Beer Archives — Page 40 of 61 — San Francisco Bay Guardian Archive 1966

The Monk’s Kettle: A “destination” beer tour for the refined yet unpretentious

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June 15, 2009

By Susan White

If you’re looking for a classy way to get drunk in the middle of the week – sans the extravagant snobbery of the Marina – you might want to try partaking in one of the Monk’s Kettle’s beer-pairing dinners, now held the first Wednesday of every month.

The Monk’s Kettle is a craft-beer bar located near 16th and Valencia, smack in the middle of our city’s bustling Mission District. Unlike typical gastropubs, this one prides itself on its slightly upscale atmosphere and unique variety of brews (over 150 on its constantly rotating menu, not including the 24 they keep on tap at all times). Yet this tavern doesn’t harbor an exclusive or imposing attitude. According to co-founder Christian Albertson, who opened the establishment in 2007, the Monk’s Kettle merely seeks to “educate” its consumers on the extensive world of beer, providing a friendly and relaxed environment in which to do so. Each of its staff members are trained to recommend brews based on individuals’ tastes, and each course on the menu is listed with suggested beer pairings to go with it. Combining food and beer seems to be a tradition the founders have upheld from inception – only now have they decided to make it an official event.

On June 3, the Monk’s Kettle offered a five-course beer dinner featuring Deschutes Brewery of Oregon, whose representatives were there to host the event. Guests were required to pay a steep cover charge of 80 dollars per person and make reservations in advance (well in advance – according to Albertson, their beer-pairing dinners are now “booked until next April”).

San Mateo the new Chinatown? Everyday Beijing slings a mean stir-fried pancake strip

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June 14, 2009

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Biscuits and gravy: Stir-fried wheat and corn meal biscuit, left, and stir-fried strips of pancakes are a few “hometown specials from old Beijing,” as EBR puts it. Photo by Kimberly Chun.

By Kimberly Chun

Note to self: forget Grant, Clement, and even Irving Street – I’m beginning to believe that San Mateo is the real Chinatown. Every time I venture south to the Peninsula ‘burb, right around B Street and 25th Street, I’m stumbling over some great little dumpling joint or unpretentious enclave of regional Chinese cooking, tucked away in an otherwise shrug-worthy strip mall.

My latest find: Everyday Beijing Restaurant on the sleepy, sunny end of South B Street, across the way from a newish, cavernous branch of Espetus Churrascaria. A spartan interior in the tradition of no-nonsense Chinese dive restaurants, though the space is bright and airy. But what a menu: the long-form dinner version is 150 items deep (give or take a beer or four). Not only do you get only-viable-if-you’re-Chinese items like marinated pig ear strips, but mystery items like “Tofu Cluster with Beijing Sauce.” I haven’t had a cluster in eons!

Appetite: Hot pastrami, Little Feat, Omnivore books, Mizuna salad, and more

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June 11, 2009

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Every week, Virginia Miller of personalized itinerary service and monthly food, drink, and travel newsletter, www.theperfectspotsf.com, shares foodie news, events, and deals. View the last installment here.

Nice pastrami! Katz comes to the Great American Food Fest

EVENTS

6/13 – Great American Food & Music Fest at Shoreline (Bobby Flay, Guy Fieri, Little Feat and food from around the country)
I’m already saving room in my stomach for a rare chance to roam the country in one day of eating! Sure, it’s down at Shoreline Amphitheatre, but this is a fun one, y’all: The Great American Food and Music Fest is a gorge and feed feast featuring sentimental, all-American food favorites, with performances from the likes of Little Feat, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and Marshall Crenshaw.

Yes, on the food front, we have some of our best in the mix:
– Incanto’s (one of my top restaurants anywhere) chef and offal master, Chris Consentino, prepares homemade hot dogs
– Chuck Siegel, founder of Charles Chocolates, creates chocolate truffles
– June Taylor, of June Taylor Jams, makes her signature strawberry jam
– Boulevard’s Nancy Oakes gives us crab cakes
– Bruce Aidells, of Aidells’ Sausages, brings on the pork
– A16’s Nate Appleman cooks up a surprise
– Burger Meister and Bouchon Bakery serve their treats
– A “Best of Bay Area” showcase features local cheeses, meats, breads, chocolates, cherries, peaches, tomatoes
– West Coast wine tastings are curated by Best Cellars’ Josh Wesson and Gary Vaynerchuck, host of Wine Library TV

Take a deep breath. That’s just the Bay Area contingency.

None other than Bobby Flay is the event host, preparing his take on American staples: burgers, fries, milkshakes and, hooray, some Mesa Grill specialties, too. He’s judging a Burger Contest (starts at 4:45pm, with judging at 5:30), with SF’s Best Burger competitors being Mo’s, Burger Bistro, BurgerMeister and Pearl’s (like ’em all, but have to admit, I’m rooting for Pearl’s!) Other Food Network stars/guests are Guy Fieri (Diners, Drive-ins and Dives), Anne Burrell (Secrets of a Restaurant Chef; Mario Batali’s former chief lieutenant on Iron Chef), and Aida Mollenkamp (Ask Aida).

And, finally, the part I’m probably most excited about is eating from some our nation’s best all-American food joints, especially the ones I’m homesick for from NY (Junior’s cheesecake, here I come!): Katz’s Deli (NY), Pink’s Hot Dogs (LA), Barney Greengrass (NYC), Graeter’s Ice Cream (Cincinnati), Southside Market & Barbecue (Texas), Anchor Bar (Buffalo, NY; inventor of Buffalo wings), Junior’s (cheesecake; Brooklyn), Zingerman’s Deli (Michigan), and Tony Luke’s (cheesesteaks; Philadelphia).

Bring the pepto… it’ll be worth it.
June 13, noon-10pm
$35 (including first plate of food); kids under 6 free
For ticket info, visit: www.greatamericanfoodandmusicfest.com

Onmivore Books

6/11 – Nate Appleman, Chris Cosentino, and Traci des Jardins descend on Omnivore Books
I adore Noe Valley’s Omnivore Books – not only is it in my ‘hood and a bright, charming bookstore worthy of lingering, but the selection of new and used books on all things food and drink, from M.F.K. Fisher first editions (!) to Prohibition era cocktail recipe books, make it a rare and exciting place. They keep the calendar full with weekly visits from a "who’s who" in the food world, writers, chefs, sommeliers, brewers and the like. Check out Thursday’s line-up: Nate Appleman (A16; this year’s James Beard Rising Star Chef winner), Chris Cosentino (Incanto, Iron Chef America), and Traci des Jardins (Jardiniere), who’ll discuss the state of restaurants and cooking in our current climate. If you haven’t signed up for Omnivore’s email newsletter, what are you waiting for? You know you want to cram into a cozy bookstore with Alice Waters, Joyce Goldstein, and the aforementioned threesome!
6-7pm, free
3885A Ceasar Chavez Street
415-282-4712
www.omnivorebooks.com

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NEW MARIN OPENING

Lark Creek Inn re-opens as Tavern at Lark Creek
Larkspur’s shining jewel is Lark Creek Inn, a gorgeous yellow and white 1880’s Victorian where the classic restaurant resided for 20 years. In keeping with the economy, the inn closed some months ago to make way for a more affordable, casual Tavern at Lark Creek, which debuted June 4th. Open nightly, with brunch on Sundays, the new menu has nothing over $15, a kindly move, especially when you’re getting the likes of Devil’s Gulch Ranch rabbit terrine, Mizuna salad with Medjool dates, Pt. Reyes Blue Cheese, almonds and rhubarb, or a veggie or beef Tavern burger (for only $7.95, plus add-ons, like Hobbs’ bacon). Bar bites (like Ratatouille stuffed egg) are a mere $2.25-$5.95. As is common these days, beer and wine aren’t the only drinks on the menu. Classic cocktails feature prominently, as do new creations like Tavern Cobbler: Maker’s Mark bourbon, maraschino, simple syrup, strawberries, orange. In a Victorian under giant, soothing trees, it sounds like an idyllic gastropub experience.
234 Magnolia Avenue, Larkspur
415-924-7766
www.tavernatlarkcreek.com

Pink Saturday is on

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June 10, 2009

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By Megan Rawlins

Photo of Pink Saturday by Kevin Goebel

After weeks of debates about its fate, Pink Saturday is on for Saturday, June 27. Late last week, an agreement was reached between the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, who host the event, and city officials.

