. Through the garlicky butter haze, you can make out one of several strategically positioned TVs across the room, blaring the Raiders game as grizzled regulars down Johnny Walker Reds. Hot buttered soul ‘n’ seafood Americano, as only Oaktown can do it.

4031 Broadway, Oakl. (510) 654-2864

CESAR


Serving up a selection of cured meats, cheeses, cut pâtés, and fine spirits such as a delightful artisanal pear cider by Eric Bordelet, César displays a refreshingly light-handed touch with its tapas, including a petite potted salt cod and potato cazuela, and artichoke hearts and shrimp dotted with caviar.

1515 Shattuck, Berk. (510) 883-0222; 4039 Piedmont, Oakl. (510) 985-1200. www.barcesar.com

DONA TOMAS


Tangy, succulent threads of slow-roasted carnitas to die for meet their match in the sweetest li’l sangria cocktail to waltz through the Prado with a song in its heart and sex on its hips. Chefs Thomas Schnetz and Dona Savitsky, authors of the popular Doña Tomás: Discovering Authentic Mexican Cooking (Ten Speed, $29.95), know good food, made with locally grown organic produce and sustainably raised meat.

5004 Telegraph, Oakl. (510) 450-0522, www.donatomas.com

FENTONS CREAMERY AND RESTAURANT


Even a 2001 fire couldn’t keep this resurrected 112-year-old East Bay institution down — thanks to eye-popping, hefty ice cream sundaes built on innovative flavors such as pomegranate and what tastes like the most fantastically fatty cookies and cream around.

4226 Piedmont, Oakl. (510) 658-8500, www.fentonscreamery.com

HOME OF CHICKEN AND WAFFLES


This former Roscoe’s franchise continues to fly the flag in the most unlikely of locales (the ground floor of a Jack London Square motor inn) for the archetypal salty ‘n’ sticky-sweet soul food combo. Belly up to smothered chicken, greens, black-eyed peas, and mac ‘n’ cheese with a waffle chaser beneath a cheery folk-art mural depicting the owner’s family and the menu’s infinite variations. And riddle me this, Roscoe: where else can you field a side of giblets, sock-it-to-me cake, grits, and candied yams?

444 Embarcadero West, Oakl. (510) 836-4446, www.hcwchickenandwaffles.com

MAMA’S ROYAL CAFE


Mama said knock you out with an awesome breakfast in the epicenter of artsy Oakland. You’ll want to brave the morning mob at Mama’s Royal Cafe for its Niman Ranch corned brisket, hashed into submission with potatoes, onions, bell peppers, and carrots, or its chorizo, green onion, and egg scramble. There’s even more to digest on the walls: submissions to the café’s annual napkin art contest.

4012 Broadway, Oakl. (510) 547-7600, www.mamasroyalcafeoakland.com

SEA SALT


Fresh sustainable seafood — as raw or as cooked as you like it. Some swear by the BLT with trout, the Kumamotos, and the littleneck clams. I prefer to scarf the crusty, hearty barbecue eel bahn mi with a side of house-made potato chips; the steamed Prince Edward Island mussels smothered in lemongrass, garlic, and cilantro; and the grilled squid perched atop Italian butter beans and lapped with almond basil pesto.

2512 San Pablo, Berk. (510) 883-1720, www.seasaltrestaurant.com

VIKS CHAAT CORNER


Remember to look up once in a while and wipe the ghee off your chin at this highly addictive, barnlike bastion of dirt-cheap, utterly delish Indian street food, snacks, and sweets. Succumb to the sizable crusty samosa cholle (studded with peas and draped with garbanzo chutney), the bhatura cholle (a gargantuan puffed puri accompanied by curry, onions, and mango pickle), the pav bhaji (Bombay-style spiced vegetables), and the piping hot salty fried fish kebabs (burn your greedy digits dipping them in onions and mint tamarind chutney). The pink, white, and yellow sweets — watch out for cream-filled pink chandrakala and sugar-steeped baby donuts — will finish you off.

724 Allston, Berk. (510) 644-4412, www.vikdistributors.com

ZACHARY’S CHICAGO PIZZA


Little Star, Pauline’s, and Delfina are all aces, if you like that kind of fine Cali dining, but for true deep-dish that rivals the Windy City’s, Zachary’s is the only way to go. Quichelike texture, density, and heft aside — it’s the rich, toothsome, and tomato-intense sauce that’s so boss.

