Brunch

Best of the Bay 2011: BEST BEELZEBUBIAN BEIGNETS

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
0

A beignet craze has swept the Bay, and really, who could withstand the fiendish temptation of these deep-fried, sugar-sprinkled, French-by-way-of-New-Orleans brunch delights? Our current favorites come courtesy of the new Devil’s Teeth Baking Company in the Sunset which, despite its intimidating name, traffics in heavenly pastries. (The bakery’s name is actually a tribute to a sobriquet for the Farallone Islands.) The diabolically good bakers here have even set aside a day for beignet worship: zip down to beignet Sundays and fill those idle hands with made-to-order clouds of perfection — and cups of Blue Bottle coffee to boot. While you’re there, score a batch of spice-chunked ginger cookies or a gooey-sweet pie. Followed by a stroll down Ocean Beach? Yes please, Mr. Mephistopheles. 

3876 Noriega, SF. (415) 683-5533. www.devilsteethbakingcompany.com

Appetite: 3 restaurants to watch

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
0

Here are two new places that just opened, showing a lot of promise… and one that keeps getting better.

Sexy ’70s foodie lounge : CHAMBERS EAT+DRINK

The Phoenix Hotel has long exuded rock star hipness. Its prior restaurant was more bar than food destination… and it really wasn’t memorable on the drink front, though the mid-century motel poolside setting is special. The pool remains, now with cactus wall and bright orange chairs. Drinks, though decent, still aren’t worth a special trip, but the food is.

With chef Trevor Ogden behind brand new Chambers Eat+Drink inside the Phoenix, I had no doubt it would be good. Young and ambitious, he has impressed me from his days at Mission Beach Cafe. With a complete decor revamp, I am delighted to say there’s no atmosphere like it in SF. A sleek 1970s den lined with hundreds of records (yes, LPs), the place is outfitted in leather, plaid couches, quirky lamps, knick-knacks, themes varying between restaurant, lounge and pool.

The food keeps up. Shaved Spring Salad ($8) is a knock-out of asparagus, wild arugula, and sheep’s milk ricotta topped with shaved Summer squash and lightly fried mushrooms. In a saffron tarragon vinaigrette, it nods to the long days of Summer. Smoking Salmon ($12) arrives wrapped like a rose blossom over a mini-hearth, emitting smoke from roasting coals. A bowl of yuzu sake creme fraiche, chive oil and salmon caviar/roe complete the playful presentation.

In a city with no shortage of fine burgers, Ogden makes an utterly satisfying one ($12): Prather Ranch beef is pink and juicy topped with whole grain aioli, butter lettuce, heirloom tomato, and red onion so smoky it feels as if the burger was grilled by campfire. It comes with thyme-dusted Kennebec fries, while add-ons include crispy-braised pork belly ($3) or avocado ($2.50). There are a handful of entrees ranging $18-26, or one could go with a mix of small plates. PB & L.T. ($10) is essentially pork belly in rice paper wrap, layered with butter lettuce, heirloom tomato, house sambal (chili sauce), and champagne aioli. A fun way to eat belly, almost light yet satisfying. Cauliflower soubise soup ($7) was the only misstep for me – too salty: basil, dried olives, and pink peppercorn added nuance, but over-salting left the impression of being one note.

Ogden is also handling the desserts. They read better than they tasted in opening weeks… but there is promise here. A giant Manhattan creme brulee ($8) is rye bourbon creme brulee doused in macerated cherries and blood orange reduction with candied orange peel. To be fair, I’m not a big creme brulee fan so overall it came off too pudding-like, but high marks for the drink-as-dessert concept. Carrot Caraway Cake ($7) hit blessedly savory with caraway, Kaffir lime nectar and candied carrot tops. Dots of creme fraiche frosting didn’t seem enough to balance out the slight dryness of the cake.

I’m pleased to see a new addition with dramatic, unusual environs that is also for the gourmet. We don’t always do it up in the setting department in SF, preferring to (rightly) focus on the food first. But it doesn’t hurt to do both.

CHAMBERS EAT+DRINK 601 Eddy Street at Polk, 415-829-2316, www.chambers-sf.com

Louisiana Authenticity : BOXING ROOM , Hayes Valley (549 Irving Street, between 6th & 7th, 415-592-8174)

The new Boxing Room may not immediately recall Louisiana: exposed wood, modern chandeliers and an open space look like any typical current-day restaurant. But the food coming out of the kitchen from the hands of Chef Justin Simoneaux, a Southern Louisiana native, just begins to assuage my constant hunger for New Orleans.

First off, I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to see Creole cream cheese on his menu. I fill up on that silky, gently sweet goodness whenever I’m in Nola but had yet to see it here. Seems he couldn’t find it either so Simoneaux made his own. He’s currently serving it with a salad ($8) of mixed greens, strawberries, and spiced pecans.

Deep fried alligator with a Creole remoulade ($11) is about the freshest alligator I’ve tasted – even better than what I’ve had in Nola or Florida. He’s taken painstaking efforts to source the best possible ingredients and it shows: this alligator is more tender and flavorful than its fried status would suggest. Crawfish Étouffée ($13 small, $20 large) is a beloved dish served in varying styles, but often reminiscent of gumbo. Simoneaux’s roux base for the Étouffée is subtly sweet and savory. A beauty… but I could have used a little more crawfish.

Stuffed mirliton and eggplant ($17) is a superb vegetarian dish and maybe the most creative entree. Over a sweet, stewed tomato ratatouille, Grana Padano cheese accents a small, stuffed eggplant and larger mirliton, Southern Lousiana’s beloved vegetable (also known as chayote). Crispy Boudin Balls ($5) is delicious Cajun boudin sausage fried into breaded balls. Don’t miss the free starter of crackers with pimento cheese spread. I’ll take more pimento cheese, thanks. Bananas foster cake ($7) is a moist, dense take on one of Nola’s greatest desserts, served with a subtle bourbon ice cream.

There’s also oysters, fried chicken and red beans, beers on draft (a nice list ranging from Belgians to Louisiana beers), wines on tap, and plenty of bottles. Zydeco plays in the background. At least two waiters are from Louisiana – we sure enjoyed chatting ours up about the glories of food from that state. The only thing missing is a Mint Julep.

BOXING ROOM, Hayes Valley 549 Irving Street, between 6th & 7th streets, 415-592-8174, www.boxingroomsf.com

Daily-changing freshness: OUTERLANDS

Outerlands keeps getting better. Since chef Brett Cooper came on board and their liquor license came through, allowing for seasonal cocktails, it’s more of a destination than it was. I always liked the woodsy, narrow interior but found waits at brunch chaotic and the food all-around solid, if not noteworthy. There is now amped-up artistry, particularly in vegetarian dishes, distantly reminiscent of what one might see at Napa’s Ubuntu.

There are roughly only two $10 cocktails a night. Recently, I liked a Smash in a mason jar: Buffalo Trace bourbon, fresh peaches, lemon and rosemary. More refreshing than unforgettable, it was as garden-fresh as dinner was. Co-owner David Muller’s bartending background at places like Slanted Door clearly informs house-made ingredients and knowledgeable mix of ingredients, like an aperitif of Junipero gin, absinthe, Campari, fennel, sparkling wine.

Dinner highlights included baby carrots and leeks ($9) dotted with fennel, nettles and toasted almond breadcrumbs, and a plate of Mixed Beets ($8), juicy in red frill mustard and sherry, accented by dollops of the most divine, creamy house ricotta. Savory bread pudding ($9) is a puffy dream of their house bread baked with caramelized onions, chard, rosemary, crusted with Gruyere cheese.

Dessert ($7 each) was a mason jar filled with strawberry rhubarb parfait, creamy and fresh, but with barely a taste of rhubarb or fennel. More of both would have made for a superior dessert. More exciting, despite its straightforward sound, was a chocolate budino: lush dark chocolate, hazelnuts, graham cracker, toasted meringue, and thankfully plenty of salt to keep it savory.

Outerlands has evolved into something special by the beach, and a win for anyone who lives out that way.

OUTERLANDS, 4001 Judah Street at 45th Ave., 415-661-6140, www.outerlandssf.com

Subscribe to Virgina’s twice monthly newsletter, The Perfect Spot

Hot sexy events June 29-July 5

Andrew Lam
-
0
Hot sexy events June 29-July 5

Love the mommy bloggers. Such a feel good moment when a harried parent gets to sit down and share (even electronically, even through a screen) just what they’ve been feeling about their day with the kids. Y’know, how to talk to a youngster about adoption, wise words from grandma, the best new G-spot stimulator.

Oh yes, there’s a new kind of mommy in town. Or at least, pervy parents are finally getting their due. Dirty mommies now have their very own local blog, and meet-up.

To compliment personal online screeds that are already being penned by Shar Rednour of How Good Sex Made Me a Great Mom, of the example above, and sex toy shop mommies Moms In Babeland, Madison Young organized Sexy Mamas Social Club (she’s also held workshops on motherhood and sexuality at Good Vibes, and ate breast milk icecream as performance art this year). It’s open to moms in the sex trade, moms who have sex on screen, moms in alternative sexuality communities, and moms who support all of the above. The group meets for brunch at one in the afternoon on Fridays, which is another reason to like it. 

 

Sex With Emily livecast

Today, Emily Morse told me all about the new semen cookbook (there’s something weird in the air about cooking with cum). She’s got this squeaky little voice, she’s broadcasts outta San Francisco, she has very little qualms about talking about her decidedly heterosexual, but fairly entertaining love life. And she’s there for you everyday so that you can snicker through the afternoon, especially when your boss asks you what you’re listening to and you say “making Jello shots with male ejaculate.” Now I wish that would happen. 

Monday-Friday 1-2 p.m.

www.sexwithemily.com


Go-Go Studs night

There’s nothing worse than being in the middle of a good grind and looking up to see the scantily clad go-gos with looks of boredom on their Adonis-like faces. Well hell, how hard do you have to work it to get a rise out of them? KOK feels your pain, so they’ve assembled a line-up of faces so fresh they’ve had no time to weary of your (adorable) flailing. Sexxy.

Fri/1 11:30 p.m.-1 a.m., $2 after 11 p.m.

KOK Bar

1225 Folsom, SF

www.kokbarsf.com


Sexy Mama’s Social Club

Because sexy thangs shouldn’t be barred from having kids – or from continuing to be hella sexy. New mamí Madison Young has apparently organized a get-together for mommas from the sex industry. Be you a sex worker, a sex writer, polyamorous, an adult film actress, or just supportive, roll through this brunch (the group’s third) to be part of a new old girl’s club. 

Fri/11-4 p.m.

Email Madison Young at feminapotens@gmail.com for details

www.feminapotens.org 


Nasty

In addition to hosting a frequently-updated site of HIV/AIDS research news, Project Inform throws a good party. We think – Powerhouse‘s Nasty will now go to benefit the HIV/AIDS advocacy organization, which is promising for many reasons. The party’s raised over $30,000 for the AIDS Emergency Fund in the past, and it’s kind of your dirty, dirty duty to make sure that it gets off (ha) on the right food with Project Inform. All for charity! 

Fri/1 10 p.m.-1 a.m., $5

Powerhouse 

1347 Folsom, SF

www.projectinform.org


Pyro Passion with Stefanos and Chey

Why wait til the Fourth for the fireworks? Rumor has it this power couple of SF BDSM learned their fireplay skills in a sub-zero Minnesota dungeon – that’s one way to figure out how to be sensual with flame, but getting taught by the experts, with super hot models, in one of the city’s best-known dungeons – you’ve upped them on comfort factor, at least. Learn skills in tools, safety, and the psychology of properly lighting your lover aflame.

Thurs/30 8-10 p.m., $20

SF Citadel

1277 Mission, SF

(415) 626-2746

www.sfcitadel.org 

 

Zero Zero

Andrew Lam
-
0
Zero Zero

paulr@sfbg.com

DINE Our recent bout of pizza chic was bound to reach some sort of apex sooner or later, like all fevers, and it now appears to have done so at Zero Zero, the Bruce Hill endeavor that opened last summer in the old Azie space adjoining LuLu. The name refers to a vaunted Neapolitan flour used to make pizza dough, but it also seems to suggest the turn of the millennium, with its near-5,000 Nasdaq and the reinvention of SoMa as the urban version of Silicon Valley. If you’d gone to sleep about 10 years ago and were just now waking up, you probably wouldn’t think much had changed, except that pizza had become very grand indeed during your little nap.