In the end, as always, it comes down to money. The city argued it couldn’t afford to foot the bill for the police officers needed to patrol the event. Unlike many other events in the city that are required to pay for all costs associated with policing them, Sgt. Mark Solomon of San Francisco Police Department’s field operations unit said the city will again “absorb” the cost of the officers. Pink Saturday is one of just a handful of longtime events that were grandfathered in before “full cost recovery” became the official city policy.

The new agreement reduced the number of beer stations from eight to five, easing some of the demand – and thus cost – on the PD. Beer stations are new to Pink Saturday and are an attempt by the Sisters to raise more money from the event. Much of the money raised is given to non-profit organizations that support the LGBT community.

It was the initial addition of beer stations that got the permitting process all snarled up. “When you shift from non-alcohol to alcohol event, the whole equation changes,” Solomon said. But the final answer remains the same: We’ll see you in the Castro on the 27th.

The zone

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June 10, 2009

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le.chicken.farmer@gmail.com

CHEAP EATS I believe it’s called "garbage time." Can’t speak for soccer, but in American football it’s when the team in the lead runs the ball up the middle, again and again. The game is decided. It’s just a matter of letting the clock wind down.

That’s where we were at. In this case, my team, the good guys, had a big lead. The other team, the bad guys, had just scored but it was way too little, way too late, and we were going to win the championship. In 40 years of playing team sports, three different ones, three cities on two coasts and a cornfield, in two pretty different bodies, it would be my first championship. Well, second. My first since I was 11.

I’m 46. Just to give you some idea how great everyone else on my team is. To win it all, with me on your side, takes 35 years!

My team is an old team, the oldest in our league. We don’t have a lot of subs, none for the women, and it was our third game of the day. The other team had played three games too. You have to, in a tournament, if you keep winning. So everyone on the field was in a similar boat. Outcome decided. Garbage time. Tick. Tick.

I thought: if ever I was going to score a goal, now would be the time, while everyone else was sleeping. And as our goalie returned the ball to midfield, I sneaked myself from my usual position (fullback), right up there too, along the left sideline. I leaned in a slightly droolish way that let our forwards know exactly what I was thinking.

One tapped the ball to the other, and there was my pass, the pass, the one you wait for all your life, perfect and perfectly unexpected by everyone on the field but me. Nobody was there. The ball rolled like a lullaby on a green sea before me. Nobody, nothing, between me and it, and the net. Even the goalie seemed gone, as I hoofed and huffed and entered into "the zone." You know that zone where athletes go, where they are the ball, where the roar of the crowd, the elements, everything else just peels away and you can pretty much do whatever in the world you want?

This wasn’t that zone. It was a different, dreamier one, where everything peels away, including the ball and the goal. I realized in that moment what an intensely, insanely sociable creature I have become. I felt lonely. Actually lonely. Where was everyone? It just seemed all wrong all of a sudden.

What I did … I stopped running and stood there, and the ball just dribbled slowly away from me and over the end line. Then I turned to face my incredulous teammates and the whistle blew. Game over. Winners!

I didn’t know, though.

I touched hands with the other team and said, "Good game, good game," and they said so too. I posed for the team picture. I took off my uniform and put on my jeans and my new championship T-shirt. I checked my cell phone to see if President Obama was trying to call or anything. (He wasn’t.) And then I got in my car and drove over the Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin Brewing Company, because that’s where the team was going to meet for pitchers of not-cold-enough beer and overdone, overpriced hamburgers.

It was three in the afternoon, and I had just played three soccer games on basically a bowl of oatmeal and some cherries. So you can imagine my hunger. Are you imagining? The reverberating weirdness of that breakaway loneliness moment, with all its psychological and philosophical implications — on an empty stomach!

And the guitar duo out on the patio, where we sat, played "Amy," and "Sweet Caroline," and worse.

Boasts the menu: "The Marin County Health Dept. is of the opinion that any meat cooked below medium-well (157 degrees) is undercooked. We proudly prepare your burger to any temperature you request."

"Rare," I said. (Are you still imagining my hunger? My excitement?)

It was one of the deadest burgers I ever ate. It was over well-done, gray, not a drop of moisture to it, save ketchup. Yet I was too insanely hungry, or nice, or sociable, to send it back.

Where would I be without this column?

MARIN BREWING COMPANY

Sun.–Thu. 11:30 a.m.–midnight;

Fri.–Sat. 11:30 a.m.–1 a.m.

1809 Larkspur Landing Circle, Larkspur

(415) 461-4677

Beer & wine

MC/V

L.E. Leone’s new book is Big Bend (Sparkle Street Books), a collection of short fiction.

Suck some heads at the SF Crawfish Boil & Ho-down

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June 3, 2009

2

By Victoria Nguyen

Flickr photo by Janice Myint

In a little more than 72 hours, San Francisco’s Crissy Field will be the site of a mass massacre when 45,000 live crawfish meet their death in heavily spiced pots of boiling water.

It’s going to be chaotic. It’s going to be messy. It’s going to be absolutely friggin’ delicious.

This Saturday, a little bit of the Bayou Country comes to the Bay Area at the 6th Annual San Francisco Crawfish Boil & Ho-Down. According to event coordinators, this year’s turnout promises to be their largest to date, with expected attendance doubling from last year’s. The Crawfish Boil, which runs from 11am-7 p.m. at the western end of Crissy Field, will feature a live jazz band with approximately 3,000 pounds of spicy Louisiana crawfish and all you can drink beer.

The event began modestly in 2003, when two guys from Mobile, Alabama hosted a crawfish boil for a group of 25 in Golden Gate Park. Five years later, that group became 500. This year, they’re capping off the event at 1,000 folks.

“The great thing is we never started this with the intention of what it has turned into,” said Jonathan Wiggins, one of the co-founders of the event. “I think this crawfish boil event has the potential to be another big festival here in San Francisco.”

Disorderly

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June 3, 2009

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le.chicken.farmer@gmail.com

CHEAP EATS A lime green flip-flop on the shower floor of a gym I don’t go to … Somebody stole my compost pile. The old woman I am not was rehearsing what to say to her doctor. "I have an eating disorder," she rehearsed, in the waiting room. Her husband was sitting, she was standing. Both were 80. "Anything else?" she said.

The husband mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

"I can’t wait to see him!" she said, and kept saying, to the receptionist, to me, to her husband. "After all this time! I can’t believe I’m going to see him." She actually said that. She was way too excited to sit down. There were pictures on the wall of all the doctors who shared this office, and she excused herself for climbing on my lap to get a better look.

But I don’t think he was up there. I know my doctor wasn’t.

Her doctor, I gathered from something else overheard, had retired and recently unretired. "I hope he notices that I lost some weight," she said.

I sneaked long looks at the husband, who was playing his part perfectly, part trooper, part crank. What could he say?

What can I say?

"There are restaurants around here," she said, apropos of very little. Her husband nodded.

I smiled and felt very healthy, and very confident in the health of the old woman I am not. To be honest, I might have under-overheard her, initially. She might have said "reading disorder." That was what it sounded like, but my brain must have substituted "eating disorder" because it didn’t know what to make of a reading disorder.

But really I should leave these matters to the medics.

For example, I was fully prepared to describe to my doctor not only the symptoms of my ailment but the diagnosis, the prognosis, and the cure.

It’s too easy.

The old woman’s time came and her husband, for better or worse, followed her in. I opened my book.

Me? My pulse, temperature, and blood pressure were, as always, pathologically normal. My cholesterol? Low.

For my birthday everyone made me bacon cupcakes, and pulled pork, and mac and cheese, oh, and a Rice Krispies cookie cake shaped like a roasted chicken. But even before any of the above indulgences indulged my palate, I had a stomachache.

Stomachache is not the right word. I had nausea, no appetite (or a lot less than usual), mild dyslexia, pins and needles in my legs, a slight spin to my head, sleeplessness, and the giggles. I was way too happy for my own good.

When my doctor walked in I broke it to her: "I have a writing disorder."

She lit up. Young, unjaded, unhurried, and beautiful, she seems to actually like it that I come see her once or twice a year for no good reason. "Tell me about it," she said.

"A lime green flip-flop," I said, "on the shower floor of a gym I don’t go to."

"Mmm-hmm. Mmm-hmm." She nodded, wide-eyed. Mind you, this is a general practitioner, not my therapist.

"That wasn’t a dream," I said. "This was: somebody stole my compost pile. I went outside and it was gone. Who would steal compost?"

"I wonder," she said, wondering with me. And the rest was academic, easy questions with obvious answers.