5801 College, Oakl. (510) 655-6385; 1853 Solano, Berk. (510) 525-5950; 3110 Crow Canyon, San Ramon. (925) 244-1222. www.zacharys.com *

FEAST: 6 delicious desserts

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Adult life can be overwhelming: taxes, traffic, parking tickets, deadlines … and city living can be particularly frenetic. You know by now that when it comes to navigating your increasingly complicated life, there is no high road, fast track, or slow lane, and that it really is the road less traveled that brings the greatest pleasure — or, more important, the sugary, chocolaty, gooey goodness you consume on your journey. What better way to escape the rat race than to indulge in the culinary ecstasy of a luscious dessert? Read on to discover where to get some delectable desserts that will transport you back to the sweet, gentle, and unhurried time of your fast-disappearing youth. And the good news is, now that you’re all grown up, you’re welcome to have your pudding first, whether or not you’ve eaten your meat. (Cara Cutter)

BI-RITE CREAMERY AND BAKESHOP


Admit it. It’s not just the kiddies who find ice cream irresistible. Yes, the mere mention of the food to a minor can ease pain, stop tears, and miraculously get the house picked up in short order. But cold, creamy goodness can also melt the iciest of adult hearts. So indulge in one of your childhood favorites — vanilla? chocolate? mint chip? — at this Mission creamery. Or, if you want a real treat, try the butter pecan — it probably wasn’t your top pick as a tot, but after one taste of Bi-Rite’s, you’ll be hard-pressed to remember the others. The coconut macaroons also offer a taste of nostalgia too good to miss.

3692 18th St., SF. (415) 626-5600, www.biritecreamery.com

HOME


This dual-locale eatery is named for its down-home cooking style, of which the black-and-white molten chocolate cake with homemade cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream is exemplary. The flavors are simple and rich, just like those of Dad’s ice cream sundaes. The cake is fresh and warm, and its bittersweet flavor is perfectly balanced by the vanilla bean ice cream drizzled down its sides. This is family-style yumminess at its pinnacle, and it doesn’t stop at cake. You can also give Grandma’s recipes a run for their money with peach shortcake, banana bread pudding, sorbet with shortbread cookies, or Dutch apple pie. For those big kids who simply can’t choose from such a tempting array, there’s a dessert trio option for $18.

2100 Market, SF. (415) 503-0333; 2032 Union, SF. (415) 931-5006. www.home-sf.com

COSMOPOLITAN


If you don’t seem to be scoring with the chic SoMa sweeties at the bar, you’re still bound to hit a home run with the sweets, as this Rincon Center restaurant offers a surprising and playful dessert menu. Childhood favorites such as cinnamon churros and snickerdoodle cookies come complete with adult garnishes. But the best (and most popular) bit of nostalgia is the warm-baked Scharffen Berger chocolate-chunk cookie with a Tahitian-vanilla malted milkshake. That’s right: a genuine malted milkshake. In fact, this contemporary twist on an old classic might be just the thing you needed; try ordering two straws and inviting one of those trendsetters to the drive-in. How could anyone resist?

121 Spear, SF. (415) 543-4001, www.thecosmopolitancafe.com

BITTERSWEET CHOCOLATE CAFE


Curl up in this Fillmore Street café and drink in the flavors of the best hot chocolate you’re ever likely to have. Imagine a liquid brownie, and you’re getting close. These drinks are so rich and thick you’ll be forgiven for using a spoon. For adventurous chocoholics, there’s the Bittersweet, a nondairy "drink" that should come with the warning "may induce comalike pleasure period followed by dizzying sugar high. Do not attempt to drive or operate heavy machinery for at least 30 minutes following consumption." Or, if you’re more of a milk-chocolate lover, try the Classic. And of course, there’s chocolate milk for kids of all ages (including the one living inside your psyche).

2123 Fillmore, SF. (415) 346-8715; 5427 College, Oakl. (510) 654-7159. www.bittersweetcafe.com

TARTINE BAKERY


Unless you grew up in Paris, this bakery-café might not evoke your typical Norman Rockwell nostalgia. It is highly likely, however, that after a quick glimpse of the whipped, frosted, and glazed goodies behind the glass, you’ll feel like the proverbial kid in a candy store. Due to the extreme popularity of these pastries, expect a long line on weekend mornings. However, once you’re sinking your teeth into a lightly sugared cinnamon and orange morning bun, time will seem meaningless — and it won’t just be your inner child doing somersaults of pleasure.