As a pizza master, Hill has a formidable pedigree. He was the longtime chef at Oritalia, one of the city’s most interesting and innovative restaurants of the 1980s and 1990s before moving on to reinvigorate the cooking at both the Waterfront and Bix. The Zero Zero gamble is to open a pizzentric restaurant in the heart of the city’s new restaurantland instead of at its fringes, in the lower Haight (Ragazza), Dogpatch (Piccino), or Glen Park (Gialina). A major plus of the location is that a rich lode of clientele is near at hand; being upstairs at Zero Zero on a busy weekend night is a little like trying to work your way through the break room of the Abercrombie and Fitch catalog. Clearly pizza is familiar and reassuring to people who aren’t too many years past their college graduations and who are now living in SoMa’s innumerable new luxury lofts. But is pizza enough to carry a serious restaurant?

Hill has gracefully hedged his bets by laying out a menu that’s considerably broader and more sophisticated than a few tomato-red pies to be washed down with steinfuls of brew. The kitchen turns out an assortment of crudo, antipasti, and pasta plates to keep things interesting. And if you don’t want pizza at all, you can certainly get by — although you won’t find so much as a single conventional large dish. It’s little dishes, with or without pizza. Or bupkes.

We found the food beautifully conceived and presented, although several dishes struck me as being on the verge of too salty. This is odd, considering that so much restaurant food has struck me as underseasoned over the years. Whenever I come upon oversalted food in a restaurant, I find myself thinking of the young chefs-in-waiting who can often be seen in clusters on the sidewalks in front of culinary academies, puffing away at their ciggies. It is well known that smoking cigarettes dulls the sense of taste and affects the way a chef is seasoning things.

A crudo of California halibut flaps ($12.95) was presented on a narrow sushi platter, as if subtly to enhance our sense of its freshness. And it was glisteningly tender, its butteriness deepened by Fiordolio EVOO. But the promised “panzanella” was just golden-crisp croutons with salt sprinkled over the top. It is surprising how much damage even a little salt can do to delicate food. I also found too salty an otherwise marvelous salad of wild arugula ($9.50) with quarters of ultra-ripe yellow nectarine and marcona almonds. The greens, with their almost prickly freshness, could have been picked five minutes before. But the lemon vinaigrette tended toward briny. One dish we did find in good tune was expertly braised octopus ($13.95), cubed and tender and plated with Sicilian chickpea fritters that could have passed for polenta triangles, along with the wondrous weed purslane and an agrodolce (sweet-sour) sauce. There was an important clue in this dish — that saltiness is a relative phenomenon. It can be balanced.

The pizzas buck the local trend by using a slightly thicker, puffier crust. One nice feature of puffs: they blister well. Blisters suggest that the pie has been rushed to you straight from the oven, like a popover. The topping combinations are elegant and restrained; even a relatively lavish pie, the Fillmore ($15.95), with leeks, mozzarella, hen-of-the-wood mushrooms, garlic, thyme, and three cheeses (parmesan, pecorino, fontina), remained coherent, with fresh herb breath.

But Zero Zero’s best feature is probably its build-your-own-dessert option. You choose your base ($4), your ice cream ($4.95) — simple flavors but housemade — and your toppings ($1 each). Olive oil and sea salt are among them, but so is chocolate hazelnut crunch. Which would you rather have? 

ZERO ZERO

Dinner: Sun.–Thurs., 5:30-10 p.m.;

Fri.–Sat., 5:30–11 p.m.

Lunch: Mon.–-Fri., noon–-2:30 p.m.

Brunch: Sat.–Sun., 11:30 a.m.–2:30 p.m.

826 Folsom, SF

(415) 348-8800

www.zerozerosf.com

Full bar

AE/DS/MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

 

Hot sexy events: June 22-28

Andrew Lam
-
0
Hot sexy events: June 22-28

Apparently we got everyone a little too hot and bothered with our bike messenger sex post a few weeks back — the bicycle coitus backlash has already begun!

This news from LA, where the super fly Midnight Ridazz ride ran into some complications in the form of a drunk, cell phone-using driver smashing into a group stopped on the side of a road, injuring 11 cyclists. The police were quick to point fingers — at the cyclists. After all, “alcohol, condoms, and marijuana” were found near the scene of the crime, as ABC Channel 7 reported. Clearly, the Ridazz were gearing up (ha!) for a late night bike orgy. You know how that saddle friction gets everyone all randy.

LAPD did offer this PSA-type release, which I suppose is intended to act as a mea culpa for being all sassy about adult beverages, smoking weed, and safe sex? At any rate, “bike orgy” should surely be the SF Bike Party’s next theme ride. And now onto sex events for Pride Week! 

 

Oh!

Dirty young gentlemen, be aware: you’re not to miss this grimy-beated, well-meated party time at SF’s cruisey queer watering hole. Details? Write the story yourself — all we can tell you is that DJs Taco Tuesday and Guy Ruben will be getting the soundtrack hot like a skin flick. 

Wed/22 10 p.m.-2 a.m., $5

Powerhouse

1347 Folsom, SF

www.powerhouse-sf.com

 

“Heart/Hand/Art: Erotic Moments from San Francisco’s Lesbian Underground”

In a recent SF Station interview, Phyllis Christopher insists she “never, never wanted to shock people. I was having these amazing experiences and I wanted to talk about it.” Surely shocking is not the right word for Christopher’s florid shots of women in the throes of passion — titty grabbing, peeking out between fishnetted leg passion — we only flash on “sexy.” But Christopher’s intent was to document the lives of San Francisco lesbians. The erotica she captured is gorgeous — a flattering portrayal of women loving women in the City by the Bay. 

Thurs/23 6-8 p.m., free

Good Vibrations

1620 Polk, SF

(415) 345-0500

www.goodvibes.com

 

Lexington Club Pride weekend

Let’s be honest, it’s a rat race trying to name your Pride parties with the sluttiest monikers in the city — there’s just too much competition out there. But the Lex surely has a leg way up, if there is such a contest. Honestly, it wins based on sheer quantity: Thursday dances out with “DTF,” Friday flirts hard with “No Strings Attached,” on Saturday you can “Tap That,” and Sunday’s climax (after a super-slutty brunch party — oh, and the official Pride blowout, of course) is “Hit It and Quit It.” Straddle you a lady lez and get down — just don’t spill that Pabst on her cut-offs unless you’re trying to lick it off. 

Thurs/23-Sun/26, free

Lexington Club

3464 19th St., SF

(415) 863-2052

www.lexingtonclub.com

 

Mr. Kok Kontest

Kok Bar’s keeping it hard and slutty for you all weekend, but the new kid on the Folsom block has some extra special for you planned for Saturday night: a contest to see who has the biggest dick — though wait, isn’t that the point of Pride Week itself? Anyways, it’s been formalized here, so pack your binoculars, not much else, and head down.

Sat/25, free before 10 p.m., $4 afterwards

Kok Bar

1225 Folsom, SF

www.kokbarsf.com

 

Pansexual Pride Party

Cap off your Pride celebrations (or gear up for Sunday night) at the Citadel’s all-inclusive dungeon play party. Featured will be a demonstration by Mr. SF Citadel 2011 on how to successfully dominate a bottom twice your size. The website promises that it will produce experiences akin to “a chihuahua picking on a rottweiler.” 

Sun/26 5-8 p.m., $10 

SF Citadel 

1277 Mission, SF

www.sfcitadel.org

 

“Sex, Death, Laughter, and Disease: Writing and the Body”

Empower your body (and your prose) with this course, which will teach the skill of writing the corporeal form as protagonist. Sound a little English Lit-y for you? Instructor Lorelei Lee is an NYU creative writing professor, but check her clips before you dismiss this event from this column: lady’s been featured in $pread Magazine, the anthologies Hos, Hookers, Call Girls and Rent Boys: Professionals Writing on Life and Love and Off the Set: Porn Stars and Their Partners — plus, she’s currently penning a script with Stephen Elliott. 

Tues/28 (through Aug. 2) 7:30-9 p.m., $325

Center for Sex and Culture

1349 Mission, SF

(415) 902-2071

www.sexandculture.org

 

Pasión

Andrew Lam
-
2
Pasión

paulr@sfbg.com

DINE Amid the restaurant babble of Ninth and Irving streets (UCSF’s answer to Harvard Square), there is one restaurant that stands out as a spot for people who already have all the degrees they’re ever going to get, and that is Pasión. The name suggests both the high energy of the place and the style of its cooking, which draws many of its influences from Latin America and, in particular, Peru. The young chef and owner José Calvo-Perez, a native San Franciscan whose father Julio launched what was to become the highly successful Fresca enterprise, describes the style as “modern Latin.”

The space was the longtime home of P.J.’s Oyster Bed (Pasión moved in late last year), and because it’s in the middle of a cluttered block, it doesn’t stand out as a physical fact as much as it does as an idea. You could walk right by without noticing it, or you might notice it but think it’s just another one of the sort of food emporia you so often find near large university campuses. But once you’re inside, you find that Pasión feels a little like Miami: twinkles and gleams here and there in the suggestively dark lighting, a sense of human warmth, a dramatic open kitchen with two faces at right angles, and a main dining area doubled around the back of the bar like a horseshoe. The restaurant is on the loud side, and no doubt that’s in large part because it’s busy. Clearly there was an unmet demand for this kind of destination in the neighborhood.

Pasión might not be that innovative — pan-Latin cooking was unexpected 10 years ago; it is less so now. Still, it can’t be a bad thing to claim descent from Fresca. Some of the more prominent signifiers of that lineage on the menu are the pollo a la brasa ($18), a beautifully roasted half-chicken with Peruvian-style spices and fine french fries, and a broad selection of ceviches.

As someone who likes ceviche without loving it, I was pleasantly surprised by the exquisiteness of the Pasión version ($10), which brought together cubes of ahi tuna and salmon, kernels of purple corn, and bits of cilantro, red onion, and yellow pepper — I haven’t seen so much color in one place since looking into a box of Crayola crayons — in a marinade softened and deepened by passion-fruit purée. Too many ceviches seem to me to be joltingly salty-sour, salt and lime being a pair of alpha ingredients that will fight if there is no mediator. (Morty Seinfeld: “You’ve gotta have a buffer zone!”) A little sugar, a little sweetness, brings a necessary balance, and all the better if the sweetness comes, as here, from a natural source, a sweet fruit, instead of a sack of C&H.

But, even in America, land of the sweet, sweetness isn’t always a good thing. The aioli that served as a dipping sauce for salt-cod fritters ($10) had been enhanced with lemon and honey (honeioli?), but for me it was too sweet and reminded me of Miracle Whip. The fritters themselves, presented in a small basket, were right at the edge of being too crisp. And yes, that is a kind of euphemism.

The duck empanadas ($10) were better, though of course they were very rich, made as they were with shreds of duck confit and smoked duck. Here the richness of the meat and the frying was moderated by a clever combination of currants and a sherry reduction — fruit to the rescue again.

Is there a good way to serve paella in a restaurant? Calvo-Perez was probably bound to try to figure one out, since he apprenticed in Spain. My thought would be to make a big, proper one every hour or so and serve portions of it, but Pasión appears to follow a made-to-order model. The kitchen’s vegetarian version, called arroz verde ($18), was made with cilantro rice and did have a green sheen, but it was as much gray as green, and this wasn’t reassuring. The dish, although presented in a small, cast-iron paella pan, lacked the crust of caramelized rice you hope will form on the bottom. It was also afflicted by a bitterness we finally traced to large chunks of celery, lurking in the murk like alligators in a bog among the green peas, shiitake mushrooms, pickled carrots, and green beans. It also featured an abundance of red onion slivers, which were methodically plucked out (not by me), like bits of shrapnel being removed from a wounded soldier. Obviously some people feel passionately about raw red onions.

Pasión

Dinner: Sun.–Thurs., 5–10 p.m.;

Fri.–Sat., 5–11 p.m.

Brunch: Sat.–Sun., 10 a.m.–3 p.m.

737 Irving, SF

(415) 742-5727

www.pasionsf.com

Full bar

AE/DS/MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

 

Busted!

Andrew Lam
-
0
Busted!

le.chicken.farmer@gmail.com

CHEAP EATS I have already written a restaurant review, a poem, and a cheerful pop song about my anal abscess. I don’t know how else to celebrate the cursed motherfucker. I could curse … But I guess I’ve done that too.

I’ve already had it lanced twice. Those were the good times. Except that on the first occasion I missed a day of work, and on the second I missed a baby shower. I felt so badfully about the missed baby shower that I invited the moms-to-be, Pod and the Attack, to breakfast the following Saturday. Technically I guess maybe I invited myself to breakfast. At their house.

Bless them, they made my favorite: waffles! With fresh strawberries! They made bacon! They made eggs! They made roasted tomatoes! It was the perfect meal! It was a masterpiece! It was culinary genius! It was the time of our lives!