I’m a bad Italian. I can have too much garlic. It gives me anxiety attacks, whereas raw white onions calm me down. I had a cousin visiting from Ohio, and she and my nephew wanted to go to the stinking the Stinking Rose, so I went, to be sociable, but held back on the eats.

After Vesuvio, I hugged them goodbye and walked toward my car. They went the other way, toward more beer. Once they were out of sight, I ducked into a cute little downstairs-upstairs Thai restaurant I’d never noticed before, probably because it wasn’t there. Ton Yong. I’d much rather eat duck soup than over-garlicky overrated Italian food. As you know, it’s medicine to me, and Ton Yong had it, $8.25.

It was good, a little salty maybe, but a lot of ducky, and good noodles. Still, it was not exactly what the doctor ordered. I said this already, before I knew what it meant, but not even duck soup can save me now. I’m in love. Pass the Ativan.

TON YONG THAI CAFE

Daily 11 a.m.–11 p.m.

901 Kearny, SF

(415) 986-6218

No alcohol

MC/V

L.E. Leone’s new book is Big Bend (Sparkle Street Books), a collection of short fiction.

Appetite: Beer-battered rings, French on the fly, and a chef bacchanal

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May 28, 2009

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Every week, Virginia Miller of personalized itinerary service and monthly food, drink, and travel newsletter, www.theperfectspotsf.com, shares foodie news, events, and deals. View the last installment here.

Oh yes, there shall be chef: SF Chef. Food. Wine. period.

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EVENTS

August 6-9: SF Chefs.Food.Wine (calling food, wine and spirits lovers)
Start saving pennies, mark your calendar and buy your tickets now for an unparalleled event coming up in August I’m quite excited about, the first of its kind in our fair city. SF Chefs.Food.Wine is going to be a Pebble Beach/Aspen Food and Wine Classic- reminiscent event but right in an urban city center at a fraction of the price (though you’ll still shell out $150 for a one-day pass). Union Square will be turned into a sea of tents housing not only Bay Area food, wine, beer, and spirits vendors offering day-long tastings (beer garden, cocktail samplings, wine tasting, food), but each day offers over 20 sessions/panels/classes appealing to food, wine and spirits cognoscenti and uninitiated appreciators alike.

An example of just a few sessions over three days:
FOOD – "Haute vs. Bistro" cooking demo from Hubert Keller (Fleur de Lys) and Roland Passot (La Folie); "Heirloom Tomatoes" with Gary Danko and Joanne Weir; interviews with cooking luminaries and authors like Martin Yan, Joyce Goldstein, Georgeanne Brennan; a cooking competition between Jamie Lauren (Top Chef/Absinthe) and Chris Cosentino (Incanto/Iron Chef America).
SPIRITS/COCKTAILS – "Green Cocktails" with Scott Beattie (author of Artisanal Cocktails), H. Joseph Ehrmann (Elixir) and Thad Vogler (Bar Agricole); "Agave Academy" with Rebecca Chapa (Tannin Management) and Julio Bermejo (Tommy’s).
WINE – "Raid the Cellar" with Rajat Parr (Michael Mina restaurants) and Larry Stone MS (Rubicon Estate); "Sparkling Personality" with sparkling wine masters from Schramsberg Vineyards, Domaine Carneros and Roederer Estate.

These are just a few examples… there are sessions on chocolate, sushi, oysters, cheese, eggs, making the perfect coffee, beer brewing, trends in wine and spirits, marketing, design and service, food reviewing and everything of interest to those who love food and drink.

Evenings are equally enticing: the Opening Reception highlights Rising Star Chefs and Bar Stars from the SF Chronicle’s last five years of winners, as well as an advance screening of Julie and Julia, the highly anticipated Meryl Streep film. Galas run nightly, like a Pacific Rim feast from Charles Phan, Martin Yan and Arnold Eric Wong; an LBGT culinary gala at Orson with Elizabeth Falkner, Emily Wines, Harry Denton; American Culinary Pioneers Awards given to Joyce Goldstein, Judy Rodgers, Patricia Unterman, Emily Luchetti, Patrick O’Connell; a dinner honoring Master Sommelier, Larry Stone; a bluesy rock party from chefs with musical ties.

Convinced yet? The hard part now is choosing which events, days and sessions to splurge on. This surely creates a problem when your choices are this good and plentiful. Go online and take a look at the line-up and whether you’re a cocktail hound, wine imbiber, beer brewer or food fanatic, you’ll want to be a part of this momentous event.

$40-250 (discounts for Visa Signature card holders)
August 6-9
www.sfchefsfoodwine.com

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NEW OPENINGS

Spencer on the Go!
Maybe the food cart mania is getting to you, or, like the rest of us, you’re ever thrilled to find gourmet food on-the-cheap popping up around town. Well, here’s one we haven’t seen before. Laurent Katgely, Chez Spencer’s talented chef, launched Spencer on the Go! last Thursday night outside of Terroir wine bar, offering fine French fare from a shiny, converted taco truck with Spencer’s chic logo on the side. It was a long wait for food debut night, and Frog Legs and Curry were sadly sold out by the time I got there, but I hear waits have already improved, the crowd was friendly and festive, and I dig the Grilled Sweetbreads and amazingly addictive Escargot Puffs (escargot, breaded and on a stick)! With a menu all under $9, pair French snacks with Perrier and cookies or take it across the street to Terroir and order a glass of wine. Watch for the truck to soon be at Tuesday and (upcoming food cart-centric) Thursday farmers markets at the Ferry Building. It’s the bon vivant’s ideal "fast food".
6pm-12am
Thursday-Saturday
415-864-2191
http://spenceronthego.com

Urban Burger
It’s time for a new burger joint on Valencia near 16th, Urban Burger opened last week in the tiny, former Yum Yum House space, now brightly painted sporting white leather stools, orange walls, and playful signs with phrases like "Nice Buns". Besides build-your-own burger options, there’s a list of ten hefty special burgers like a Breakfast Burger loaded with cheese, bacon, fried egg and fries (yep, all together), Mission Heat, with chilies, pepper jack and chipotle, or a Cubano with grilled ham and swiss. Opening day, I enjoyed the Buffalo version with blue cheese and hot sauce. Want it a bit lighter? Choose turkey, gardenburger, or Portabella mushroom instead of beef. But if you’re downing a hearty burger, why not pair it with a Mitchell’s milkshake and beer-battered onion rings?
581 Valencia Street
415-551-2483
http://urbanburgersf.com

Live Shots: Flight of the Conchords

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May 27, 2009

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Text and photos by Ariel Soto

I remember the first time I watched Flight of the Conchords on TV. I was at my friend’s house, people were drinking beer and a pet rat was running back and forth across the wood floor. The Conchords’ humor is weird, dry and their New Zealand accents just add to the hilarity. Now the band members, Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement, are beyond famous, with hordes of adoring fans, some of which were lucky enough to cram into the Berkeley Community Theater on Monday, May 25th, 2009, to see the last show of their US tour. Comedian Arj Barker started the evening off with some great laughs that covered everything from the weakness of Blue Shield’s health insurance to the exorbitant price of crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. Then, clad in ridiculous carboard and tinfoil space costumes, the Conchords started the concert with the iconic “Too Many Dicks on the Dance Floor” that had the audience in a state of hysteria. There’s something genuine about the Conchords’ lyrics like “Business Time” where they sing about getting it on once a week after sorting the recycling, to pieces that raise awareness about epileptic dogs. But then again, Bret and Jermaine are superstars now and every girl (and probably some dudes too) just couldn’t seem to take their eyes off the Conchords’ two sets of sugarlumps.

Appetite: Beer-battered rings, French on the fly, and a chef bacchanal

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May 27, 2009

1

Every week, Virginia Miller of personalized itinerary service and monthly food, drink, and travel newsletter, www.theperfectspotsf.com, shares foodie news, events, and deals. View the last installment here.

Oh yes, there shall be chef: SF Chef. Food. Wine. period.

———-

EVENTS

August 6-9: SF Chefs.Food.Wine (calling food, wine and spirits lovers)
Start saving pennies, mark your calendar and buy your tickets now for an unparalleled event coming up in August I’m quite excited about, the first of its kind in our fair city. SF Chefs.Food.Wine is going to be a Pebble Beach/Aspen Food and Wine Classic- reminiscent event but right in an urban city center at a fraction of the price (though you’ll still shell out $150 for a one-day pass). Union Square will be turned into a sea of tents housing not only Bay Area food, wine, beer, and spirits vendors offering day-long tastings (beer garden, cocktail samplings, wine tasting, food), but each day offers over 20 sessions/panels/classes appealing to food, wine and spirits cognoscenti and uninitiated appreciators alike.