600 Guerrero, SF. (415) 487-2600, www.tartinebakery.com

LUNA PARK


This Mission restaurant and bar has an incredible list of postprandial delights. For the 35-year-old kid in your party, there’s a "make your own s’mores" option. For the weight watcher, there’s an apple-huckleberry crisp. But the culinary pleasure that’s earned Luna Park a spot on our list is its deadly coconut cream pie — a confection so unexpectedly delicious you won’t dare to share, no matter what you learned in kindergarten.

694 Valencia, SF. (415) 553-8584, www.lunaparksf.com *

FEAST: 8 delightful delicacies

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The philosopher Kenneth Goldsmith once said that life is like hanging from a rope inside a well. Above waits a beast; below, a dragon. And all the while a white mouse and a black mouse (night and day) slowly gnaw through the fibers of the rope. Depressing, yes, but there is a consolation in his allegory. Hanging from a nearby tree branch, a beehive drips honey, representing the delicacies of life. Well, that had better be some damn fine honey, then, hadn’t it? Or at least something tasty and special to help sweeten life, make us forget our worries or remember our past, and ease the pain of dangling from that rope. Here are some recommendations for places to get the good stuff, across cultures, demographics, and price points — beast, dragon, and metaphorical mice be damned. (Sam Devine)

TSAR NICOULAI CAVIAR CAFE


Thanks to sushi and its mass appeal, eating fresh fish eggs isn’t just for the Hiltons and their friends anymore. But putting a dab of caviar on a blin is still a great way to feel fancy. Tsar Nicoulai Caviar not only produces a variety of coveted fish eggs but does so in a sustainable way. It doesn’t have the beluga sturgeon (which has been banned for two years in the United States), but it does offer two high-class Osetra caviars farmed in California.

Ferry Bldg. Marketplace Shop No. 12, SF. (415) 288-8630, www.tsarnicoulai.com

SCHARFFEN BERGER CHOCOLATE MAKER


Right next door to Tsar Nicoulai is Scharffen Berger chocolates. They are, how you say, überchocolaty, ja? This chocolate isn’t extrasweet like that of the large, mainstream producers but has an intense, rich, sophisticated taste — the kind you want to savor, not scarf. Das schmeckt sehr!

Ferry Bldg. Marketplace Shop No. 14, SF. (415) 981-9150; 914 Heinz, Berk. (510) 981-4050. www.scharffenberger.com

MAGGIEMUDD


As Brian George once said while playing the classic role of Pushpop, the Indian ice cream truck driver in Bubble Boy, "Everyone loves ice cream." Truly the dessert of the masses, ice cream, when done well and with love, becomes a genuine delicacy. And with ice cream made from soy, almond, and rice, MaggieMudd offers variety and flavor for the vegetarians and vegans among us.

903 Cortland, SF. (415) 641-5291, www.maggiemudd.com

UNDERDOG


Sometimes quality is all it takes to make something truly special. For example, when was the last time you had a hot dog that didn’t ride waves in your stomach? Or a good veggie dog (or even any veggie dog) at an actual restaurant? You can find the best of both at Underdog, a hole-in-the-wall hot dog shop in the Sunset District. All quality, all tasty. And all links, fixings, chips, sodas, cookies, and candy are certified organic.

1634 Irving, SF. (415) 665-8881

BLOWFISH SUSHI TO DIE FOR


There’s nothing that says indulgence like food so good you’d risk death to eat it. Which is probably why the potentially fatal blowfish, a Japanese delicacy, has become popular here. Still, there are only six places in the United States to eat the lethal fish — and this is one of them. The San Jose location serves the nonpoisonous puffer fish, but you can get real fugu, caught and dissected in Japan, at the Mission District location. Sliced paper-thin, it’s not a full meal. And at $120 per plate, the price must include shipping. But it is a death-defying experience. Call ahead to make sure it’s in supply.

2170 Bryant, SF. (415) 285-3848; 355 Santana Row, San Jose, (408) 345-3848. www.blowfishsushi.com

MOISHE’S PIPPIC


When it comes to the chosen cuisine — especially that culinary tradition as woven into the fabric of Jewish life as the Four Questions and Mom’s guilt trips, the pastrami sandwich — this Hayes Valley deli will make even the goyim want to fiddle on the roof. (Or fire escape. We San Franciscans are creative.) This is also the place for pickles, potato salad, and cream soda worthy of your bubbe’s palate. Don’t be surprised if you hear mixed reviews from other Semites, though. If there’s anything Jews love more than pastrami (and crazy Aunt Ruth), it’s a good kvetch. Just ignore it. And eat! Eat! You’re skin and bones.