Problem: I forgot to go. I don’t know, I was looking forward to it all week and then I woke up on Saturday morning, went, “Dum-de-doe,” and decided — oh, I don’t know — maybe do a little recording, or something.

I record in my kitchen because it’s the quietest room in my apartment, if I turn off the refrigerator. My cell phone was in the closet. At the designated hour, Pod went to West Oakland BART and waited for me.

When she called to say what-the-where-the-fuck-are-you? I was in the kitchen. I had my headphones on, refrigerator off, and was laying some blistering electric ukulele tracks onto Garage Band, singing: “It’s a new day/ It’s a driving rain/ I’m gonna have anal surgery/ It’s gonna be OK/ Gonna feel no pain / Or if I do it will be good for me.” La la la la la la.

And so forth.

Then.

I saw my cell phone while I was getting ready for work. It was lit up like a Christmas tree: texts, voicemails, e-mails. What-the-where-the-fuck-was-I? Oh my sweet baby Jesus, you can imagine my horror, and self-hatred — nay, loathing — as it all sunk in. How did I do that? How could I? Was my head so far up my ass that … ?

Well, technically it was, damn me. Clobber me in the kidneys with a golf club. I felt as low as a horse’s hoof cheese. And that was before the Attack sent me a picture of their spread, Pod in all her pregnancy sitting down to eat those wonderful things I said, plus cantaloupe.

Minus me.

I’ve done some dumb-ass things in my day, but don’t know if I’ve ever hated myself more. I couldn’t imagine how I was ever going to forgive myself. I still kinda can’t. I mean, the bacon alone looked so good in that picture.

They were of course very gracious and forgiving, and I was of course determined to make it up somehow. I invited them over to Berkeley that evening for some of the chicken pot pie that me and the kids were making. They declined.

I invited them to breakfast the following morning. Out somewhere, on me, and they accepted. We went to the Sunny Side Café in Albany, which was alleged to be kind of fancy-pants, and great.

Never in my life, before this, have I wanted a meal to cost more than it did. But, alas, it didn’t. It was like normal weekend brunch prices, roughly $10 apiece. Less tragically, but more to the point, I didn’t think the food was that good. Let alone great. I may have malordered. Maybe I was still traumatized by my brain fart from the morning before, but my spinach-and-sausage scramble was bland city, even with salt-pepper-Tapatío. The roasted tomatoes … meh.

Pod’s pigs in blankets … that was better. And the Attack, she got it right. She hit the jackpot with the Alameda, a stack-up of good stuff — ham, cheese, french toast, eggs — and some other things I personally don’t go for, which is to say mushrooms and Hollandaise. Oh, and a balsamic reduction.

It’s her new favorite restaurant.

SUNNY SIDE CAFÉ

Mon.–Fri. 8 a.m.–3 p.m.;

Sat.–Sun. 8:30 a.m.–3 p.m.

1499 Solano, Albany

(510) 527-5383

Full bar

AE/D/MC/V

 

Don Pisto’s

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
0
Don Pisto’s

DINE Not all restaurants have mantras, but Don Pisto’s must be “our kitchen is small.” It’s what we heard over and over from our server. Actually, we didn’t hear her; we just read her lips as best we could. When Don Pisto’s starts to fill up — and, being snug, it fills up quickly — it becomes as noisy a restaurant as I’ve been in. If you’ve ever stood near the end of a runway as a fully loaded 747 roared into the sky over your head, you’ll have some idea of the decibels, which reach such levels as to become a fourth dimension. I was deafened. Maybe that was a mercy.

Food chic has migrated outside, to trucks, in the past few years, so Don Pisto’s (which opened late in 2009) represents a countertrend of sorts. It’s a food truck, or at least the personality of a food truck, implanted into a handsome old building of exposed brick walls. From its trio of bordello-red lights along the sidewalk to its nicely burnished wooden tables and chairs and its youthful crowd, it’s about as visually appealing a place as could be. All it needs is a Mute button. (Food-truck chic, incidentally, strikes me as an odd development in the senescent years of petroleum, but it does suggest the profound American attachment between eating and motor vehicles. Fifty years ago, people were thrilled to drive to McDonald’s; now the restaurant drives to them.)

Considering the size of the kitchen, which is very much on display at the rear of the space and not at all big (especially considering that there is a semi-subterranean private dining room to go with the main one), the food is both electrifyingly good and reasonably priced. Part of the magic lies in menu brevity; on offer are about a half-dozen or so taco plates, a comparable number of house specialties, a smattering of seafood dishes, and a couple of sides. All of it fits on one side of a small card. (The other side holds the equally to-the-point drinks list: a few beers, a few wines, a margarita, a sangría made with açai berry juice.)

The kitchen’s marquee item is the hamburguesa ($9), and it’s possibly the most intense hamburger experience I’ve ever had. It’s not enhanced with cheese or swaddled within a fancy, heavily buttered bun. But the meat is “marinated” with bacon and onions, and bacon largely seems to mean pork fat, while marinated means permeated. The beefiness of the burger does survive the presence of these other formidable players, but they are mingled in a way that transforms them all. The result is something greater than the sum of its parts. It’s possible you could get a burger this intense from a street truck or cart, but it would be from one that was unusually conscientious and not in a hurry. If you were served this burger at a Wolfgang Puck restaurant, you would probably think it was well worth the $30 they would probably charge you.

At least two other items on the menu rival the hamburguesa for memorable verve. One is the platter of mussels ($13) simmered in white wine then stuffed with crumblings of house-made chorizo. The sausage brought out the mussels’ meatiness, while the toast spears were useful in sopping up the broth, mostly white wine and cilantro enlivened by the tasty chorizo.

The other is the Mexican sashimi ($11), flaps of tombo tuna laid out in a chain on a long, narrow platter and scattered with rounds of serrano chile, red-onion slivers, minced scallion, and cilantro, and finished with lime juice and soy sauce. The only minus is that you don’t get any bread to mop up the sauce. (On the other hand, you do get endless baskets of tortilla chips, along with an addictive tomatillo salsa, but the chips are thick and more than usually useless for sopping.)

The tacos are sized the way tacos should be sized: they’re more than bites or nibbles, but they don’t become unwieldy behemoths that spill half their contents like wet paper sacks when you pick them up. Each plate holds two tortillas, made from proper masa (not wheat flour), about three inches in diameter, and laid flat. You get to fold them yourself. Of the available fillings, I would say the carnitas ($8) — with onions, cilantro, and arbol salsa — is exceptional, with ropes of juicy meat just slightly crisped at the edges. We were also offered an unlisted vegetarian option ($6) of rice, pinto beans, cheese, and a smear of guacamole. It was commendable, though as a partier it wasn’t quite up to the standard of the carnitas. But a little diffidence isn’t going to drag down a party like the one at Don Pisto’s.

DON PISTO’S

Dinner: Tues.–Sun., 5:30 p.m.–12:30 a.m.

Brunch: Sat.–Sun., 11 a.m.–3 p.m.

510 Union, SF

(415) 395-0939

www.donpistos.com

Beer and wine

MC/V

Deafeningly loud

Wheelchair accessible; bathrooms on lower level

 

Onward Toilet Bowl

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
0
Onward Toilet Bowl

le.chicken.farmer@gmail.com

CHEAP EATS The top four teams in the San Francisco Women’s Flag Football League can all beat the 49ers. My team cannot, but we can beat the bottom four teams and have proven it. By winning the biggest game of our storied one-season history, we established ourselves as the top of the bottoms: a solid fifth-place finish.

Yep, last week’s last minute comeback in the playoffs earned us a berth in the Toilet Bowl this week against a team that had shut us out in the regular season. We were losing again, 13-12, with less than five minutes left. Again our defense exploded: three touchdowns in the last three minutes. Final score: 31-13, us. Toilet Bowl MVP: Gene-Genie the Gold Standard, one of our many rugby converts, who spent less time on the ground than usual and scored two of our touchdowns, one receiving and one intercepting.

It was a brilliant performance, and a sweet note to end our first season on. Our goal was to win one game, and we won two, then both of our playoff games. Our goal for next season, in the fall, will be not to lead the league in penalties, and for our offense to outscore our defense. If we don’t and it does, we might have a shot at upper brackethood come next playoffs. Which would be nice. I kind of miss getting my ass kicked.

Unfortunately, there’s no way I can run fast enough to play soccer right now, so — by way of distracting myself from despair — my plans for summer include New Orleans yet again, camping, France, Mexico, New York, camping again, Ohio for a wedding, and the Bloomsburg Fair, where I will be researching a whole different, more Pennsylvania Dutchish take on chicken and waffles.

Who wants to sublet my apartment?

It’s cute. It’s cozy. It comes with the lovingest, lickingest cat in the whole history of felinity, and it smells like me. Come on. You know you want it.

Christ, I still can’t get over that we won. Enough already, you’re thinking, but you don’t understand. We were like the Bad News Bears, except none of us were very bear-like, so maybe we were the Bad News Honey Badgers. Or something.

Anyway, after the game and the champagne and a bowl of old cereal that a dog had been licking on the sideline, I went to eat something real with Hedgehog. We intended to have either sushi or Turkish food, but wound up eating Irishish at the Liberties ’cause it was nice enough to be outside. God bless plan C.

Hedgehog had a Reuben, and I had Irish sausage with eggs on a potato pancake with a red wine reduction gravy. Talk about your breakfast of champions: it was way, way better than dog-licked cereal with warm milk. The potato pancake was perfectly crispy outside and soft and creamy in the middle; the eggs were overeasied just so; and the sliced-lengthwise sausages tucked in-between the pancake and eggs were juicy and delicious.

Not as delicious as at the Phoenix’s Irish sausage, but that’s where wine gravy comes in. Yum. Yum.

Yum. And for less than $10 — I think like $9. And no waiting, even though it was brunch time.

Hedgehog’s Reuben looked good too. I tried her sweet potato fries, and they were pretty good, but I don’t much go for sweet potato anythings, so mostly I just left her alone.

They have regular fries, too, and you can get them with a curry dipping sauce, and more good news is that the kitchen stays open until 1 a.m. I’ve never drank there, but I have walked by a lot at night because Kayday used to live around the corner and it always seems like there’s something fun going on inside.

I think they have a quiz night or something.

QUESTION: Where did the not-very-Dutch Roscoe’s style of fried chicken and waffles originate?

ANSWER: Fuck should I know. Hedgehog says Harlem, not the South. Anyway …

The Liberties Bar & Restaurant

Mon.–Fri.: noon–2 a.m.;

Sat.–Sun.: 10 a.m.–2 a.m.

998 Guerrero, SF

(415) 282-6789

Full bar

MC/V

Appetite: Napa’s affordable eats and surprising treats

Andrew Lam
-
10
Appetite: Napa’s affordable eats and surprising treats

After countless weekends in Napa over the years, I’m flush with recommendations for worthy restaurants and hotels. It’s not always the most affordable area, but my recent visits north have revealed a number of delightfully reasonable options within the bounds of Napa and Yountville, both new and established. 

They’ve also uncovered a few unexpected dishes – and in the case of one restaurant with a new chef, a whole range of them.

Napa Valley Marriott: Sleep… and a superior burger 

Breakfast, lunch, or dinner — don’t check your watch, just order the Knife and Fork burger at the Marriott

For those familiar with the hotel before its two years of multi-million dollar renovations, Napa Valley Marriott is a whole new ballgame. It now sports a warm, modern look with a soothing spa, an ultra-cool poolside patio with couches and firepits, and a new restaurant-bar. Though you may not be able to tell from the street outside, it’s really a dramatic revamp.

In the high season summer months, make a weekend of it with rooms in the low $200-300 range (or mid $200 range on weeknights). Rooms have also been completely redecorated with gentle colors and artwork, plasma screens, and comfy beds. The ones facing the courtyard are particularly tranquil. The only thing lacking? Free wi-fi. It’ll run you $4.95 a day.

Chef Brian Whitmer’s garden restaurant is a revelation. I’ve seen Napa restaurants with their own gardens, but nothing as lush as his. Spring peas are crispy and sweet right off the vine, and leafy greens make for abundant salads. Whether you stay in the hotel or not, it’s worth a detour to check out.

Cozy up in a chic booth, or a grab a stool at the curved bar and order the spicy Knife and Fork burger ($12) for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. It doesn’t matter when, just order it. This burger is made of Caggiano chorizo, which is savory and spicy, yet also delicate, melt-in-your-mouth, on a Model Bakery brioche. Layered with aged cheddar, watercress, the restaurant’s secret sauce, and a fried egg, it’s one of the better things I’ve eaten in Napa in awhile — an utterly unique burger. You won’t regret making a stop for this one.