An example of just a few sessions over three days:
FOOD – "Haute vs. Bistro" cooking demo from Hubert Keller (Fleur de Lys) and Roland Passot (La Folie); "Heirloom Tomatoes" with Gary Danko and Joanne Weir; interviews with cooking luminaries and authors like Martin Yan, Joyce Goldstein, Georgeanne Brennan; a cooking competition between Jamie Lauren (Top Chef/Absinthe) and Chris Cosentino (Incanto/Iron Chef America).
SPIRITS/COCKTAILS – "Green Cocktails" with Scott Beattie (author of Artisanal Cocktails), H. Joseph Ehrmann (Elixir) and Thad Vogler (Bar Agricole); "Agave Academy" with Rebecca Chapa (Tannin Management) and Julio Bermejo (Tommy’s).
WINE – "Raid the Cellar" with Rajat Parr (Michael Mina restaurants) and Larry Stone MS (Rubicon Estate); "Sparkling Personality" with sparkling wine masters from Schramsberg Vineyards, Domaine Carneros and Roederer Estate.

These are just a few examples… there are sessions on chocolate, sushi, oysters, cheese, eggs, making the perfect coffee, beer brewing, trends in wine and spirits, marketing, design and service, food reviewing and everything of interest to those who love food and drink.

Love story

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May 27, 2009

0

› le_chicken_farmer@yahoo.com

CHEAP EATS I have never needed a hammock more. Heat wave, it had been a long time since I’d haunted my woodsy shack … accidentally work 40-hour work weeks all of a sudden (not counting this), and have no idea how y’all have been doing it. As it happens, I love my work. Some don’t, I am led to believe. And I just want to buy these ‘uns a bagel and pat them on the back. I can’t imagine. But I kinda can.

So, for the first time in my life, I get weekends. I understand the need for them, crave them, and don’t exactly have them. Six days I work. On the seventh day, I flip Yahweh the bird, lazy fuck, and go play soccer. Sometimes as many as three games in one day.

But this day was hot hot hot, so I only played two, and then needed me a hammock like never before. A little lunch with my teamies, an over-an-hour drive up into the woods, open the windows, peel myself out of the salty shorts and sweat-sticky sports bra, finally, a soak in the tub on the porch … and I was ready.

I put on some clean short shorts and a husband beater T-shirt. I gathered up the book that I am re-rereading, Love In The Time Of Cholera, a bottle of very cold well water, a bowl of cherries, and I went to it.

My hammock is strung between redwoods. Between uses, it becomes nested with dried needles and twigs. You have to shake and shimmy it off into the bed of same underneath. This I did.

Then I nestled in with my book, bottle, and bowl (of cherries) and within less than a second we were all scattered on the forest floor. Well, I wasn’t technically scattered so much as shoulder planted. Damn thing gave, winter-worn ropes ripping, and left me a little bit hog-tied, blinking up at my bare feet, which did look pretty against the green-screened blue sky, but now there were redwood needles sticking out of my upper back and neck, spider webs and twigs in my hair.

As testimony to my insecurelessness, or, rather, the precise flavor of my insecurity, it never even crossed my mind that I had gained weight. Just that I was an idiot for not taking better care of my hammock, and therefore needed another bath.

I washed my car with the still slightly warm water from my last one, then took a shower, which I can do now because I reconverted the shower from a storage closet back into a shower. But it had been years since I used it, and the shower that I took was orange. Pipes rust.

I wiped off and went to the beach.

What a beach the beach is, where I used to live and now visit. The drive there is enough to break your heart. Then, if you know where to go, you don’t get sand but tiny stones which store the sun in them and kind of adjust to your exact shape, given wiggle. You can be held and hugged by the sun itself!

And you can eat cherries, and drink cold well water, and not re-reread Marquez, the greatest love story ever told, because you are making one instead, in stones. Sifting through them, picking out the ones-in-a-gazillion that sing to you with unexpected streaks of color or peculiar shapes or a special resemblance to beans, for example. It’s like choosing your words very carefully.

Christ, I love a language barrier! Lying on my stomach in the sun, almost literally, I made a song of stones and held it in the palm of my hand. Then, when the cherries were gone, I poured my heart into the Ziploc bag, a handful of California, me. Stones.

Yahweh laughs last: Post Office ain’t open on Sunday, ha ha, the working girl, on her one day off, looking forward to Monday — good one, you card you, king of kings of comedy.

Hopeless romantic, I stayed for sunset, climbed the cliff, and drove home very carefully, very recklessly in love, and dedicated to survival. Nothing more than — nothing short of — the very next breath. For dinner: two small chunks of warmed-over roast duck and something slightly somewhat potstickerish, left from lunch at my new favorite restaurant: King Sing.

KING SING

Daily 10:30 a.m.–10 p.m.

501 Balboa, SF

(415) 387-6038

Beer & wine

MC/V

L.E. Leone’s new book is Big Bend (Sparkle Street Books), a collection of short fiction.

Contigo

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May 27, 2009

0

paulr@sfbg.com

For a small restaurant, Contigo is physically complex. As you enter, you glide along a six-seat food bar at the edge of a display kitchen, while beyond the host’s checkpoint opens a two-level dining room enclosed by white oak banquettes, like the remains of a Viking ship. (The wood was actually recovered from a Connecticut barn.) One sidewall consists of a bank of stainless-steel refrigerators, standing at attention like troops awaiting review; opposite is another bar — smaller, emphasizing wine, and partly recessed in the manner of a church nave. Beyond a wall of glass doors at the rear of the space is an enclosed garden, set with tables and space heaters and covered with a big sheet of clear plastic, since sunny Noe Valley can be surprisingly cold and windy.

Some years ago the city’s Board of Supervisors imposed a kind of restaurant cap on Noe Valley: new establishments could open only in spaces being vacated by departing restaurants. As far as I know, Contigo (the name means "with you") is the first endeavor to breach this line. It occupies what had been a computer store. The restaurant’s build-out has emphatically erased that past while honoring a green ethic, from the reuse of old siding as interior paneling to the deployment of glassware made from recycled wine bottles. To drive the point home, the paint scheme consists of green in several shades. I like green, but I like other colors too.

Apart from that small irritant, Contigo is as good-looking a new restaurant as I’ve visited in a long time. It manages to be modern, slick, and warm without growing sweaty from the effort, and it would probably look quite at home on a little street near the Sagrada Familia, in Barcelona’s Eixample. Chef/owner Bret Emerson’s Spanish-Catalán food would probably be a hit there, too, since the cooking honors both its traditional Iberian roots and our local ecological imperative; Cataluña, birthplace of Miró, Picasso, and Casals, has long been Spain’s most sophisticated and forward-thinking region.

The menu tilts toward smaller plates ("pica-pica") but also offers larger dishes and includes separate sections for hams and cheeses. (Spain’s air-cured hams, the most famous of which are serrano and ibérico, are worthy rivals to their more famous Italian cousin, prosciutto.) The smaller plates ($8 each, or $7 each for three or more) are divided among jardi (garden), mar (sea), and granja (farm) — or, roughly, vegetables, seafood, and meat. They could also be divided among the familiar, familiar with a twist, and unexpected.

Patatas bravas, for instance, could be the classic tapa, and Contigo’s version, finished with a peppery salsa brava and a big puff of aioli, is classic. But the potato quarters are wonderfully crusty, making them competitive with french fries and allaying the unease of persons (some of them known to me) who dislike soft, mushy, or mealy potatoes.

We did find the tacopi butter beans — big white beans, like cannellini — to be overcooked and a little floury. But the shallow bath they swam in, of erbette chard and sofrito (tomato-less here), was full of assuaging flavor.

Among the familiar we would also put albóndigas, the little meatballs — I have rarely seen a tapas menu without some version — but here they’re served in a shallow pool of ajo blanco, a white gazpacho made slightly grainy by the presence of pulverized almonds. And while croquetas (basically fritters) are a common dish and a clever way of using up leftover mashed potatoes, it’s not every day you find them filled with oxtail meat or plated with razor-like leaves of mizuna.

Among the most California-influenced small plates are a pulpo salad — braised squid tossed with shredded fennel, chopped black olives, and citrus segments that were supposed to be grapefruit but looked and tasted more like mandarin orange — and a pair of crostini-like toasts, each bread spear topped with a smear of avocado and a plump, juicy grilled sardine.