425 Hayes, SF. (415) 431-2440

LEHR’S GERMAN SPECIALTIES


If you’ve ever set foot in a German home, you know that food is not just, well, food. Beer gets special glasses. Sausages get special mustards. And chocolate eggs come with special DIY toys inside. For Deutsche delights from spaetzle to serving dishes, stop by this small, alpine-themed Noe Valley grocery. But don’t ask for lemons to put in your Hefeweizen.

1581 Church, SF. (415) 282-6803

MERCADO BRASIL


There are few images as quintessentially Brazil at Easter as a ceiling hung with chocolate eggs — and that’s exactly what you’ll find this time of year at Mercado Brasil. But the equatorial delicacies don’t stop with spring’s colorfully wrapped Lacta and Garoto orbs. This eclectic market has everything from guarana and cachaca to bikinis and capoeira pants, all year round.

1252 Valencia, SF. (415) 285-3520 *

FEAST: 7 cozy restaurants

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You don’t want to make your fuck buddy your betrothed-to-be while sharing a bench with five bikers at Zeitgeist. Nor do you want to tell your lover of six months you want to see other people while those others are already rubbing up against you at Mezzanine. And you definitely don’t want to tell your BFF about that thing your one-night stand did in the shower — while standing in line at the Pork Store. No, these types of personal conversations require intimate spaces — the kinds of cozy venues where secrets, or kisses, can be exchanged discreetly. Depending on the context, you may want upscale elegance or low-key closeness, but either way, you need a space conducive to a tête-à-tête. (Molly Freedenberg)

PLOY II


This Thai-food hideaway isn’t a hole-in-the-wall as much as a secret attic paradise. The food itself is decent in taste and price, but the real reason you’re here is the surroundings: a small, warm, living-room type dining area with bay windows overlooking Haight Street, country kitchen–inspired decor, friendly servers, and tables set up to make you feel like you’re in your own little world.

1770 Haight, SF. (415) 387-9224

ZOYA


This might just be the definition of cozy, if you’re the type of person who considers a lodge in Aspen rustic. Which is to say, it’ll cost you. But it’s worth it. This hexagonal building strangely tucked in the corner of the Hayes Valley Days Inn is small, intimate, and quaint — so much so that it only seats 15 for dinner upstairs (and a few more in the downstairs wine bar). The food too, such as braised beef short ribs ($21), is simple and elegant.

465 Grove, SF. (415) 626-9692, www.zoyasf.com

AMBER


Amber is something like what your college student union would have been if it’d had a bigger budget and a liquor license — hip, young, casual, and comfortable. Couches and indoor smoking make it a place you’d want to sit in long enough to hear the whole story of how your best friend is going to end a relationship. And thanks to quirky art, an easygoing vibe, and cute bartenders, it’s also the kind of place you won’t mind sitting in alone after your friend runs back to hang out with said lover — again.

718 14th St., SF. (415) 626-7827

COULEUR CAFE


Don’t let the garish yellow siding scare you away — inside, this Potrero Hill eatery is all class and closeness. Small tables, low lighting, delicious but simple food — each lends itself to the perfect one-on-one conversation, whether it’s "let’s take this relationship to the next level" or "let’s take this relationship off the table." Definitely a good date spot or a place to share wine with your best friend while discussing the intricacies of your lover’s, um, technique.

300 De Haro, SF. (415) 255-1021, www.couleurcafesf.com

PHONE BOOTH


Never underestimate the power of a good cozy dive bar. Cheap beer and a location so off the beaten path that your significant other would have to stalk you to find it lend themselves to perfect intimate convos, whether with a friend or a special friend. (The red lighting and eclectic but endearing music selection help). This is a classic corner joint on the edge of the Mission District, the kind of place where you’d meet someone if you didn’t want to be seen. It’s also a great place for a breakup, since you’re not likely to end up there accidentally and be unwittingly reminded of all those memories — then again, the bartenders are so cool (and the drinks so cheap) that you might not want to ruin it with the breakup mojo. Your call.