3425 Solano, Napa. (707) 253-7433, www.napavalleymariott.com

 

Ubuntu: Vegetarian perfection

Chef Jeremy Fox brought nationwide fame to this eatery, often named among the best vegetarian restaurants in the country by publications like the New York Times. I’ve always enjoyed my previous visits.

But I’ll tell you now, with young chef Aaron London at the helm, it’s better than ever. The food has moved from winning vegetarian cuisine to work-of-art vegetarian cuisine. It’s gone from high quality to superb. As a non-vegetarian, I would say it has become possibly the best vegetarian restaurant I’ve been to anywhere and one of the best dining experiences in Napa.

What’s interesting about chef London is that he’s been at Ubuntu since the beginning, working as Fox’s sous chef. I hear he influenced a number of dishes in those lauded early days, though we did not hear much about him. Nominated for Rising Star Chef at this year’s James Beard Awards, we should be hearing a lot more about him.

He’s revamped the menu in such a way that each $10-19 dish is far more than the sum of its parts. You read of roasted and raw asparagus ($16) with burratta cheese coated in potato chip crumbs, but you really have no idea what you’re in for. A garden-fresh dish comes out, smeared with earthy potato skin puree, lavished with pine nut and currant soffrito, dotted with frisee, greens, and edible flowers. It’s an art piece that not only stuns visually but tantalizes the tongue with its range of flavors.

The two key words I’d use to describe London’s cooking outside of artistic? Texture and contrast. Every single dish of the six I recently had the pleasure of dining on were a study in layers and texture. Sweet complimented savory. Earthy and bright co-mingled. Crunchy partnered with creamy. Surprises came in every dish. Not a one was lackluster.

I could wax eloquent about the merits of each — some served on stone labs that kept them warm – but the menu changes frequently and this article would grow tedious. So I will simply say: go, and be prepared to be blown away.

1140 Main, Napa. (707) 251-5656, www.ubuntunapa.com

 

Bistro Sabor: Funky, fun Latin

Bistro Sabor‘s menu initially appears Mexican, but it’s really a mix of Latino cuisines in the new downtown Napa. The space is hip with brightly-painted, graffiti-bedecked walls, and the staff couldn’t be more helpful, particularly considering its order-at-the-counter casualness. 

On a Saturday night, tables were cleared for 10 p.m. salsa dancing, a hit with the local Latino community. Beer and wine keep it festive (wish they had a hard liquor license to serve tequila). The food? Fresh, satisfying, and all under $15. A two taco special of grilled sea bass ($11) is impeccably flaky, topped with scallion-cilantro slaw and a pineapple habanero salsa. Even accompanying rice and black beans are a notch above the rest. A rock crab quesadilla ($10) is less creative but still warm and cheesy, while pupusas, pozole, blood orange avocado salad, and lomo saltado exhibit a range from El Salvador to Peru. It’s playful Latin street food with quality ingredients. A win for Napa and cheap eats.

1126 First St., Napa. (707) 252-0555, www.bistrosabor.com


Dim Sum Charlie’s: Dim sum with a side of magic

I’ll tell you right now: you can get better, cheaper dim sum at dozens of places in SF. In fact, for the nearly $7 Dim Sum Charlie’s charges for a mere four dumplings, I can get at least twelve, and buns, at my favorite city spots. Why go? First off, there’s not much dim sum in Napa and Charlie’s is decent, though far from memorable. Warning: some have commented on menu listings that could be perceived as racist (“ten dolla make you holla”?).

But the setting is still a reason to go. Dim sum and noodles are served out of a classic Airstream trailer. Sure I’ve seen it before, but lover of all things retro that I am, I still find it charming. And what’s different about this trailer setting is its canopy of lights and dirt lot strewn with picnic tables and a campfire. Rollicking tunes make it feel like a backyard party — a bit like camping in retro-kitsch style. With dim sum.

It doesn’t really matter what you order. Bring friends. Pull up to a picnic table or fireside with hot sauce and chopsticks, and sing along to the Beastie Boys as you slurp noodles and fill up on pork buns.

728 First St., Napa. (707) 815-2355, www.dimsumcharlies.com (look for the Airstream trailer)

 

Yountville Coffee Caboose: Coffee lovers

You’ll not go wrong with coffee and pastries at the original Bouchon Bakery across the street. But when that line is unbearable (or even if it isn’t), I’m delighted to hit up a locals coffee go-to: Yountville Coffee Caboose. Yes, it’s actually in a train caboose off Washington Street. It often features Bay Area coffees like Ritual, brewed strong, robust and with proper crema.

6523 Washington, Yountville

 

Grace’s Table: Local’s breakfast 

Grace’s Table has its minor missteps: its raved about skillet cornbread with lavender butter ($6) was dry and rather flavorless. And $10-18 entrees for breakfast pushes a little high for a casual neighborhood restaurant. But as an open air, corner space with sweet waitstaff and soothing decor, it’s a welcome brunch stop.

Quiche of the day ($12 with salad or soup – can also be had a la carte) was the stand-out, fluffy and light. The crust almost reminded me of Tartine in its buttery flakiness. Mini bagels with house-cured salmon and cream cheese ($10) are playful approach to morning food, though the bagels are not exceptional (but isn’t that ever the case outside of New York?) Grace’s is a pleasant place to start your day with coffee and a newspaper. 

1400 Second St., Napa. (707) 226-6200, www.gracestable.net

 

C Casa Taqueria: Breakfast to go 

C Casa, a worthy newer addition to Oxbow Public Market, works for a cheap breakfast. With grass-fed beef, free range chicken, sustainable fish, and local produce, it’s a forward-thinking taqueria, yet it maintains authenticity of flavor. A breakfast taco brimming with over-medium egg and chorizo ($4.50), is meaty and satisfying first thing in the morning. Also stuffed in there? Black beans, avocado, pico de gallo, garlic aioli, and cilantro.

Located within Oxbow Public Market, 610 First St., Napa. (707) 226-7700, www.myccasa.com

 

Ad Hoc: Ok, one splurge

Ad Hoc’s Liberty Farm duck breast: more than a mouthful

At $52 per person without anything to drink (its another $39 for wine pairings), Ad Hoc is quite expensive, even if it is the one and only Thomas Keller’s “casual” venture. Watch where you sit: I’d be annoyed eating inside where too many kids (at this price?) and a noisy din make make for a less than appealing ambiance. The few tables outside on the tiny patio, however, are idyllic. 

As is the food in the four-course dinner. One appetizer, a main, a cheese course, and dessert, all served family-style and impeccably prepared with ingredients from their cheery garden behind the restaurant. No substitutes — you eat whatever is on the daily menu. 

And that’s alright when you get a salad as a beautiful as a recent mix of lettuces, pickled haricots verts (green beans), toasted pine nuts, red radishes, and shaved asparagus. Dotted with green garlic buttermilk dressing and king trumpet mushrooms, it was far more gratifying than those ingredients may sound on paper. Ditto the added course of ivory salmon ($15 supplement) baked in phyllo pastry, drizzled with porcini cream, and accented with fresh, white corn. Liberty Farm duck breast was actually a little too much for two people, but deftly prepared and served with a bowl of chickpea stew gentle with curry. We finished with strawberry shortcake on biscuits, slathered in lemon curd.

At roughly $34 per person, the Sunday brunch is the way to do Ad Hoc from a slightly more affordable, angle.

6476 Washington, Yountville. (707) 944-2487, www.adhocrestaurant.com

 

— Subscribe to Virgina’s twice monthly newsletter, The Perfect Spot

 

Superlist 2011: Bottomless mimosas

Andrew Lam
-
0
Superlist 2011: Bottomless mimosas

culture@sfbg.com

DRINKS In the murky depths of our foggy past (the ’80s!), the Guardian regularly featured Superlists — as-close-as-it-gets-to-comprehensive guides to a small facet of our beloved city. We were feeling a little dry and reporter-y on a recent Sunday, so we’re bringing the tradition back with bottomless mimosas.

Mimosa. Just the saying the word can bring to light that hard rock inside us whose glitter only catches the light on those sunny, breezy, weekend brunch occasions. Refreshing, sparkling, citrus bastions of happiness, those mimosas — the gift(s) one gives to oneself as a reward for having nothing to do. But where there is one mimosa, we are of the opinion that there should be many mimosas. Here’s our citywide list of the wheres and whens of finding a bottomless mimosa special near you, prices and hours of availability thoughtfully provided. Drink up, and drink often. (Hannah Tepper)

 

Luna Park Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m.–3 p.m., $13. 694 Valencia, SF. (415) 553-8584, www.lunaparksf.com

Lime Sat. 11a.m.–3 p.m.; Sun. 10:30 a.m.-3p.m., $8 with purchase of meal. 2247 Market, SF. (415) 621-5256, www.lime-sf.com

Circa Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m.-3 p.m., $8 with purchase of meal. 2001 Chestnut, SF. (415) 351-0175, www.circasf.com

Bisou Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m.-3 p.m., $8 with purchase of meal. 2367 Market, SF. (415) 556-6200, www.bisoubistro.com

Paul K Sat.-Sun. 10:30 a.m.–2:30 p.m., $13. 199 Gough, SF. (415) 552-7132, www.paulkrestaurant.com

Nickies Sat. 10 a.m.–2 p.m., $8 with purchase of entrée. 466 Haight, SF. (415) 255-0300,

www.nickies.com

Moussy’s Sat.-Sun. 11 a.m.–2 p.m., $15. 1345 Bush, SF. (415) 346-7029, www.moussys.com

Mercury Lounge Sun. 10 a.m.–3 p.m., $11. 1582 Folsom, SF. (415) 551-1582, www.mercurysf.com

Axis Café and Gallery Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m. — 3 p.m., $12 with purchase of entree. 1201 Eighth St., SF. (415) 437-2947, www.axis-cafe.com

Dell’Uva Sat.-Sun. 11 a.m. — 3 p.m., $15. 565 Green, SF. (415) 393-9930

www.delluvasf.com

El Patio Espanol Sun. 11:30 a.m. — 3 p.m., $24 includes set brunch. 2850 Alemany, SF. (415) 587-5117, www.patioespanol.com

Tangerine Wed.-Sun. 10 a.m. — 3 p.m., $33 per pitcher. 3499 16th St., SF. (415) 626-1700 www.tangerinesf.com

The Sycamore Sat.-Sun. 11 a.m. — 3 p.m., $10. 2140 Mission, SF. (415) 252-7704, www.thesycamoresf.com

Mayes Oyster House Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m. — 3 p.m., $9. 1233 Polk, SF. (415) 885-1233, www.mayessf.com

Café Taboo Sat.-Sun. 9 a.m. — 3 p.m., $10. 600 York, SF. (415) 341-1188,

www.cafetaboo.net

Park Chalet Sun. 10 a.m. — 3 p.m., $25 includes brunch buffet. 1000 Great Highway, SF. (415) 386-8439, www.parkchalet.com

Stable Café Sun. 10 a.m. — 2 p.m., $15. 2128 Folsom, SF. (415) 552-1199, www.stablecafe.com

Oola Sun. 10:30 a.m. — 3 p.m., $10. 860 Folsom, SF. (415) 995-2061, www.oola-sf.com

Don Pisto’s Sat.-Sun. 11 a.m. — 3 p.m., $12. 510 Union, SF. (415) 395-0939, www.donpistos.com

Sugar Sat.-Sun. 8 a.m. — 4 p.m., $10. 679 Sutter, SF. (415) 441-5678, www.sugarcafesf.com

Fresca Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m. — 3 p.m., $12. 3945 24th St., SF. (415) 695-0549, www.frescasf.com

The Republic Sat.-Sun. 11 a.m. — 3 p.m., $14. 3213 Scott, SF. (415) 817-1337, www.republicsf.com

Farmerbrown Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m. — 2:30 p.m., $15. 25 Mason, SF. (415) 409-3276

www.farmerbrownsf.com

Darla’s Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m. — 3 p.m., $8. 822 Irving, SF. (415) 753-3275

Triptych Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m. — 3:30 p.m., $30 includes entree. 1555 Folsom, SF. (415) 703-0557, www.triptychsf.com

Nova Bar and Restaurant Sat.-Sun. 10 a.m. — 3 p.m., $9.50. 555 Second St., SF. (415) 543-2282, www.novabar.com

Ironside Sat.-Sun., 10 a.m. — 2 p.m., $10. 680 Second St., SF. (415) 896-1127, www.ironsidesf.com

Dunya Sat.-Sun. 11:30 a.m. — 3 p.m., $12. 1609 Polk, SF. (415) 400-5770,

www.dunyasf.com

Eastside West Sat. 11 a.m.–3 p.m., Sun. 10 a.m. — 3 p.m., $25 includes entree. 3154 Fillmore, SF. (415) 885-4000, www.eswsf.com

Colibri Mexican Bistro Sat.-Sun. 10:30 a.m. — 2:30 p.m., $10. 438 Geary, SF. (415) 440-2737, www.colibrimexicanbistro.com Spire Sun. 11 a.m. — 2 p.m., $10. 685 Third St., SF. (415) 947-0000

www.spiresf.com

Andalu Sat.-Sun. 10:30 a.m. — 2:30 p.m., $15. 3198 16th St., SF. (415) 621-2211, www.andalusf.com

1300 Fillmore Sat.-Sun. 11 a.m. — 1 p.m., $12. 1300 Fillmore, SF. (415) 771-7100 www.1300fillmore.com 

FEAST: 7 brunch cocktails

Andrew Lam
-
0
FEAST: 7 brunch cocktails

culture@sfbg.com

It’s noon on a Saturday — for you, we envision two possible scenarios. One: you’re covered in glitter, you smell like a wet poodle, and you’re on your way to brunch. Two: you’re well-rested after last night’s sobering yoga, feeling fly, and on your way to brunch. Hey booze breath, forget the three Advil, coffee, and a Xanax — you know there’s no better way to kick a hangover (or forge the path toward one) than to cocktail your way through the early afternoon. And Miss Fresh-As-A-Daisy? Have a drink already. Always helpful, never hurtful, here is our list of the tastiest brunch libations of the moment.