These little dishes are so good and so varied that the larger courses (called platillos, an odd use of the diminutive) seem almost beside the point. The most interesting ones are the cocas, Catalán-style flatbreads that resemble white (i.e. tomato-less) pizzas. And you probably won’t miss that tomato sauce when firepower consisting of artichoke hearts, green garlic, and arbequinas olives is mustered atop your pie ($13). Flavorful? Yes, and then some, with a subtle crust hinting of pastry. But also slightly salty even for my taste. Maybe a little acid, from tomatoes or some other source, wouldn’t be superfluous, or overcomplex, after all.

CONTIGO

Dinner: nightly, 5:30–10 p.m.

1320 Castro, SF

(415) 285-0250

www.contigosf.com

Beer and wine

AE/MC/V

Noisy but bearable

Wheelchair accessible

Fear itself

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May 19, 2009

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le.chicken.farmer@gmail.com

CHEAP EATS It was the stuff that nightmares are made of, two little kids, shrill and shrieking with maniacal laughter, chasing me around a cluttered house with huge, dripping spoonfuls of mayonnaise.

My bad. I’d made the mistake of showing them my Achilles heel. Still it’s remarkable how innately merciless kids, sharks, and hyenas can be. I begged. I pleaded. I tried to reverse my position: I LOVED mayonnaise, I’d in fact been overjoyed, appetized, and positively heartwarmed to find them dipping tablespoons into the jar and filling their faces.

Nothing worked. They were foaming at the mouth, lipslick and shiny, sticking out their whited tongues, baring their dripping teeth, spitting and tearing at me with greasy fingers, little glistening dollops flying every which way from their spoons and hair. If I didn’t already have PTSD now, after years of my mother’s cooking … forget it!

I’ll be surprised if I can open a refrigerator ever again, even in the safety of my own home, my own refrigerator … let alone order a hamburger in a restaurant. Let alone a turkey or ham sandwich.

And the sad thing is: I was just about to get over it, I think. After a lifetime of all-out avoidance, I had knowingly and ungaggingly ingested things with mayonnaise in them on three separate occasions in 2009. A dip, a dressing, and (I shouldn’t say this because it was a secret ingredient) a birthday cake.

Enjoyment would be a strong word for what I felt on each of these occasions, but after tolerance comes appreciation, right? And after that, enjoyment can’t be far behind.

My new favorite expression has to do with jumping over your own shadow. Which, of course, can’t literally be done, but once you make the decision to live poetically, as opposed to, say, politically, polemically, pedagogically, or potlucklessly, well …

Give you an example: I have three things, a passport, an airplane ticket, and a really very thick fear of flying — which, although it is not as deeply-rooted or legendary as my mayophobia, nevertheless requires more anti-anxiety medication.

Or did, but that might be about to change. Things do.

After the kids chased and caught and slimed me, I couldn’t get the gag reflex to go away. No amount of bathing helped. No amount of laundry detergent could induce me to ever again wear the clothes I was wearing. Dips, dressings, and birthday cakes I regard with tight lips and at least one eyebrow raised.

Yet I look forward to being with the little doodooheads. I admit I especially look forward to their bedtime, where my storytelling has taken on an uncharacteristically moral tone. Essentially, any chicken or other animal who exploits any other chicken or other animal’s weakness winds up being eaten by snails.

Hey, not my favorite kind of ending, either; just another hazard of the profession, like being sick most of the time and needing vacations. Why I am going to Germany for said vacation is a long, untellably excellent and delightfully moral-less story, more my speed, entailing swirls of dragons, dragonflies, butter, the color blue, my friend Kiz, punk rock, and the Loma Prieta earthquake …

Anyway, I’ve got one month left to live, for sure, and then a layover in Philadelphia, so I thought I’d practice on a cheesesteak. Enter Phat Philly, stage left. Make that stage 24th Street near Valencia, in the Mission. This is my new favorite-smelling restaurant, for sure. I would like to be laid to rest in there, unboxed, maybe taxidermed onto the wall, or just propped up in an out-of-the-way corner, even for a week, in case our sense of smell survives us some.

Classic pepper steak with provolone … I’m telling you, and the rolls are imported from Philly, which you wouldn’t think would be a good thing, normally. But: they work! They’re great.

And Sockywonk let me taste her onion rings, and did not pour ranch dressing in my ear. Adults are so cool!

PHAT PHILLY

Daily 11 a.m.–11 p.m.

3388 24th St., SF

(415) 550-7428

Beer & wine

AE/D/MC/V

L.E. Leone’s new book is Big Bend (Sparkle Street Books), a collection of short fiction.

“Where’s Gavin?”

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May 13, 2009

1

By Rebecca Bowe

Question mark face.JPG

In an article last month about how Berkeley Mayor Tom Bates has decided to trade in his car for a bus pass, the Chronicle reported an interesting transportation tidbit about San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom:

“[Newsom] rides Muni incognito, disguised in a baseball cap, and walks when he can, said his spokesman Nathan Ballard.”

In the wake of recent drama over the Muni budget, a group of anonymous city transit riders has apparently banded together to kick off a contest dubbed “Where’s Gavin?”

In a letter posted today by the N-Judah Chronicles, the contest organizers explain: “We don’t think that Gavin actually gets it on transit or gets on transit, contrary to the comment in the Chronicle that said he goes incognito. We’d like him to ride more, perhaps to get a feeling for what riders go through even on days when the budget hasn’t been cut.”

To wit, they promise to buy a Fast Pass for the first person to get a picture of Newsom riding incognito on Muni. (Cable cars don’t count.) They also say they’ll buy beer for any others who present a photo, subject to a “verification of authenticity.” Here’s a snippet from the contest Web site: “Only you, the riders of our beloved San Francisco Municipal Railway, can find Gavin going incognito. And to get you excited, check out the sidebar to see what prizes you could win! The deep and resounding question of our time is not ‘Where’s Waldo?’ It’s ‘Where’s Gavin?’”

Appetite: Brazilian piranha ribs, Korean tacos, schnitzel sandwiches, fancy ‘tinis, and more

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May 13, 2009

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Every Monday, Virginia Miller of personalized itinerary service and monthly food, drink, and travel newsletter, www.theperfectspotsf.com, shares foodie news, events, and deals. View the last installment here.

‘Tini time at SF Cocktail Week

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EVENTS

May 11-18: SF Cocktail Week
SF Cocktail Week is here… In honor of SF’s truly vibrant cocktail culture and supporting the fab Museum of the American Cocktail in New Orleans (if you’re there, go!), the mission is "to preserve the Cultural Heritage of saloons and their cocktails in San Francisco, while also celebrating California’s Culinary Philosophy and Tradition". Sounds like a great mission to me. The third year in, this just keeps getting bigger. It’s no Tales of the Cocktail but it’s certainly a stellar line-up of parties, classes, competitions and events, taught and presented by a long list of the many of SF’s bartending greats.

A few highlights include opening (at Le Colonial) and closing (at Jardinere) parties, the US Bartenders’ Guild National Competition (all day Tuesday: 11am for SF competitors; 5pm for national finalists), CUESA’s Cane Spirits & Farmer’s Market Cocktails event is Wednesday night (their Winter Cocktails event was a blast – excellent cocktails at every turn!), there’s a historical cocktail and bar crawl with Tablehopper herself on Saturday, a Saturday class with artisanal cocktail genius,Scott Beattie, and monthly Savoy night at the one-and-only Alembic on Sunday. Thursday is Bar School, a day of classes around town, ranging from $25-45, the line-up includes Distillation 101 from Hangar One’s Lance Winters, Erik Atkins’ walk through the Gentleman’s Companion, Jeff Hollinger (Absinthe) and Neyah White (NOPA) teach you how to make your own cocktail ingredients from syrups to bitters, plus more worthy classes for the budding mixologist to take it to the next level.
All around SF; events free to $45
http://sfcocktailweek.com

May 12-16: The Big 4’s Wild Game Week returns
The Big 4 Restaurant (PSF) in Nob Hill’s Huntington Hotel has been around for decades and is just the kind of atmosphere I want when craving old world elegance and cocktails by the fireplace. On the food tip, its bi-annual Wild Game Week offers a menu so unique, it’s one of the only times you’ll see dishes like Himalayan yak or Rocky Mountain wapiti (elk chop, to you). This year a first is added: Brazilian piranha “ribs” with a creamy mustard dressing ($18). That’s right, piranha. Come hungry as the deer and the antelope certainly will play.
Appetizers: $16-19
Entrees: $38-46
1075 California Street
415-771-1140
www.big4restaurant.com