1398 S. Van Ness, SF. (415) 648-4683

NOB HILL CAFE


Your date will be impressed but not intimidated by this sophisticated yet warm eatery. Get a table in the green-walled room if you can, but either way you’ll be happy to dine at this unpretentious, slightly pricey, but definitely worth it Nob Hill gem. The polenta is good comfort food, the beer comes in the correct glasses (always a sign of class, in my book), and the service is as friendly as can be.

1152 Taylor, SF. (415) 776-6500, www.nobhillcafe.com

UNIVERSAL CAFE


This place isn’t cozy in the traditional sense — it’s too stark, industrial, and open for that. But it’s tucked away so deep in the Mission that there’s almost no chance any of your exes (or the current SO you’ve been meaning to break up with) will stumble upon you and your new love. Plus, the exceptional (organic) food and fantastic wine list will seal whatever deal you’re trying to make. Or, if your intentions are more platonic than passionate, talking over a serving of the fantastic apple crisp will give your story about last weekend’s beer-fueled exploits at least a touch of class.

2814 19th St., SF. (415) 821-4608, www.universalcafe.net *

FEAST: 8 great places for cocktails

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Like you need an excuse to get a drink. Hefeweizen in the sun, Irish coffee in the cold, some Beefeater on a bad day or champagne on a good one. In this city we know how to get our drink on, for better or for worse (and sometimes both), which means no shortage of quirky, quaint, and quality places to imbibe. Here’s a list of some of our favorite watering holes and (fire) waters. (Molly Freedenberg)

CONNECTICUT YANKEE


This homey, ski lodge–style restaurant-bar has a big-city selection of beers and spirits, including the favorite elixir of Guardian editor and publisher Bruce B. Brugmann — the Potrero Hill Martini. Made with Junipero Gin (distilled just up the street from our offices, at the Anchor Steam Brewery) and no vermouth, this clean, smooth cocktail is quintessentially San Francisco.

100 Connecticut, SF. (415) 552-4440, www.theyankee.com

ZEITGEIST


The Connecticut Yankee’s martini may be the exemplar of SF cocktails, but Zeitgeist is the city’s banner bar. Of course, we’re not here to talk patios and pitchers. This time it’s all about the Bloody Mary, made with fresh horseradish, pickled bean juice, and a "spider" garnish by people who know what a hangover feels like. Ti Couz may have the prettiest Bloody Mary in town (in a pilsner glass garnished with a fresh prawn), but Zeitgeist’s is the tastiest — and most effective.

199 Valencia, SF. (415) 255-7505, www.myspace.com/zeitgeistsf

ALEMBIC


There’s something sophisticated, unpretentious, and a bit masculine about whiskey — and this Haight Ashbury establishment is the perfect place in which to honor it. The classy but understated decor complements a dizzying array of bourbons, Scotches, and ryes (among other liquor and beer options, but why would you bother?), including a list of cocktails that would make any good ol’ boy — or girl — proud. A special treat is the Bourbon Old-Fashioned: spicy high-end whiskey served on the rocks with a hint of sugar and a twist of lemon peel. Plus, if you’re drinking alone, the paragraph-long loving description of each cocktail should keep you occupied through your first tipple.

1725 Haight, SF. (415) 666-0822, www.alembicbar.com

ABSINTHE BRASSERIE AND BAR


Too pretentious (and expensive) to be casual but not quite striking enough to be a special-occasion eatery, this Hayes Valley restaurant and bar isn’t quite right for dinner. But it’s perfect for a high heels–and–makeup cocktail hour (due in part to a stellar cocktail selection and a pared-down bar menu). Try the Ginger Rogers — a classic concoction of gin, mint, lemon, and ginger ale — accompanied by another classic: a cone of French fries.

398 Hayes, SF. (415) 551-5127, www.absinthe.com

AMBASSADOR


Carpet, black leather booths, sparkling chandeliers, and a swanky mezzanine … walking into this Nob Hill lounge is like sauntering into an old movie, in which you are the elegant, aloof star. Celebrate this feeling with Between the Sheets, a spicy and sweet (but not cloying) concoction of cinnamon-infused brandy, orange liqueur, Sailor Jerry spiced rum, and fresh lemon, served in the ubiquitous martini glass (you win some, you lose some) with a sugar-and-cinnamon rim.

673 Geary, SF. (415) 563-8192, www.ambassador415.com

PLAYA AZUL


You’re not here for the cafeteria atmosphere. You’re here for the ridiculously fresh (if a bit overpriced) seafood and the 188 kinds of tequila. Try one in a margarita — tart and salty and strong as you like ’em. Or sip one on its own. Just don’t ask for a liquor menu. This ain’t no froufrou nuevo tequila bar, it’s an authentic Mexican restaurant — and if they don’t want to have one, they don’t have to.