 

GINGER LEMON DROP AT CAFÉ FLORE

There is a stretch of Market Street that catches us unawares: one minute you’re surrounded by city, the next you’re in front of a magical garden filled with people downing bloody marys and eating eggs benedict. Ah, Café Flore, your lush patio makes us feel guilty for not drinking at breakfast. But we resolve not to live our life in shame. The ginger lemon drop, a Café Flore original, is the perfect way to kick off a day of leisure. Ginger liqueur and fresh lemon juice will have you feeling like you’re drinking pure, unadulterated sunshine, while the Ketel One vodka buzz reminds you that you’re actually just drunk.

2298 Market, SF. (415) 621-8579, www.cafeflore.com

 

MOJITO AT THE RAMP

You’re already on a mission to brunch, why not indulge in a meal amid the ocean breezes? Salty winds plus brunch treats and cocktails equals living large at The Ramp, which sits all the way at the end of Dogpatch’s Mariposa Street, perched on the pier of a boatyard. Grab a table inside the funky dining room or outside on the water and make sure to order one of the fresh mint mojitos. Two sips in, and you’ll be feeling like a brunch pirate. Day drunk ahoy!

855 Terry Francois, SF. (415) 621-2378, www.ramprestaurant.com

 

SPICED ALEXANDER AT AXIS CAFÉ AND GALLERY

The standard Alexander cocktail is made with gin, chocolate liqueur, and cream, a mature take on chocolate milk. The spiced Alexander at Axis Café, a lowkey but upscale café and art gallery at the base of Potrero Hill, is served hot and spiked with soju — great by itself or with one of the cafe’s whole wheat pancake and poached cranberry plates. A lesser-known brunch beverage, yes, but it pairs way better with waffles than a tequila shot. Like an old-fashioned hot cocoa, Axis’ is sweet, creamy, and warm — perfect for the seats by the joint’s roaring fireplace.

1201 Eighth St., SF. (415) 437-2947, www.axis-cafe.com

 

FOG CUTTER AT BAR AGRICOLE

This sleek SoMa restaurant is known in some circles as the Chez Panisse of cocktails, so it’s no wonder that its brunch offerings include libations worth writing home about, once you’ve sobered up. One standout is the fog cutter, a complex citrus drink made with pisco, rum, gin, sherry, citrus juice, and orgeat (almond syrup) served on the rocks and with a taste that’s similar to a mai tai. Planning on catching up with your correspondence later that day? We suggest you stick to one, for clarity’s sake.

355 11th St., SF. (415) 355-9400, www.baragricole.com

 

BLOODY MARY AT HOME

While it’s true that you can build your own bloody mary in the comfort of your own home, doing it at Market and Church Street’s comfiest brunch spot is much more exciting. Home puts the world at your fingertips: pickled veggies, olives, and over 15 kinds of hot sauce. This, friends, is the art of taking bloody mary by the horns.

2100 Market, SF. (415) 503-0333, www.home-sf.com

 

MICHELADA AT COCK-A-DOODLE CAFÉ

This downtown Oakland breakfast spot has the brunch drink for when you’re looking to kick off your free day with some heat. As all those who have ventured south of the border will recall, the michelada is a bloody mary gone Mexican, the dreaded red beers (lager and tomato juice) of your college days gone festive. Crisp Corona, lime, and Cock-A-Doodle’s house bloody mary mix await you, served in a huge salt-and-chile-rimmed glass that’s ready to baila contigo.

719 Washington, Oakl. (510) 465-5400 www.cockadoodlecafe.com

 

IRISH COFFEE AT THE BUENA VISTA

The Buena Vista’s Irish coffee story is frequently repeated by a certain faction of Bay Area folks. It is said, usually after the storyteller has downed a few, that this Fisherman’s Wharf bar was the first to perfect the drink on this side of the Atlantic. The Buena Vista’s Irish coffee is a proprietary mix of Irish whiskey, hot joe, and frothy cream — and although a friend of ours once wisely told us never to mix our uppers with our downers, to her we say: welcome to brunch drinks.

2765 Hyde, SF. (415) 474-5044 www.thebuenavista.com

 

FEAST: 6 best breakfast bets

Andrew Lam
-
0
FEAST: 6 best breakfast bets

SF: a brunch town if ever there was one. The life of the alternative journalist is such that we’re rarely awake at sunrise, wondering from where the hell our next hangtown fry will materialize. But there are times when it behooves one to dine at 8 a.m. on a weekday (occasions that usually correspond to the appearance of a mother or father). Set that alarm, sweetie: here’s where you’ll find Guardian staff dragging to before a big day.

 

JUST FOR YOU

A menu peppered with delightful little zingers like “What’s grits? It’s that pasty white stuff … like you had in prison,” makes this my favorite sassy breakfast joint in Dogpatch. Just For You offers classic breakfast fare with a Southern twist — biscuits, cornbread, grilled catfish filets, or creole crab cakes to go along with your eggs and home fries. Breakfast is served all day, and if you’re an early bird, you can even score a deal-worthy plate of two pancakes with coffee for just $4.75 — but only if you get there between 7:30 and 8:30 a.m. weekdays. A strict schedule — just like you had in prison. (Rebecca Bowe)

732 22nd St., SF. (415) 647-3033, www.justforyoucafe.com

 

JOANN’S CAFE

Two good reasons to get up early in the morning. One: you are going on an exciting air voyage. Two: a nice meal is waiting for you. Or both — that’s generally the happy confluence that brings me to JoAnn’s, a cheery diner-like entity en route to the airport, where a display case full of homemade muffins greets early risers and a menu full of American classics and salsa-tinged breakfast items await to congratulate the new dawn. The tiny joint opens at 7:30 a.m. every day, and even if you are flying solo (my favorite), JoAnn’s counter seating provides the perfect perch to munch orange french toast and ponder whether you prefer the x-ray scan or the pat-down. (Caitlin Donohue)

1131 El Camino, South San Francisco. (650) 872-2810

 

JIM’S RESTAURANT

Jim’s is the ultimate greasy spoon, unpretentious, no-fuss diner food perfect for when you just want a simple breakfast and to avoid the scene. You won’t find brioche french toast or bottomless sherbet-colored sparkling drinks on the menu; instead, you’ll find classic breakfast options: eggs, pancakes, waffles — and beer, if that hangover’s knocking. Five bucks gets you eggs, hash browns, bacon, fruit, and toast; for $3 more, you can upgrade to hangtown fry. Speaking of relics, this joint is like the diner that time forgot. Wood-paneled walls and AM Gold on the stereo could keep you lingering till the afternoon. (Jackie Andrews)

2420 Mission, SF. (415) 285-6020

 

NEW POTRERO MARKET

I like to live outside the laws — of good nutrition, that is — and skip breakfast. But on those days when I’m extra-hungry or extra-rich, I’ll pick up a piece of fruit at New Potrero Market, right by the Guardian office. (Just go with whichever looks the most appealing — usually the bananas are pretty good, although they don’t always have them in stock. Apples are a good alternative. I don’t like oranges. Too much work, especially in the morning.) I don’t drink coffee, but I make up for it in Diet Cokes, which are also available at New Potrero Market. True convenience. (Cheryl Eddy)

301 18th St., SF. (415) 282-2225

 

BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S

When I want sheer comfort with a side of 1970s and Audrey Hepburn, I head to Breakfast at Tiffany’s. There, servers call you “hon” as the Beach Boys play on cassette tapes and you sip coffee, gazing at a faded Breakfast at Tiffany’s poster. But this dive provides a lot more to sink one’s teeth into than kitsch. I love Tiffany’s pancakes loaded with fresh blueberries, and they taste even better as you sit at the counter, watching them transform from batter to fluffy cakes on the griddle. For savory contrast (and if you have room), order giant hash brown “sandwiches” stuffed with ham, cheese, onions, and all-around goodness. (Virginia Miller)

2499 San Bruno, SF (415) 468-0977

 

CAFE LEILA

Don’t be thrown off by Cafe Leila’s flowery San Pablo facade or frilly name. Once you’re inside, it’s serious breakfast time whether you’re a morning person or a hungover owl. With a big dining room and sunny, cute patio, you’ll be sure to find a good amount of personal space to scarf down one of their many innovative breakfasts. Aside from a few everyday bagel options, Cafe Leila comes up with crazy omelet ideas that make me feel special, like the date omelet, a pile of farm eggs with dates and feta. And with three kinds of hot sauce, my condiment voice is always saying “Leilaaaaa.” (Hannah Tepper) 

1724 San Pablo, Berk. (510) 525.7544, www.cafeleila.com

 

Return of the skronk

Andrew Lam
-
0
Return of the skronk

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC There’s a point at the start of Bill Orcutt’s recently reissued, acclaimed 2009 album, A New Way to Pay Old Debts (Editions Mego), during the violent, staccato blues of “Lip Rich,” when a telephone rings. Slight pause. And then the San Francisco musician picks up where he left off, with shattered, crashing runs of proudly broken-ass guitar notes, the occasional shout and cry. Pummeling his old Kay acoustic until it reverberates like a piano, Orcutt sounds as if he’s busy ripping apart blues guitar lines at the end of a long metal-clad tunnel — and exorcising a few demons while he’s at it. There, at Orcutt’s end, semis, motorcycles, and homegirls rumble past and Mississippi blues players still wander, stumbling into pale-faced strangers deconstructing Delta drone with their bare hands, nails, and bones.

The reality is that the police sirens, roaring buses, and streetside groans on New Way — all of which lend the music the beautifully devolved faux-authenticity of an old field recording — are the same sounds you can hear any day at 24th and York streets in the Mission. Orcutt and family moved to that spot when they relocated to San Francisco after the 1997 breakup of his old band Harry Pussy, the noise-experimental band he founded in Miami along with fearsome vocalist-drummer Adris Hoyos. New Way — a document of a new solo approach in an old room perched above an even older Mission thoroughfare—was recorded during the spring of ’09 in a window-lined spot within their corner apartment.

“It was just insanely loud,” Orcutt recalls now from his current home in Sunnyside. It’s late, but it’s one of the few times Orcutt, who holds down a job as a software engineer, can talk. “There were constantly trucks and people going by outside, so there was no way to record and keep the background out. I realized I should just go with whatever happened — and the phone rang in the middle of the take.”

As chance would have it, one of Orcutt’s favorite guitarists, English experimentalist Derek Bailey, also had a recording released, posthumously, that was punctuated by a disruptive phone call (“Wrong Number” on More 74 [Incus]).

At least it wasn’t simply a noisy trendoid bellowing in the brunch queue outside St. Francis Fountain.

“When we moved there, St. Francis was closed — it was weird when it first reopened,” says a dryly amused Orcutt. “Suddenly there were people waiting for tofu scramble, and we were like, ‘Why?'”

“Why?” also comes to mind as one listens to New Way: why hasn’t Orcutt played and recorded since the dissolution of Harry Pussy? Perhaps it was the move or work demands — more important, Orcutt got reinterested in playing music when he began to assemble a retrospective of Harry Pussy’s music for Load Records, You’ll Never Play This Town Again: Live, Etc 1997 (2008), and began to listen the furious skronk his band generated and the remarkably damaged, thick, and grotty guitar sound he developed.