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Schmidt’s: Ready and German

NEW RESTAURANT and BAR OPENINGS
German haufbrau-reminscent Schmidt’s Deli opens in the Mission
Walzwerk’s Christiane Schmidt and David Pierce opened Schmidt’s last Wednesday, and I was warmly welcomed by the sweet staff that day. (I’m ready to go back!) The space is roomy, sparse with neatly ordered shelves stocking grocery items (and beer steins) from Germany — think herring, gooseberries, curry ketchup, rosti-in-a-box. They’ll be easing into hours, open from 11am-3pm on weekdays only for now. The plan is soon to be open all day from 11am-11pm, meaning it’ll be the go-to spot for veal schnitzel sandwiches, house-made sausages, spaetzle, kohlrabi (German turnip) and rutabaga gratin, sauerkraut, and German baked goods from Esther’s Bakery in Mountain View. And all under $11! Once the imported beers begin to flow (soon), I imagine the space cacophonous with happy locals at communal tables, clinking glasses over sausages.
2400 Folsom Street
415-410-0202

Korean tacos and burritos at John’s Snack & Deli
With the Korean taco craze in Los Angeles reaching a fever pitch (can anyone say Kogi?), John’s Deli owner (John himself) throws his hat in the Korean taco ring at his tiny deli offering Korean specials. Pairing kimchi with burritos and tacos includes meats (bulgogi beefbq chicken, pork, tofu) cooked Korean-style (with his Mom’s secret sauce) and toppings on the Mexican side (cilantro, onions, cheese). I dig the combo of sweet/savory meat mixed with spicy, pickled kimchi. Occasionally, come mid-afternoon, they sell out of certain meats (beef, last time I was there), but if you aren’t picky, they’re all good.
40 Batter Street
415-434-4634
www.snackanddeli.com

Workday gourmet lunches at Carte 415
Is there no end to food cart mania? It appears not. Downtown workers have gourmet-casual sandwiches and salads at The Sentinel, which set the standard. In cart form, there’s Carte 415 inside the Atrium at Second and Mission. Joshua Skenes, formerly Exec Chef of Chez TJ and Michael Mina’s Stonehill Tavern, launches out into gourmet food cart territory with, you guessed it: a changing, market-fresh lunch menu. A Bacon-jam BLT with burrata and heirloom tomato sounds particularly good to me, but there’s meat and veggie salads, sandwiches and snacks, like their granola or bbq vegetable chips. Call first as they’re not open yet but should be any day now. With plans for more carts around the city in the future, there will be no shortage of gourmet-on-the-go options.
101 Second Street
415-567-0415
www.carte415.com

Velo-mutations

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May 13, 2009

0

P>I’ve been aware of the intersection between alternative culture and bicycles since 1996, when I saw my first tall bike at Reed College in Portland, Ore. Since then, I’ve seen bikes at Burning Man tricked out with paint, fun fur, and EL wire. Bikes at Critical Mass made to look like animals or disco balls. Bike-powered carnival rides at Coachella. And punk girls, dressed in pink, dancing on minibikes at Tour de Fat.

But it wasn’t until "The Art of the Bicycle," an underground multimedia art show and party held in a warehouse in the Mission District last May, that I came to understand how these were each parts of a greater whole — spokes in the wheel of a bicycle culture that centers around creativity, empowerment, and, above all, fun. It also became clear, as I sipped cheap beer and listened to live punk rock in an unpermitted space, that this culture was very different from the road bike culture my dad (and his Spandex shorts) was a part of in the 1980s — or even the activist culture my friends in the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition are in now.

No, this bike culture is something else. Rooted in DIY principles, punk and anarchist values, a good dose of geekiness, and rejection of the mainstream, the alternative bike culture that exists in San Francisco and beyond is an entirely different animal — and it’s growing up fast.

In the Bay Area alone, there’s Cyclecide, a bicycle club known for mutating found and rejected bikes into new forms and pedal-powered rides, as well as for their carnie aesthetic and rodeo-inspired antics; the Derailleurs, a group of women who dance on, with, and about bicycles; and the Trunk Boiz, an Oakland-based community of kids who pimp out their bicycles the way their older brothers might’ve pimped out their low-riders; and many others — all of whom operate outside the realm of traditional bike culture or politics.

And each of these are connected to a greater network of bicycle artists across the country and the world. The past decade has seen the birth of the Portland-based Bicycle Porn festival, which screened films showing the sexiness of (or near) bikes at Victoria Theater last November; as well as the New York City-based Bicycle Film Festival, which had its first West Coast showing in San Francisco several years ago and now visits 39 cities per year. There are now more than 120 bicycle clubs all over the world, with originals like Black Label growing so big it has 40 chapters of its own. And only five years after the first bicycle dance troupe, the Sprockettes, was formed in Portland, there are 11 bicycle dance troupes worldwide.

But who are these people? Why are they so inspired by bikes? And why make art with or about them, rather than just ride them? The answer is complex. For some, the bike is simply a beautiful machine, an engineering problem whose solution hasn’t changed much since the 1600s but whose application is infinite. For others, it’s the bike’s democracy that’s so appealing: cheap, accessible, and available to all kinds of riders. Some see the bike as a vehicle for change, undermining car culture and the politics involved in non-people-powered transportation.

But what seems to tie all these people together is a counterculture instinct. These are artists, musicians, and math geeks. They’re the same people who may have been drawn to skateboarding or surfing (before both became commercial and mainstream), punk shows, Dumpster diving, or even Stitch ‘n’ Bitch parties. It’s a community of people dissatisfied with the status quo and filled with the imagination and ambition to work outside it — if not against it.

"We wanted to have fun," said Jarico Reesce, about founding Cyclecide in 1997. "And we wanted to break every rule we could." (Molly Freedenberg)

Nopalito

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May 13, 2009

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paulr@sfbg.com

Nopalito might or might not offer "far and away the best Mexican food in the Bay Area," as a hyperbolic toot harvested locally and posted on the restaurant’s Web site contends — I say not — but the food is very good. The menu card, moreover, gives a brisk tutorial in the persistence of Indian language and culture in Mexico and is worth scanning just as an intellectual artifact. In a world of burritos and quesadillas, often made with flour tortillas, it is revelatory to read about such possibilities as caldo tlalpeño (the traditional chicken soup), pollo al pibil (as part of a panucho), and huitlacoche (in a mushroom quesadilla). The Maya and Mexica who lived a half-millennia ago might well find aspects of these dishes, or at least their names, familiar.

Or would, if they could get in. Nopalito, although fairly sizable, doesn’t take reservations, but it does allow you to phone yourself onto a waiting list and be phoned back when your table is imminently available. You will likely be given an estimate on the wait when you join the list, but this information is not of high reliability, and, like flying stand-by, you should be prepared to move fast to claim your place. The advantage to the restaurant, meanwhile, is clear: tables are not held, but filled immediately.

As the punny name suggests, Nopalito is an offshoot of nearby Nopa. "Nopalitos" are also shreds of prickly-pear cactus that often end up in morning eggs. Since Nopalito doesn’t serve breakfast, this potentially signature ingredient is honored by being largely if not entirely invisible. But because "nopalito" is a diminutive form of "nopal" — the westernized spelling of the Nahuatl word for the parent plant — we can extract a useful clue, which is that words ending in a vowel and "l," such as "pibil" and "tamal," are often Nahuatl in origin and suggest that the food so described is more Indian than European.

Mexico is sufficiently huge and various to make generalization a perilous undertaking, but one way to think of Mexican cooking is as a modest overlay of European influence — much of it involving pork — on a broad and deep base of Indian ingredients and techniques. "Pibil," for instance, refers to a Maya method of wrapping marinated meat in banana peels and stewing it underground with hot stones. I didn’t see the Nopaliteños tending any barbecue pits, but chicken cooked in some pibil fashion did find its way onto the panucho ($4), a crisped corn tortilla also topped with black beans, pickled onions, and a feisty salsa of habañero chilis.

Corn tortillas are subtle but pervasive, a reminder that corn — "tamal" is the Nahuatl word — was, along with beans and squash, a principal pillar of the Mesoamerican diet. We found a quesadilla made with a blue-corn tortilla ($8) and filled with mushrooms, cheese, epazote, salsa molcajete, and huitlacoche (the fungus that grows on corn and is sometimes compared with truffles) to be quietly effective. A bit more loudly effective was a tamal enchilado ($4), a tube of masa, like very thick polenta, imbued with ancho chili and cooked with stewed pork, queso fresco, and crema (the Mexican answer to crème fraîche).