3318 Mission, SF. (415) 282-4554

AZIZA


You’d be hard-pressed to find an item on this restaurant’s seasonal cocktail menu that isn’t fantastic on every level: creative, delicious, interesting, well presented. That’s because this Richmond hideaway gives as much attention to its tipples as it does to its exotic Moroccan fare — if not more. Take the rum-based Tarragon, for example. Whole cardamom pods give it a bit of peppery spice, lime cubes add tang and a bit of color, and fresh tarragon leaves provide the surprising, savory (and namesake) finish. The only problem is ending up with salad in your teeth — but a glass of pomegranate champagne should wash it down just fine.

5800 Geary, SF. (415) 752-2222, www.aziza-sf.com

TONGA ROOM AND HURRICANE BAR


Sometimes you want a drink that screams 007. Other times you want one that says Hawaii 5-0. Guess which one this Pirates of the Caribbean–style (the ride, not the movie) hotel bar is? Tonga’s the place to get a piña colada served in a real pineapple and the sound served up by a live band — playing on a boat that floats in an interior pool. Bonus points for the rain shower every 30 minutes, the pirate-ship decor, and the fantastic opportunity for watching visiting conventioneers on bad behavior. Demerits for a service charge at waterside tables and the fact that during a recent visit the band didn’t play a single song from South Pacific (though the Asian diva does a mean Christina Aguilera).

Fairmont Hotel, 950 Mason, SF. (415) 772-5278, www.fairmont.com *

FEAST: 5 Chinese breakfasts

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Sure, come Sunday, between the Richmond and Chinatown, San Franciscans are up to their armpits in amazing dim sum palaces and can quell congee (savory rice porridge) cravings or make perfectly supple shrimp shu mai materialize simply by pointing at a basket. "Why bother with the East Bay when there’s Ocean Restaurant or Yank Sing?" SF foodies protest. "Why wait in line?" is what I say. Less architecturally flashy and more ethnically diverse than its San Francisco counterpart, the East Bay’s Chinatown is the only thing kicking in the art deco cemetery that downtown Oakland becomes on weekends. More to the point, it boasts a variety of eateries well worth the BART trip, with nary a long wait or exorbitant bill in sight. If you’re willing to give the East Bay a chance and are curious about what lies beyond bao, this is your list. (Matt Sussman)

SHAN DONG


I had never eaten (and, more embarrassing, never heard of ) a Chinese donut before coming to this always busy local purveyor of hearty Mandarin chow. Essentially unsweetened crullers, Shan Dong’s donuts are somewhat plain on their own, but when dipped into a steaming bowl of fresh, self-sweetened, hot soy milk, they become sponges of deliciousness. The real stars of the show are the special Shan Dong dumplings (also available in a vegetarian version), made with a host of other starchy goodies at the front-of-the-house dough station. These puppies are a little smaller than pot stickers, but gentle poaching (as opposed to steaming or frying) gives their skin a supple bite and keeps the ground pork and veggie filling perfectly moist. The sandwichlike cooked pie with meat (cilantro meets cold cuts on warm sesame bread) and good and greasy leek pancakes also deserve honorable mention.

328 10th St., Oakl. (510) 839-2299, www.222.to/food/

SHANGHAI RESTAURANT


Around the corner from Shan Dong, this nondescript eatery is easy to miss amid the competing flash of DVD and cell phone–plan posters that seem to cover every available scrap of surface area along Webster. The service is as no-frills as the restaurant’s name, but the heavenly soup-filled dumplings are well worth the sometimes mysterious delays. (Be sure you specify soup-filled, which offers an initial warm gush of flavor, rather than the regular steamed pork ones. Though both are delicious, they’re worlds apart.) Complement your dumpling run with something off the extensive list of cold dishes, which offers both tried-and-true staples, such as dan dan noodles, and more adventurous fare, such as shredded eel.