“I hadn’t heard that music in 10 years. It was pretty extreme, and I forgot what it sounded like,” he says. “I was like, ‘Whoa, that is weird.’ I was listening to a lot of it because I had to, and it naturally made me want to pick up a guitar and start playing again.”

It was a slight case of being inspired by yourself — though the modest Orcutt immediately disavows this (“That sounds weird — don’t say that!”) — and remembering your roots, be they buried in the same hot soil as Mississippi Fred McDowell, or the same swampy morass as kindred noisy Floridian Rat Bastard. “Honestly, there were like two or three people that were doing strange stuff in Miami at that time,” Orcutt remembers. “It wasn’t much of a scene. It was just isolated weirdos going off on their own tangents — that pretty much described us.”

Orcutt’s incredible, atonal guitar playing is the uncommon element connecting Hoyos’ formidable shrieks and 24th Street grind. These days Orcutt prefers to play acoustic rather than electric, though it’s rigged as a four-string, with the A and D strings removed, much the same way his electric once was. The modification predates Harry Pussy: “It just stuck,” he notes. “At this point, there’s no rational reason for doing it. It’s just what I sound like in my own head.”

The acoustic was also an intuitive choice, and as Orcutt started listening to guitarists such as McDowell, Bailey, and Carlos Montoya, “just to see what had been done before and to get the lay of the land and an understanding of what the perimeters were,” its sound and mobility started to appeal. “It’s a nice way to be self-contained and self-reliant. As long as you can get it on the plane, you’re good. And in a really small venue, you can even get away without having a PA,” he explains. “If I have to, I could wind up at the BART Station and I’m good to go.”

And it exposed Orcutt as a musician, apart from the protective mob of a band. “Honestly, once I got into it, I really wanted to play solo,” he observes. “When I started playing in front of people, it was scary, but I have this weird compulsion to play solo.” That urge is still a puzzle — in Harry Pussy, he adds, “Adris [Hoyos] definitely led the way and it was easy to hang back. I don’t know …” Slight pause. “There’s some kind of process I’m working through by playing solo, and I’m definitely still working on whatever it is.”

The Urban Eating League’s food activists with flair

Andrew Lam
-
0

Last Sunday I wore a slip, faked pregnancy, drenched myself in beer, and ate five brunches in four hours. Sure, behavior that doesn’t raise an eyebrow on those of us who have seen the dark side of a bottomless mimosa, but this time my bedlam brunch behavior was part of a carefully devised social eating event focused on community building and celebrating local food. Improbable, no? May I present to you: The Urban Eating League.

The league was born one night when Morgan Fitzgibbons and Rose Johnson, two of the neighborhood’s most inventive and resourceful characters, were sitting around a Panhandle table, tossing ideas back and forth. Johnson runs a one-woman bicycle delivery service named Apothocurious, through which she peddles hummus, salad, salsa, pesto, and the like around the city to hungry, green-minded customers. Fitzgibbons helped to found The Wigg Party, a neighborhood group dedicated to advocating for sustainability through local currency, strengthening strong businesses, and partying among neighbors. The two shared their mutual desire to eat more locally-sourced meals communally. Fitzgibbons knew they were on to something.

“At first our idea was just to have a progressive dinner where we could involve big groups of people, but then I started thinking that I wanted to have some element of fun competition to it,” he says, remarking that after the two hit on the idea for a league, he embarked upon outlining the basic structure and rules that would soon become the signature tenets of The Urban Eating League.

A UEL eater prove style and substance can go hand in hand. Photo by Hannah Tepper

Speaking of basic structure, here’s what they came up with: teams of three go from host house to host house, eating food that each group of cooks prepares for the event. The cooks are given a set amount from eaters’ $15 to $20 entry fees, and must make sure that their ingredients are 90 percent local.

The hosts at each house are competing against each other in three categories: “flavor slam,” creativity, and hospitality, titles determined by votes cast by each team of eaters. At day’s end, all participants regroup – often for a dessert potluck, or games in the park – and the winning hosts get prizes and informal awards.

The competition is further animated by the fact that every team of eaters and hosts must have a team name and theme, e.g. Team Snow Pants or No Pants (a popular moniker from a recent UEL). A general sense of wackiness works to make the event read more like a big, food-related costume party than stone-cold competition.

The first event took place in February, a dinner competition that involved three host sites and 18 eaters. Since then Johnson, Fitzgibbons, and a crew of dedicated friends have expanded the event and come up with new ideas to refine it. Last Sunday’s brunch event was the league’s third. It was composed of five hosts cooking for 30 eaters who were split into ten teams.

I showed up with my team, Shotgun Wedding, dressed in a slapshod manner as two brides and a priest, hauling a 30-rack of beer with which we planned to honor the spirit of the shotgun. We congregated with the other eating teams at a Fulton street Victorian affectionately dubbed the Sunshine Castle by Fitzgibbons and the others that call the place home. After some brief warm-ups and ice-breakers, our team took off, armed with a map showing us our meal plans.

At our first house we dined on edible flower-filled spring rolls in a sidewalk picnic. Next up, a home where hosts would speak only in French and Spanish and fed us delicious French toast in a meditative ceremony. Then, the hippie-neon-inspired meal: biscuits and “wavy gravy” made from vegetables grown in their garden. Our hippie hosts presented us with (unplugged) electric Kool-Aid and the 1970 UC Berkeley yearbook to peruse.

The fourth stop was a breezy, well-furnished Scott street apartment where we dined on mini-quiche and Meyer lemon-infused water, refreshments that gave us strength for our final brunch: another French toast plate, this time with a tomato salad and sweet potatoes. Our hosts, dressed from head to toe in orange, told us a Russian Easter parable (in Russian) as we ate.

It was exhausting – but well worth the shotgunning. I found that the Urban Eating League to be a creative way to bring sustainable eating and socializing under one auspice. And despite the silliness, these folks are passionate about sharing local foods. 

“I’ve participated in the event as an eater and chef,” said Rachel Caine, an ex-organic farmer and one of the hippies. “I love doing both actually. Being an eater is full of surprises – it’s really great to see people’s homes and meet new neighbors. But it’s been eye-opening to be able to feed 30 people with such a low budget.”

While the league has been limited to the Panhandle thus far, Johnson and Fitzgibbons say they are working towards expanding the event to other neighborhoods, and a wider group of participants. They are currently working with potential facilitators to stage Urban Eating League events in the Mission and Sunset.

The next Urban Eating League will take place on May 14. Sign ups take place on May 8 at the Divisadero farmer’s market, starting at 10 a.m. Visit www.wiggparty.org for more information

25 Lusk

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
0
25 Lusk

paulr@sfbg.com

DINE If you don’t know where Lusk Street is or have never even heard of it, please take a number and step to the back of the line. The name isn’t a joke, although it does sound as if the words “lust” and “luxe” collided on some drunken voluptuary’s lips. The street itself (right off Townsend between Third and Fourth streets) isn’t even a street, exactly; more like an alley. In an odd way it reminded me of Downing Street, in Whitehall, central London (home of the PM): a stub of pavement with no through traffic, lots of shiny black cars, and a strong sense of occasion. The occasion here would be the new restaurant 25 Lusk, whose big white neon signage glows brightly into the night. Nothing like it at Number 10.

Not since the advent of Bix, more than 20 years ago, has a restaurant brought such panache to an urban alley. And the resemblances run deeper: both restaurants have a strong vertical dimension inside: Bix its aerie-like mezzanine and soaring ceiling, 25 Lusk its main dining floor floating over a lounge that feels like a cross between Studio 54 and a ski lodge. (The building was once a meat-packing plant.) And both seem to attract high rollers. Indeed, my mole assured me that 25 Lusk was full of VC (venture capitalists) having expensive bottles of wine decanted while they sat around discussing what to do with the pots of money he’s sure they’ve been sitting on for the past three years.

I didn’t notice any obvious VC. The crowd reminded me of Boulevard’s, maybe slightly younger and hipper — except for the downstairs lounge, which was raucous with a definite whiff of pick-up scene with people laughing too loud and the odd shriek). All this is as it should be, because the restaurant is in the middle of a rising neighborhood, run by an in-their-prime duo (Chad Bourdon and Matthew Dolan) who are taking their first crack at running their own place on a theory of “approachable fine dining” — nice phrase, with an implicit condemnation of the other, stuffy kind.

Dolan’s food conforms to the familiar tropes of “seasonally driven” and “new American,” but mostly it struck me as intensely plated, meaning, a good deal of thought and energy got spent on presenting things. One advantage of this, apart from the aesthetic pleasure, is transparency: you can see everything. The disadvantage is that dishes are apt to be deconstructed to a greater or lesser degree, which can leave the bringing-together of flavors and effects in the diner’s hands.

The Sonoma foie gras torchon ($16), for instance, looked like a contemporary art display, with its block of paté, heap of spiced peanuts, stack of toast squares, scattering of roasted grapes, and dramatic smear of blueberry banyuls sauce across a quarter of the rectangular white plate. But … how to eat it gracefully? The toasts were of little use; they were like people who couldn’t bend their knees. The asparagus terrine ($14) too, was underconstructed, with a stack of beet-cured gravlax slices sitting at the side of the plate like gawkers.

Potato gnocchi ($14), nicely browned cylinders about the size of thumbnails, were a little easier to handle. They came in a shallow dish and were bolstered by braised, boneless short rib, which (with manchego cheese shavings) provided a nice glueyness. You do need binders for this kind of style. The grilled prawns ($26) — four sizable prawns neatly lined up like soldiers being reviewed — benefited from a berm of carrot puree as well as a thick bed of fabulously fragrant Japanese pepper grits, like lemony polenta.

The roasted quail ($26) was substantial and bolstered by a sauté of arugula and haricots verts that looked like a neglected garden being overrun by trailing vines. And Oregon steelhead ($26) featured a lovely slaw of shredded fennel root marinated in citrus along with lobster beignets, mysterious little fritters with no detectable taste of lobster. I add them to my growing dossier of proofs that lobster is overrated.

One item on the dessert menu neatly reprised, for me, my sense of 25 Lusk: the medjool date cake ($10) served with a pat of apricot ice cream and small thatch of candied ginger. The cake itself was splendid and datey, the ice cream intensely apricoty and not very sweet, and the candied ginger sublime. But they each stood apart on the plate, like young teenagers at a party, segregated by sex. “Go forth and mingle!” I longed to cry, before giving a lusty shove with my fork.

25 LUSK

Dinner: Sun.–Thurs., 5:30–10 p.m.;

Fri.–Sat., 5:30–11 p.m.

Brunch: Sun., 11 a.m.–2 p.m.

25 Lusk, SF

(415) 495-5875

www.25lusk.com

Full bar

AE/DS/MC/V

Loud

Wheelchair accessible (elevator)

 

Charanga

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
5
Charanga

paulr@sfbg.com

DINE Charanga, which will celebrate its 13th birthday this summer (and restaurant years are Hobbesian, i.e. nasty, brutish, and short), is not only a survivor but a pioneer in what is pretty routinely called today “pan-Latin” or “nuevo Latino” cooking. When chef/owner Gabriela Salas opened the restaurant in 1998, Fresca was a single small joint in West Portal selling Peruvian roast chicken and burritos and Limon didn’t exist. These days Fresca and Limon are a pair of colossi bestriding the city. But Charanga abides, having managed to remain fresh without changing itself much.

The restaurant offers a faceful of iron gate to the street. Behind is a shallow patio set with a couple of tables for those with a taste for al fresco or who fear the noise of the dining room. For, yes, Charanga is pretty noisy, as befits a place named after a kind of Cuban dance-music ensemble. On one chilly evening, we were chatted up by a man strumming a short-necked, 12-string Cuban guitar at the next table. He was not named Leo Kottke, and, noise-wise, he wasn’t the half of it. There was loud thump-thump music blaring from the sound system, and the crowd (which dramatically swelled by mid-evening) was young and boisterous. The ceilings of the deep, narrow space are high, but not enough to overcome the echo-chamber effect created by the tile floors.

But enough carping. The interior is nice-looking in a relaxed way, and the food is wonderful . This is not surprising, given the chef’s pedigree, and, with roots in the Caribbean islands, the cooking is different enough from the that of the Peruvian-inflected colossi to make it a worthy variation on what has become a semi-familiar theme. Salas put in stints at Cha Cha Cha and Firefly, and from there seems to have carried away a sense of the value of having the chef/proprietor on the premises much if not all the time, undistracted by issues at other imperial possessions or having to tape a cooking show or peddle branded convenience foods to supermarkets. Nothing can adequately replace this presence; as with butter, there are work-arounds but no real substitutes.