The ultimate in stewed pork has to be the carnitas ($14), which are excellent by any standard. The cubes of meat were marinated in beer, orange, cinnamon, and bay leaf, sealed in a pouch of parchment paper, then slow-cooked to exquisite tenderness and flavorfulness. The accompaniments were appropriately simple: a salad of shredded cabbage, a few halves of pickled jalapeño pepper, and a small tub of tomatillo salsa.

On the other hand, there was carne asada a la plancha ($15): grass-fed skirt steak in a nocturnal, slightly smoky pasilla salsa. The salsa was wonderful, but the meat was quite tough, almost unchewable, especially in comparison to the carnitas. Of course grass-fed beef isn’t as tender as corn-fed, but a few, or few more, whacks with a tenderizing mallet might have helped here. Somewhere in between lay a half chicken in mole poblano ($13), the meat nicely moist and pliant and the mole sauce (of chocolate, chiles, cinnamon, nuts, and toasted sesame seeds) richly fruity without a hint of bitterness.

Despite an improbable location adjoining the new Falletti Foods in what is basically a small mall, Nopalito has a Missiony glow, from the mod shades of green throughout the interior to the youthful staff. There is also a communal table — not quite a private table, but a shared table is better than no table, as the prickly pears among us know.

NOPALITO

Daily, 11 a.m.–10 p.m.

306 Broderick, SF

(415) 437-0303

www.nopalitosf.com

Beer and wine

MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

Totally tubular

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May 12, 2009

0

TV OR NOT TO BE "All around is magic, just open your eyes and see it," declares either Siegfried or Roy at the beginning of A Rich Tradition of Magic, a previously VHS-only compendium of visual abuse compiled by the inimitable Pinky of TV Carnage. The man isn’t kidding. The menu of Rich Tradition is formatted to look like a remote control — with the push of a button, your screen melts like the hallucinogenic kick-off of a bad acid trip, bringing visions of spray-on hair, senior citizen aerobics, white teens moonwalking to Kenny Loggins’ "Footloose," and grunge figure skating set to "Smells Like Teen Spirit." (Is this what drove Kurt Cobain to suicide?)

Not yet prone to gutwrenchingly funny juxtapositions (Say Anything boombox scene meets child with extreme vibrato singing "Lady in Red"; John Ritter meets Rosie O’Donnell’s horrible idea of someone with Down syndrome), this early installment in the TV Carnage library veers toward the straightforwardly unsettling and outright disturbing. We get aerial performers accidentally slicing each other in half in mid-air, an elephant stomping on people in a circus tent and then rampaging through the streets, and a split-second skull-glimpse of Heaven’s Gate suicide guru Marshall Applewhite. We get Real TV footage of a methed-out man holding his baby as hostage, dangling the boy Blanket-style from a second-story window and demanding that police deliver him some beer.

Kids are people, too. A Rich Tradition of Magic‘s hapless master of ceremonies Gary Coleman ricochets between performative childhood and sad adulthood. A public service safety announcement by a Diff’rent Strokes-era Coleman is cross-cut with an Entertainment Tonight report about him assaulting an annoying fan. Later, Coleman warns us all of the dangers of "Showoff-itis."

John Travolta lipsync footage is perhaps the chief disturbing link between A Rich Tradition of Magic and The Dinah Shore Portal to Hell, another DVD whose beyond-Dante depths I’m just beginning to plumb. The opening installment is a series of lipysnc and live musical performances on Shore’s television show. A strange assortment of performers including Jeff Bridges and NFL star Terry Bradshaw try to be musical with varying degrees of success. William Shatner repeatedly attempts to be dramatic and poetic. All the while, unexpected lesbian golf icon Shore looks on admiringly, our friendly guide to the diabolical stretches of celebrity narcissism, her reliable appearance taking on an increasingly absurdist quality. Later, we are treated to Roger Ebert repeatedly tongue-lashing Gene Siskel between takes while recording promo spots. Rumor has it that it’s the later chapters devoted to alcohol, cocaine, and LSD that truly deliver the TV horror. I’ll report on those another time, if I survive them. (Johnny Ray Huston)

www.tvcarnage.com

Pics: Fake furs, fishnets, flourescence — How Weird!

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May 11, 2009

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Text and photos by Ariel Soto

An over-abundance of fluorescent fake furs, fishnets and colorful masks dominated the scene at the How Weird Street Faire this past Sunday, May 11. On every corner of the festival a different DJ mixed and bounced the huge crowds into electronic bliss, who danced and hula hooped under makeshift dance halls and spinning disco balls. Artists painted beneath the heat of the sun while others perched on the sidewalk to wolf down hot dogs and a cold beer before heading back for more booty shaking. The assortment of strange and wonderful costumes was astonishing and showed how a few bright wigs can turn us all into the weirdest kid on the block.

Appetite: Sticky toffee, casual clambake, Mama mia, Jimmy the Greek. and more

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May 6, 2009

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Each week, Virginia Miller of personalized itinerary service and monthly food, drink, and travel newsletter, www.theperfectspotsf.com, shares foodie news, events, and deals. View the last installment here.

Scottish Eggs, Chips & Pastie at Martins West. Photo by Chris Andre

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NEW RESTAURANT and BAR OPENINGS

Martins West helps you wash down fine eats
Time to trek down South (the Peninsula, that is) to Redwood City for this week’s hot opening, Martins West Pub. The original Martins is in Edinburgh… this locale is an homage to that gastropub (I’ll admit, an overused term) where comfort, hand-crafted beers, and hearty food meet seasonal, gourmet sensibilities. Like the beer, cocktails and scotch selections are extensive so you can wash down Michael Dotson’s (of Tahoe’s Plumpjack Cafe) quality "pub grub" (think Ploughman’s lunch, herb-crusted marrow bones or house-made charcuterie). Pastry Chef, Kelly Fields (of Sens and some of New Orleans best restaurants) stays sweet with sticky toffee pudding, drunken raisin ice cream or hot toddy pot de creme. Inside the 1896 Alhambra building, once a theater and saloon, you’ll feel the spirit of Wyatt Earp, who used to frequent the place while his wife, Josie, sang from the adjoining theater. Belly up to the 25-foot bar, boys!
831 Main Street, Redwood City
650-366-4366
www.martinswestgp.com

Sake bar at Otoro Sushi. Photo by Virgina Miller

Tiny but chic Otoro Sushi makes three in Hayes Valley
Hayes Valley already hasSebo and Domo for impeccable sushi, but why not one more? A couple blocks away from the heart of Hayes, lunch and dinner of the fresher kind can be had at tiny but chic Otoro, just opened a few days ago. I’ve already enjoyed a generously-portioned lunch and look forward to more. There’s a snug, eight-seat sushi bar, sake bar and a handful of tables, with plenty of sashimi, udon, and rolls like the Hip Hop Roll, topped with garlic white tuna.
205 Oak Street
415-553-3986

Fly Bar debuts in Brick space with pizza and video games
Brick morphs into a Fly, or rather, into sister location to ever-popular Fly on Divisadero. Responding to the times with nothing over $12, Fly Bar will surely win some fans. A 4:30-6:30pm Happy Hour offers drink specials and half-price pizzas (like Southwestern or Jimmy the Greek), while the usual menu means apps, pizzas and sandwiches galore. Playful cocktails are only $7-8 at full price, like Island Root Beer (dark rum, Abita root beer and house-made ginger syrup), or Scrum: Boddington’s with a shot of Jameson. Sneak to the back room for a four-player arcade, snazzed up with cup holders and free games! It’s good to reinvent oneself from time to time.
1085 Sutter Street
415-441-4232

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EVENTS

May 10 – La Festa Della Mamma at Bar Bambino
It’s time to honor Mama. If she’s in town, or you want to raise a glass to her, Bar Bambino has a special Mother’s Day prix-fixe. Starting off with a choice of crespelle di frutta, a crepe-like dish with strawberries and ricotta, soup or sformatino di porri (a cheesy leek flan with Dungeness crab salad), you then move on to main courses: either a Parmigiano-Reggiano, egg, frisee salad, a braised leg of lamb, or grilled swordfish marinated in olive oil, lemon, garlic and oregano. Still hungry for dessert? It’s sorbet and biscotti or chocolate tarlets with berries. With Mamma the beating heart of Italian life, you know she’ll be treated right, Italian-style, at Bambino.
$45
11am-3pm
2931 16th Street
415-701-8466
www.barbambino.com

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DEALS

Cali-Casual Clambakes at Nettie’s Crab Shack
I don’t know why the word "clambake" evokes nostalgic memories for me – I partly grew up in Jersey, not nearby New England. But when I heard Cow Hollow’s Nettie’s Crab Shack turned Sunday nights into California Casual Clambakes (replacing Sunday Crab Feeds), I got a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. It’s all family-style, from salad, cornbread, a pot of whole prawns, mussels, clams, Delta crawfish, spicy sausage and boiled potatoes, to Whoopee pies for dessert.
$35 per person
Sundays, 5–10pm
2032 Union Street
415-409-0300
www.nettiescrabshack.com

Not in attendance

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May 6, 2009

0

le_chicken_farmer@yahoo.com

CHEAP EATS Greg handed me an open can of beer and it slid right through my fingers; that’s how greasy they were from eating meat, and that’s why this week’s love-letter-slash-restaurant-review begins in a puddle of foam on a beach blanket, and with the general sense that I very literally can’t hold my liquor.