930 Webster, Oakl. (510) 465-6878

YUMMY GUIDE


More an informal café offering small snacks and sweets than an actual restaurant, Yummy Guide is included simply because it’s the only place in Chinatown to get something Denny’s-esque, such as French toast or a fried-egg-and-ham sandwich, for the very un-Denny’s price of less than $3 (and it’s already won my coolest-name-for-a-business contest). Yummy Guide is the perfect pit stop for picky eaters who just want to start their day with a single waffle, plate of beef chow fun, or borscht (?!). Oatmeal hounds and sweet tooths alike should make fast friends with the bevy of exotic hot desserts, from the delicate sweet white fungus with papaya to the porridgelike coconut black milk sticky rice. It even opens at 7:30 a.m. for superearly birds.

358 11th St., Oakl. (510) 251-0888

OLD PLACE SEAFOOD RESTAURANT


Perhaps the most proper dim sum restaurant on this list (cloths on the tables, ladies pushing steam carts), the Old Place is far from stodgy. And despite whatever geriatric associations its name brings to mind, its comforting renditions of the staples never get old. Shrimp shu mai comes in three varieties. Taro root puffs and shrimp balls skewered on sugar cane are fried but not soggy. Also of note is the pork-and-vegetable-stuffed flaky pastry — perhaps the closest you’ll get to a phyllo dough texture in Chinese cooking. Although not technically in Chinatown, the Old Place is close to Lake Merritt, providing the perfect postrepast location to stroll off those BBQ pork buns.

391 Grand, Oakl. (510) 286-9888

BEST TASTE RESTAURANT


Best Taste is the place to go when you’re still nursing a hangover and the medicine in your pocket flask just isn’t cutting it. Get yourself a piping hot bowl of the Chinese penicillin, a delicate soup made from blackened chicken almost silken in texture and massive quantities of ginseng and jujubes, both said to have curative powers. Accompanied by a side order of the dumplings of the day (made fresh before your eyes), this dish should leave your liver in better condition. For the amphibian inclined (which probably means those not hungover), Best Taste also features several frog dishes, including a frog and mushroom porridge whose meat honestly could pass as chicken (just don’t tell your friends what they’re eating until after they’ve tried it). If gnawing on Kermit’s not your thing, you can’t go wrong with the noodle dishes.

814 Franklin, Oakl. (510) 444-4983 *

FEAST: 6 all-you-can-eat buffets

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If I have an Achilles heel when it comes to dining out, it is a persistent inability to make up my mind about the entrée. Who can ever pick just one? Wouldn’t that seafood linguine be pleasantly enhanced with just a morsel of roasted quail? Isn’t the fun of eating Chinese food in passing the plates around so everyone gets to try everything? Happily for my hardwired grazing gene, there is a contingent of restaurants in the Bay Area that cater to my need to nosh, with fixed-price all-you-can eat buffets. These aren’t Vegas-style troughs either — the quality of the food in no way suffers from the fact that there’s a lot of it. And the cuisine spans the globe, from South America to the Middle East. (Nicole Gluckstern)

ESPETUS


Rule number one for dining at Espetus: leave your vegetarian friends at home. It’s not that the restaurant doesn’t have any meatless options — there’s a whole steam table–salad bar area where you can load up on black beans and fresh fruit — but the sight of a king-size rack of ribs circling the room on a silver platter can put even the most tolerant veg-heads off their feed. However, for the eager omnivore, this Brazilian churrascaria offers more than a dozen meaty delights straight from the grill, served by wandering waiters who carve slices off skewers of salt-rubbed sirloin and Parmesan-dusted pork loin until you indicate your state of satiety by turning a tabletop dial from green to red. Even this ploy might not save you — the last time I was there and we went to red, the headwaiter marched over, turned the dial back to green, and forced us to try his filet mignon. Bless him, it was superb.

1686 Market, SF. (415) 552-8792, www.espetus.com

HELMAND


Back when I worked in North Beach, I walked past Helmand every day and tried to imagine what Afghan cuisine might entail. Content with stuffing myself with 50-cent dim sum and Cafe Trieste instead, I never ventured inside until I discovered the well-stocked, all-you-can-eat lunch buffet for $9.95. I can now report back with certainty — Afghan cuisine means yogurt-based sauces, lots of lamb, and even a mouthwateringly delicious okra-and-tomato stew (bendi). The baked pumpkin in sugar (kaddo) is universally praised, and the leek-filled ravioli (aushak) are morsels of delectable pungency.