Some of the dishes have been on the menu a long time. One is the picadillo Cubano ($14.50), a huge plateful of ground beef seasoned with olives and raisins (giving a salty sweetness that make one think of Sicily or the Middle East), along with black beans and ripe bananas. As peasant food goes, this could hardly be more satisfying, though it was a nick sweeter than I would have preferred. A small historical note: this dish cost less than $7 in 1998.

The menu includes other powerfully peasanty choices, but none is more earthy than the chifrijo ($9), a stew of rice and beans mixed with crackling pork, which, with its juicy crispness, reminded me a little of duck confit with properly crisped skin. The stew was topped with pico de gallo, whose acidity helped balance the pork fat, and the whole thing was presented in a nifty little Dutch oven of brushed aluminum.

The other major influence on the food is vaguely Asiatic. The camarones Puerto Viejo ($13), a half-dozen plump shrimp, were sautéed in a thick, glossy sauce of chilis and ginger. The sauce was quite chili-hot and might have been thickened with cornstarch (as in Chinese cooking), but most of all there was the preponderance of ginger. A sprinkling of flash-fried ginger threads, almost like bits of broken-up tempura batter, were scattered over the top for emphasis.

And the pachanga ($19.50), a seafood stew that is one of the restaurant’s signature dishes, could nearly have passed as something from Thailand or south India, with its broth of lemongrass-infused coconut milk, not to mention an SRO crowd of shrimp, mussels, calamari, and chunks of whitefish. Representing the western hemisphere were those tropical staples yucca and plantain, along with chayote squash.

Two other longtime fixtures can be found on the dessert menu. One is Mexican chocolate ice cream torte ($8), which is largely as described: a cake of Mexican (i.e. cinnamon-breath) chocolate, with a layer of vanilla ice cream stowed below decks and drippings of dulce de leche on top. The other is the more elaborate Charanga foster ($8), a quartet of caramelized maduro slices laid pinwheel-fashion on a bed of buko (young coconut) ice cream and topped with a shower of toasted coconut shreds glued in place by dulce de leche. Postscript: the ice creams come from Mitchell’s, a nice period touch.

CHARANGA

Dinner: Tues.–Wed., 4–10 p.m.;

Thurs.–Sat, 4–11 p.m.; Sun., 4–9 p.m.

Brunch: Sat.–Sun., 10 a.m.–3 p.m.

2351 Mission, SF

(415) 282-1813

www.charangasf.com

Beer and wine

AE/DS/MC/V

Noisy

 

Erin go barhopping

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
0
Erin go barhopping

caitlin@sfbg.com

IRISH Public service announcement: you do not need to get drunk on St. Patrick’s Day. This year there are a gamut of cultural activities that will teach you more about paddie heritage than finding the bottom of yet another Irish car bomb. But drink yourself green if you must — in this country, an argument could be made that the day has become a celebration of alcoholic pride more than anything. Just please, for the love of corned beef and cabbage — try to limit your use of novelty T-shirts.

 

ST. PATRICK’S DAY PARADE AND FESTIVAL

The big potato kicks off St. Paddy’s season this year and will honor upstanding Irish folks from around the city.

Sat/12. Parade: 11:30 a.m., free. Starts at Market and Second; Festival: 10 a.m.–5 p.m., free. Civic Center Plaza, SF. 1-800-310-6563, www.sresproductions.com

 

ST. PATRICK’S DAY FITNESS CRAWL

Stage a preemptive strike against all the Guinness you’ll be drinking at this affordable fitness boot camp.

Sat/12 9:30 a.m.–3 p.m., $10. Third Street Boxing Gym, 2576 Third St., SF. (415) 550-8269, www.thirdstreetgym.com

 

“IRISH CALIFORNIA: AN EVENING WITH THE CALIFORNIA HISTORICAL SOCIETY COLLECTION”

Snack on Irish bites and booze while perusing the Historical Society’s stockpile of Irish American ephemera — photos, pamphlets, and more from the Golden State’s green past.

Wed/16 5:30–7:30 p.m., $4 suggested donation, free to members. RSVP recommended. The California Historical Society, 678 Mission, SF. (415) 357-1848, www.californiahistoricalsociety.com

 

ST. PADDY’S PUNK BASH XI

The leprechaun rager returns for its 11th year in action, featuring the Undead Boys, Street Justice, Crosstops, Ruleta Rusa, and Face the Rail.

Weds/16 8 p.m., $8. Elbo Room, 647 Valencia, SF. (415) 552-7788, www.elbo.com

 

FARLEY’S 22ND BIRTHDAY

The Guardian staff’s fave cafe around the corner celebrates multiple decades of well-roasted independent business awesomeness with live bagpipers in the daytime and a concert in the evening.

Thurs/17 bagpipes 9 a.m.–1 p.m.; concert 8 p.m., free. Farley’s, 1315 18th St., SF. (415) 648-1545, www.farleyscoffee.com

 

O’REILLY’S ST. PATTY’S BLOCK PARTY

Between this and the Royal Exchange block party (see below) you’ll be well — if not over — served on “Kiss Me I’m Irish” tees, green face paint, and Bailey’swhiskeycarbombGuinness blackout glory. Pad your stomach before you get too deep in the drinkin’ with O’Reilly’s classic Irish brunch foods.

Thurs/17 Serving brunch 9 a.m.–1:30 p.m.; black party 3 p.m., free. O’Reilly’s, 622 Green, SF. (415) 989-6222, www.sforeillys.com

 

HABITOT MUSEUM’S SHAMROCK DAY

Make potato prints, drink green punch, and decorate your own pair of shamrock glasses with your little leprechaun at the family learning museum.

Thurs/17 9:30 a.m.–12:30 p.m., $9 museum admission. Habitot Children’s Museum, 2065 Kittredge, Berk. (510) 647-1111, www.habitot.org

 

PARKSIDE TAVERN IRISH LUNCH

Traditional fixin’s abound on this Sunset pub’s special Irish menu — corned beef and a little Irish stew to go with your Jameson?

Serving from 10 a.m.–10 p.m. Parkside Tavern, 1940 Taravel, SF. (415) 731-8900, www.parksidetavernsf.com

 

FINANCIAL DISTRICT ST. PADDY’S STREET PARTY

Wonderbread 5 provides rockin’ live tunes during happy hour, and pub Royal Exchange keeps the suds a flowin’ at this al fresco rager in FiDi.

Thurs/17 3 p.m.–2 a.m., free. Front between Sacramento and California, SF. www.royalexchange.com

 

ST. PATRICK’S NIGHTLIFE

DJ Nako puts the spin on St. Patrick’s, and the swanky science museum plies you with green-themed activities at the shamrock edition of its bangin’ night at the museum’s weekly event.

Thurs/17 8–10 p.m., $12. California Academy of Sciences, 55 Music Concourse, SF. 1-888-670-4433, www.calacademy.org

 

DELHI TO DUBLIN

Can you hold your finger cymbals and Guinness stein in the same hand? Try. This multicultural Celtic bhangra group always brings the jams — its St. Paddy’s Day gig in clubland is sure to be the most high energy dance party this side of Riverdance.

Thurs/17 9 p.m., $15. Mezzanine, 444 Jessie, SF. (415) 625-8880, www.mezzaninesf.com

 

CULANN’S HOUNDS

Didn’t get enough of the folk rock Hounds at the March 12 Civic Center Plaza festival? Check out the SF group’s headlining gig ensconced in the wooden glory of the Great American Music Hall. Renée de la Prada’s dulcet voice soars over the accordions and violins of her band.

Thurs/17 7:30 p.m., $20. Great American Music Hall, 859 O’Farrell, SF. (415) 885-0750, www.gamh.com

 

BISS ME I’M IRISH ST. PATRICK’S DAY PARTY

Celebrate the Irish infiltration into every corner of the globe with the hip-hop-cumbia-reggaetón punch of La Gente, which headlines this diverse lineup, otherwise composed of female singer-songwriters bringing it in the keys of punk, rock, and pop.

Thurs/17 9 p.m., $10. Cafe Du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. (415) 861-5016, www.cafedunord.com

Secret cajun kitchen discovered, evidence of gumbo

Andrew Lam
-
1

Those who enjoy strolling amidst a certain vibrant stretch of  24th Street in the Mission might be under a common misguided belief that the world is flat and ends east of Potrero Avenue. But just as Christopher Columbus proved the world was round by sailing west, I confirmed this is false by sailing east — one block east of Potrero, that is. What I found was Tasty’s Creole Cajun Kitchen, a new world filled with rare goods and spices. Among them, signature po’ boy sandwiches, southern brunch specialties, gumbo, red beans and rice, hush puppies, sweet tea, even French rolls flown in from Louisiana. What wonders the new world holds!

Although… perhaps Tasty’s seemed so exotic due to entirely different challenges to accessibility — it’s discretely tucked away inside a local bar, Jack’s. Jack’s Club has been operating on the corner of 24th and Utah for over 80 years. It is itself a relic from another time, its art deco interior, with stucco ceilings and wood paneling an homage to how little has changed inside of this building over time.

On a typical Tuesday afternoon Jack’s Club is dark and cave-like, acting as a refuge for a few regulars playing pool, drinking at the bar, and carrying on with bartender and current owner, Erma. Jack’s consists of a large front room that doubles as a dining room and a bar with counter seating, a pool room in the back, a pinball room in between, and a small kitchen alongside the bar. This kitchen, equipped with one stove and one deep fryer, is where all of Tasty’s cajun magic happens.

And it’s a lot of magic, for one stove. With over 10 kinds of po’ boy sandwiches, four authentic creole entrees, an assortment of bar appetizers and sides that range from oysters remoulade to sweet potato fries, and a Monday through Friday special of the day, it’s hard to imagine how this kitchen works. This is what I was pondering as I sat at a small table and read over the mouth-wateringly affordable menu. Most entrees are around 10 bucks, and all of the generously portioned sides are less than five. I finally decided on a fried oyster po’ boy with creole slaw on the side. 

Dive bar with a side of delicious. Photo by Hannah Tepper

It was promptly served on a modest tray. I took a bite of my first fried oyster with hesitation. Fried oysters are a tricky business—when they are good they are really good, and vice versa. But this time I was happy, and almost surprised to find that Tasty’s fried oysters were delicious, crispy, with a thin cornmeal crust on the outside, smooth and tender on the inside. How did this come out of that? I thought, looking back and forth between my oysters and the utterly modest kitchen with no door. My creole slaw was without a doubt one of the best coleslaw experiences of my life. Theirs is made in a sweet, mellow mustard-y dressing that you have to taste to truly understand, but take heed—this kind of slaw will leave a woman wanting more.

By the end of my meal I had questions and I wanted answers. Why here? Why so good? What is happening? Is life real? Luckily I found owner and bartender du jour, Erma, happily talking home-renovations with Tasty’s head chef, Cullen Quave. I interrupted them with a interrogative bombardment, and they kindly told me everything I wanted to know about Jack’s, Tasty’s, and the metaphysics of reality.

Erma, who would rather not disclose her last name, has owned Jack’s with her family for the last nine years. She is a self-identified “kid from the area,” and grew up only a few blocks away from Jack’s Club. It was her idea to run an authentic creole restaurant out of Jack’s small kitchen, but it took a few tries to get it right.

“The menu is all authentic and created by me. Before Tasty’s we had rented the kitchen to another party but I’ve always managed the restaurant,” she says. Then Erma met Quave, a like-minded home chef from New Orleans who wandered into Jack’s on his birthday looking for an authentic po’ boy sandwich to satisfy his creole cravings. “I was going to fly a po’ boy in from New Orleans,” Quave says, “but luckily my buddy told me about this place and so I came here and it was delicious.” The two got to talking and decided soon after to start Tasty’s with Quave as head cook and Erma providing her own recipes. I can attest that the result is delicious food, a big authentic menu, and a weird, cozy atmosphere. 

Five stars in my book, but Erma and Quave say that business on the Potrero side of 24th is slow at times. “This is a place where people just like to hang out. I enjoy the fact that there are a lot of locals and regulars that come in here. I enjoy seeing some of the people that I actually grew up with coming by,” Erma says. Meanwhile, newcomers—like myself—are always welcome to come by and eat some jambalaya. Some other great reasons to get over to Tasty’s Creole Cajun Kitchen at Jack’s Bar—live jazz every Friday night and a Mardi Gras shindig coming up on March 8th.  Their Mardi Gras celebration will be happening all afternoon, and will include a live jazz band, King Cake, Tasty’s serving up specialty dishes, and of course plenty of booze.