Earl Butter had some napkins. Also: two homemade balsa wood airplanes, which he had left, intentionally, in a brown bag in my car. The napkins were in his pocket.

"I don’t want no kids touching my airplanes," he said as we were walking from the car to the party, bag of barbecue, a blanket, and a six-pack in tow.

We were not at the beach. We were in the Golden Gate Park, celebrating the recent arrival and impending departure of our old pal and ex Cheap Eats irregular Satchel Paige the Pitcher. He lives in Thailand now with his wife Ann Paige the Pitcher and their two little Wiffle-ballers, Nellie and Kelly Paige the Pitchers.

Every two years they all come back here just to get cold a little and see if they can make it into my column. Probably they have other reasons too. For years, for example, they’ve been trying to talk me out of my fear of flying and into visiting Thailand so they can take me to this restaurant near their house.

Greg is a vegetarian. I offered him the opportunity of a vegetarian’s lifetime: to smell or even lick my fingers, but he passed on this. Probably because his girlfriend was sitting right there — although it’s possible, I suppose, that he just didn’t want to lick my fingers. Or even smell them. Stranger things have happened.

Not that this is one of them, but Kid Coyote found a corner of a piece of old bacon in his backpack and ate it. He said it tasted like cologne. Now, a cologne that smells like bacon … Don’t do this to me! I’m practically a cannibal already.

Speaking of which, and bearing in mind that I recently renewed my poetic license, the love letter portion of this restaurant review will be in passionate, almost psychotic tribute to a red umbrella, not in attendance. It was cold out, and windy — too windy to stand up straight — but no threat of rain. Which was a good thing, because it was also too windy to open an umbrella anywhere but indoors, and everyone knows that’s bad luck.

The umbrella, just to be perfectly clear about it, is in no way associated with last week’s little number about the stuff guys leave at my apartment. Neither museum piece nor talisperson, this umbrella is an umbrella. It was given to me by a tall, dark stranger wearing mirror sunglasses, a funny hat, and a crooked, possibly fake mustache. He said something in French that I have not been able to translate any more precisely than, "Collect your family."

"Thank you. It’s red," I said, accepting the gift with a polite smile, also in French (the smile, not the sentences). And it hasn’t rained since.

Earl Butter hadn’t had lunch so we detoured to George’s, the new 24th Street barbecue, on our way to the park. It looks like it used to be a taqueria, but I’ll be damned if I can think of which one. Anyway, it’s a barbecue now. A kind of a smokeless barbecue. They admit it themselves on the back of the menu: "all meats are slow roasted continuously throughout the day." Technically that’s roastecue.

The three-way George’s special ($12.95) has chicken, beef, and ribs, so those were the three kinds of grease that lubricated my spilt can of beer at the picnic. And it was good meat, and good sauce, and good bean salad and salad salad by way of sides. I let Earl Butter eat the potato and roll, as I’d already had lunch once.

It was a great and windy and cold party, with kids and soccer balls and croquet, potato chips, Oreos, friends I hadn’t seen in a while … and all I could think about was my red umbrella, not in attendance.

At night now, if I sleep, I dream weather reports, and, yes, it’s May, it’s California, but I simply can’t wait for it to rain.

GEORGE’S BBQ

Daily, 11 a.m.–8 p.m.

3231 24th St., SF

(415) 550-1010

Beer & wine

Cash only

L.E. Leone’s new book is Big Bend (Sparkle Street Books), a collection of short fiction.

How Weird to pay SFPD’s protection money

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May 2, 2009

0

By Steven T. Jones

Faced with San Francisco Police Department threats to block their permits to sell beer and to have amplified music, organizers of the How Weird Street Faire have decided to pay the nearly $10,000 that the cops were demanding up front rather than go to court to fight fees that appear to violate caps written into city codes.

How Weird organizer Brad Olsen said vendor fees and other financial support should allow them to come up with the money. That’s good news for those planning to attend the May 10 event, although other outdoor event advocates — such as John Wood, with the Entertainment Commission and Love Fest — had urged How Weird to make a stand against rapidly escalating SFPD fees. As the Guardian reported, city codes cap fees for events this size at $5,494.

Police have said they’re required to recover all costs associated with the event, although it is the SFPD that decides have many cops on overtime are required to staff the event, which has had no major police incidents in its 10-year history. Love Fest is a far larger event covering more territory, and therefore gets a bigger SFPD bill, so this fight is likely to pick up again once its organizers begin the permit process this summer.

Meanwhile, the SFPD has begun an aggressive campaign to crackdown on underground parties, one that has caused the dozens of local Burning Man camps now staging fundraisers to get creative in throwing parties. Many have moved the parties to the East Bay, while others are renting out existing clubs in San Francisco to get around the crackdown (which many suspect is tied to an SFPD power vacuum and struggle as Chief Heather Fong prepares to retire).

Stay tuned to the Guardian for more coverage of the Death of Fun.

Appetite: Sticky toffee, casual clambake, Mama mia, Jimmy the Greek. and more

-

May 1, 2009

0

Each week, Virginia Miller of personalized itinerary service and monthly food, drink, and travel newsletter, www.theperfectspotsf.com, shares foodie news, events, and deals. View the last installment here.

Scottish Eggs, Chips & Pastie at Martins West. Photo by Chris Andre

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NEW RESTAURANT and BAR OPENINGS

Martins West helps you wash down fine eats
Time to trek down South (the Peninsula, that is) to Redwood City for this week’s hot opening, Martins West Pub. The original Martins is in Edinburgh… this locale is an homage to that gastropub (I’ll admit, an overused term) where comfort, hand-crafted beers, and hearty food meet seasonal, gourmet sensibilities. Like the beer, cocktails and scotch selections are extensive so you can wash down Michael Dotson’s (of Tahoe’s Plumpjack Cafe) quality "pub grub" (think Ploughman’s lunch, herb-crusted marrow bones or house-made charcuterie). Pastry Chef, Kelly Fields (of Sens and some of New Orleans best restaurants) stays sweet with sticky toffee pudding, drunken raisin ice cream or hot toddy pot de creme. Inside the 1896 Alhambra building, once a theater and saloon, you’ll feel the spirit of Wyatt Earp, who used to frequent the place while his wife, Josie, sang from the adjoining theater. Belly up to the 25-foot bar, boys!
831 Main Street, Redwood City
650-366-4366
www.martinswestgp.com

Sake bar at Otoro Sushi. Photo by Virgina Miller

Tiny but chic Otoro Sushi makes three in Hayes Valley
Hayes Valley already hasSebo and Domo for impeccable sushi, but why not one more? A couple blocks away from the heart of Hayes, lunch and dinner of the fresher kind can be had at tiny but chic Otoro, just opened a few days ago. I’ve already enjoyed a generously-portioned lunch and look forward to more. There’s a snug, eight-seat sushi bar, sake bar and a handful of tables, with plenty of sashimi, udon, and rolls like the Hip Hop Roll, topped with garlic white tuna.
205 Oak Street
415-553-3986

Fly Bar debuts in Brick space with pizza and video games
Brick morphs into a Fly, or rather, into sister location to ever-popular Fly on Divisadero. Responding to the times with nothing over $12, Fly Bar will surely win some fans. A 4:30-6:30pm Happy Hour offers drink specials and half-price pizzas (like Southwestern or Jimmy the Greek), while the usual menu means apps, pizzas and sandwiches galore. Playful cocktails are only $7-8 at full price, like Island Root Beer (dark rum, Abita root beer and house-made ginger syrup), or Scrum: Boddington’s with a shot of Jameson. Sneak to the back room for a four-player arcade, snazzed up with cup holders and free games! It’s good to reinvent oneself from time to time.
1085 Sutter Street
415-441-4232

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