430 Broadway, SF. (415) 362-0641, www.helmandrestaurantsanfrancisco.com

TODAI


Todai might be the best reason to take BART to Daly City. Located a hop, skip, and jump away from the station, this Olympic-size smorgasbord of Japanese food makes Sushi Boat look like the kiddie pool. At Todai you’ll find sushi aplenty (including roll-your-own), plus an array of salads, shabu shabu, calamari, unagi skewers (yum!), grilled meats, gyoza, udon, teriyaki, tempura, crab legs, and even bite-size cream puffs and green tea–flavored cheesecake chunks. The high school cafeteria atmosphere is on the cheerless side, but the inexpensive carafes of hot sake do help to alleviate any lingering flashbacks of social unease.

1901 Junipero Serra Blvd., Daly City. (650) 997-0882, www.todai.com

GOAT HILL PIZZA


Like most people who have grown up accustomed to a regional variety of pizza, I admit to pizza crust favoritism — in my case, a preference for thick and bready, Rocky Mountain–style. Goat Hill somehow manages to trump my predilection with a specialty of its own, the sourdough crust. Not only does it adequately sop up all that extraneous cheese grease, but it also complements all kinds of toppings, from the familiar (pepperoni) to the esoteric (linguica). Best of all, every Monday night at the Potrero Hill location and daily at the Howard Street address, it’s all-you-can-eat, plus salad.

300 Connecticut, SF. (415) 641-1440; 525 Howard, SF. (415) 357-1440. www.goathill.com

STAR OF INDIA


Though my love of Indian food is generally all-encompassing enough to overlook some of the more common blunders cheap Indian restaurants are prone to (too much grease, not enough spice), it’s nice to be able to sidestep caution and go straight for the gustatory gusto. The daily buffet at Star of India is blessedly low on the grease index, and at $8.95 for unlimited trips to the steam table, I can overlook the spice issue. The vindaloo is fiery enough, the sag paneer delightfully smooth, and the assorted pickled veggies a great little garnish. Chai tea and a dessert option are included.

2127 Polk, SF. (415) 292-6699, www.starofindiaonpolk.com

CLUB WAZIEMA


Vegetarians, rejoice! Club Waziema’s got the $9 all-you-can-eat platter especially for you. Boasting the most incongruous decor of any Ethiopian restaurant in town, the restaurant has a bordello-chic look — complete with crushed velvet wallpaper — that only highlights the pleasure of plowing your fingers into spongy blankets of piping hot injera and stuffing them full of collard greens, spicy lentils, and vegetable stew. Sip a glass of delicate honey wine with dinner, or wait until afterward and start in on the G-and-T’s from the full-service bar.

543 Divisadero, SF. (415) 346-6641, www.clubwaziema.com *

Still Waters

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If you come away from Thomas McNamee’s riveting new book, Alice Waters and Chez Panisse: The Romantic, Impractical, Often Eccentric, Ultimately Brilliant Making of a Food Revolution (Penguin Press, $27.95), not sure whether you’ve just read the story of a woman or a restaurant, do not panic. You have read both, the twist being that the two tales are so embraided as to become one. The book makes quite clear that Chez Panisse as we know it would not exist without Waters, and it makes equally clear that Waters as we know her would not exist without the restaurant she helped launch in 1971.

"Helped" helps remind us that Chez Panisse is not and never has been a one-woman show. Waters has long been the restaurant’s public face and spiritual guide, but from the beginning Chez Panisse has been a family affair with a distinctly nomadic flavor. People — chefs, servers, investors, bakers, winemakers, managers, others — have pitched in as needed, sometimes wandering off for a time, only to wander back, usually to the mutual benefit of both wanderer and restaurant. Yes, Virginia, there are bedouins in Berkeley, and they look out for one another as well as for the worthy institution to whose vitality and fame so many of them have contributed.

McNamee’s factoid that Chez Panisse did not become profitable until it was nearly 30 years old would be more surprising if it were not widely known that the restaurant wasn’t started to make money. Its deepest impulse was and is to reconcile the aesthetic and moral — to square the joy of eating with the responsibility we all bear for minding the health of our small blue planet. This is as unradical a proposition today as it was radical 35 years ago. The indifference to money, on the other hand, while hardly remarkable in Berkeley at the end of the 1960s, seems almost otherworldly now, after more than a quarter century of supply-side evangelism and CNBC.

Waters, of course, is also an evangelist, a bringer of good news. She tells us it is possible to eat well in the company of loved ones and to know, at the end of the meal, that the circle of life on earth has been strengthened, not frayed. We might not have eaten that particular meal at Chez Panisse — but if we did, lucky us.

Paul Reidinger

› paulr@sfbg.com

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