As I packed up my things to go, I had one last question for Quave—“How do you fry them oysters so good?” I asked. His answer: “You have to be a really good fryer.”

 

Tasty’s Creole Cajun Kitchen at Jack’s Bar

Mon. – Sun., 10:30 a.m. – 8 p.m.

Brunch: Sat.-Sun. 10:30 a.m.- 2 p.m.

2545 24th St., SF

(415) 641-5371

www.jacksclubsf.com

Full Bar

MC/V

Moderately Noisy

Wheelchair Accessible

 

 

Grub

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
4
Grub

paulr@sfbg.com

DINE When cultural historians of the future gather to argue the question of when and where Valencia Street finally jumped the shark, they might find themselves concentrating on the changes that came to a single block, between 18th and 19th streets, early in the presidency of Barack Obama. They might, in particular, find themselves considering a place called Grub, which sounds like a greasy joint of some kind where people eat with their fingers but is in reality a gorgeously designed restaurant that flows from a plate-glass façade through a nouveau-mod dining room to a glowing blue bar that looks like something from Star Wars, or Las Vegas.

It’s the sort of place you wouldn’t have found on Valencia as recently as five years ago, and it suggests, to me — along with the nearby The Summit, with its matching plate-glass façade — that a basic shift in sensibility is occurring. Like the Ferry Plaza farmers market, Valencia Street and its establishments now get mentioned in the travel section of The New York Times, and this kind of publicity means tourists, coming as if to some exotic game preserve. Tourists fundamentally change the nature of whatever it is they’re coming to experience, almost as in a chemical reaction.

None of this is to imply that Grub itself is an unworthy restaurant. It is highly worthy, with a value-intensive menu that includes authentic grub like burgers and mac ‘n’cheese, as well as such highfalutin treats like osso buco. (Is it just me, or has osso buco suddenly become trendy?)

Both the burgers and mac ‘n’ cheese are offered in “bar” (ie, design your own) mode. Your burger choices include beef, buffalo, vegetarian, ahi tuna, and portobello mushroom. The ahi burger ($12) consists of five ounces of seared filet. You can add cheeses and condiments to your heart’s content, but given the priciness and quasi-delicacy status of ahi, we thought it decadent to slather it with pickled red onions and bacon. Our suave server (a godlet who might have just stepped from the set of one of those Twilight movies) recommended the wasabi aioli, which did indeed bring a moistening intensity, though the sandwich remained a little frail, pale, and delicate, like a child who needs to get outside more.

Plunging into the mac ‘n’ cheese bar, by contrast, is like going to a gym where everyone is insanely worked out. All the variations (base price $9) include white and sharp cheddar cheeses and a gratin of grana padano breadcrumbs — more than enough flavor thrust to reach escape velocity. But you can tart up your crock with everything from truffle oil to grilled steak ($1 per extra ingredient) and some savories in between. Truffle oil is, for me, one of the world’s most overrated (and overpriced) food items — with lobster (a favorite of the godlet) not far behind — and I thought it more or less got lost amid the meatiness of the mushrooms and bite of the cheese. The steak stood up better, adding a hint of smokiness and enough weight to make the dish a meal unto itself.

But the menu offers other meals unto themselves, too, with a bit more polish. Grilled tiger prawns ($15) were arranged atop a butternut squash risotto heavily leavened with Parmesan cheese, whose tang balanced what otherwise might have become a cloying sweetness. A filet of Pacific snapper ($16) was “crusted” — “smeared” would have been more accurate — with what seemed like crab-cake batter and seated on a pad of celery-root puree with a pool of carrot-butter-white wine sauce and watercress salad. And the osso buco ($17) arrived in autumnal, rather grave guise atop mashed potatoes with a burgundy-charged sauce and fried shoestring carrots. The meat was fork-tender, and as someone who’s been making osso buco for years (from the same Patty Wells recipe), I can tell you this isn’t a given, even with long simmering. As for mashed potatoes instead of the more traditional risotto: eh. The potatoes did have a dense, mousseline-like velvetiness, which led me to suspect the involvement of tons of butter. But then, at higher-end sort of greasy spoon, you would expect a higher grade of grease, and butter is the grease of the gods, or at least godlets.

GRUB

Dinner: nightly, 6 p.m.–12:30 a.m.

Brunch: Sat.–Sun., 10 a.m.–2:30 p.m.

758 Valencia, SF

(415) 431-GRUB (4782)

www.grubsf.com

Beer and wine

AE/MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

 

Date with Satan? “Mosh Potatoes” to the rescue!

Sue Vaughan
-
0
Date with Satan? “Mosh Potatoes” to the rescue!

Sure, Julia Child was a badass in her own way — but do you think she ever blasted Seventh Son of a Seventh Son while cooking up beef bourguignon? (Gonna guess … not. I saw the movie so I’m kind of an expert.) For all the would-be chefs who prefer their kitchen adventures with a side of Satan comes Steve “Buckshot” Seabury’s Mosh Potatoes: Recipes, Anecdotes and Mayhem from the Heavyweights of Heavy Metal (Atria Books, $15).

Mosh Potatoes isn’t the first-ever metal-themed cookbook (see also: Hellbent for Cooking: The Heavy Metal Cookbook by Annick Giroux, which similarly features recipe contributions from famous headbangers). But Mosh Potatoes has the better name. Also, download site Loudtrax.com is running a contest (it ends Monday, a.k.a. February 14, a.k.a. Valentine’s Day) in conjunction with the book. For brave culinary warriors only, “We Dare You to Cook Up Lemmy!” offers Kilmister-approved prizes for folks willing to attempt the Motorhead legend’s contribution to the book. (Details here; the recipe involves chocolate syrup, curry powder, brandy, and fire, among other things. It is called “Krakatoa Surprise,” and I wouldn’t get near it even if you offered me a suit made out of Ove Gloves.)

For those with less suicidal palates, Mosh Potatoes offers a variety of appetizers (“Opening Acts”), main dishes (“Headliners”), and desserts (“Encores”), explained in first-person style by whoever contributed the dish. Some of the recipes are more Food Network-ready than others (Dave Witte of Municipal Waste‘s surprisingly sophisticated Turkey Gyoza with Soy-Vinegar Sauce; Aaron from Red Fang‘s Red Fang Pad Thai); some are worth reading just because of the anecdote (see: Life of Agony’s Joey Zampella’s lobster-hypnosis tips) or suspicious items in the ingredient list (I lost track of how many people included beer or booze, not for the food but for the chef to drink while cooking.)

I’m generally crap in the kitchen, but I can definitely mix a bunch of ingredients together and shove them in an oven. So in lieu of Krakatoa Surprise, I decided to make “The Best Blueberry Muffins,” created by Darkest Hour‘s Paul Burnette. I made sure to pick a recipe from a band I actually know and like; the book’s artists are overall pretty cool, but there are a few odd numbers (Mudvayne? Come on now.)

The muffins call for all the usual ingredients (butter, sugar, eggs, vanilla, flour, etc.) plus a boatload of blueberries. They were delicious, though the note about waiting for the muffins to cool before taking them out of the pan was key. Lots of blueberries = lots of molten blueberry juice waiting to sear anyone who dared try and nudge a muffin out of the pan before due time.

They were best within the first 24 hours — I’d recommend making them fresh before, like, a brunch and (after they cool off, f’reals) sharing them with a group. Not too sweet but full of blueberry goodness — perfect for hangovers. My batch of batter made around 18 smallish muffins and they were dee-lish.

Here’s my quarrel with Mosh Potatoes, and I suspect it’s simply due to the number, er, nature of the beast: though author Seabury says he tested out all the recipes while compiling the book, the instructions here aren’t as thorough as you’d find in a typical cookbook. If you’re a kitchen-phobe like me, expect to be intimidated by vague or imprecise instructions for some of the entries. Even something simple as muffins, I would’ve liked to have known how many muffins the batch was going to make before I started out, which is something a reg’lar cookbook would’ve divulged.

But while Julia Child always offered thorough instructions, she certainly didn’t pepper her recipes with drinking games (to my knowledge), and she never used Jägermeister as an ingredient (did she? If so, contact me ASAP with deets). Mosh Potatoes may be light on haute cuisine, but it’s heavy on nacho-salsa-guac varieties, groupie gossip, bad puns (“Kale ‘Em All,” har har), and does contain at least one recipe that should not be read while eating (talking to you and your barfy “ball cheese,” Michael Starr of Steel Panther). For those about to cook…

Pizza Nostra

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
-
0
Pizza Nostra

paulr@sfbg.com

DINE Nice — I speak of the French city, not the human quality, of which I must be one of life’s least accomplished practitioners — isn’t quite Italian, but it isn’t quite not, either. Like Alsace in the north — another locus of French pizza — it has been the subject of international contention for centuries. Maybe pizza helps settle nerves frayed by all this struggle, but whether it does or not, pizza served with a distinctly French flair (and often a pitcher of local rosé) is what you’ll find at the many outdoor cafes in the heart of Nice, just a few blocks from the beaches of the Cote d’Azur.

It’s what you’ll find, too, at Pizza Nostra, our own little slice of Nice — complete with outdoor tables! — at the north foot of Potrero Hill. The neighborhood will never be mistaken for the Cote d’Azur, and of course the weather here is considerably fouler, but there is something sublime about pizza — really a whole Italian menu, with many interesting small courses, salads, soups, and starters — served with Gallic style.

The restaurant opened some years ago, as Couleur Cafe, in a small shopping center with a parking lot and buildings of a shed-like, provisional quality, like a PX on Guam. It then became Pizza Nostra, changing hands last year from Jocelyn Bulow to Winona Matsuda. She hasn’t changed much, and maybe that’s because there isn’t much in need of change. Despite the faux-suburban setting, the interior has wonderful candlelit atmospherics under a high ceiling that melts into shadow. The service is impeccable. And the food travels well beyond the country of pizza; you could do quite nicely here without pizza at all. But the pizzas are lovely, and if you were stuck with just that, you’d be happy too.

But I do question the wisdom of bringing basket after basket of complimentary focaccia to people who are in all likelihood waiting for pizza. White flour in our diet is like atmospheric radiation left over from those 1950s tests in the South Pacific: insidious, omnipresent, unnoticed. I think this every time I go by Tartine Bakery and see people queuing like Soviet-era Muscovites. As Michael Pollan noted in his polemic In Defense of Food, white flour is so devoid of nutrition that even bugs don’t want it.

Having said that, I note that Pizza Nostra’s focaccia is addictive, with a pillow-like softness and bewitching olive-oil breath. If you can restrain yourself from gobbling it down straight, you will find it’s useful for dunking and sopping applications. We found its spear shape ideal for sticking into a bowl of mushroom-eggplant soup ($6) that was possibly the most gratifying use of eggplant I’ve ever come across. Its subtle, bitter bite was like a sheen around the earthy weight of the fungi.

The focaccia was also useful in wiping up the savory oil left on the plate after we’d demolished the halved brussels sprouts ($5), pan-roasted with fat chunks of pancetta. I would have let the sprouts cook through and caramelize a little more, but they were tender and flavorful nonetheless.

Sicilian-style tuna salad ($12) seemed like a close relative of salade niçoise, except without anchovies. But there was a wealth of halved pear tomatoes, pitted nicoise olives, and cannellini beans nested in a jumble of arugula and frisée, with the tuna arranged in a berm that partly enclosed the greens.

The pizzas are thin-crust, made (according to the menu) in the style of Recco, a town in the northern Italian region of Liguria, not far from Nice. The array of toppings is mostly conventional, although the kitchen does throw together various specials, including a pie ($16) topped with hot Italian sausage, red and yellow bell peppers, mushrooms, a red-onion confit, and broccoli florets — all of which runs against the basic article of American faith that more is better. Sometimes more isn’t better. Broccoli doesn’t translate well to pizza, and we found the red-onion jam to be jarringly sweet.

But — on the subject of sweets — the olive-oil cake ($6), a cupcake-like disk, was dense and moist. It could have stood without assistance from the large pat of limoncello gelato on the side, although the gelato was a nice touch.

PIZZA NOSTRA

Dinner: nightly, 5:30–10 p.m.

Lunch: Mon.–Fri., 11:30 a.m.–2:30 p.m.

Brunch: Sat.–Sun., noon–3 p.m.

300 De Haro, SF

(415) 558-9493

www.pizzanostrasf.com

Beer and wine

AE/DC/MC/V

Not too noisy

Wheelchair acccesible

 

1...678...13Page 7 of 13

48hills.org is the official publication of the non-profit San Francisco Progressive Media Center.
Contact us: info@48hills.org