Taking It From the Bottom

That didn't come out right. What I mean is that I want to reach around and work backwards from my li'l cheat sheet. I could write for about an hour about umami and hanging out with Gary Danko and his art collection and how I did not name-drop the blog. (I was working.) I could take another half-hour or maybe more and say how eye-opening it was to visit the piers at the end of Taylor Street, with dozens of seafood processors and distributors supplying ocean protein to who knows how many people and whether it's a good idea that we eat fish the way we do anyway. Better to dish about the puffed-up jerks in Marin.

I'm dying to get this off my chest: K and I run up to San Rafael's Sol Food to visit our friends Cecily, Jim and their 2-year-old mambo king Colin. (The kid likes salsa music, what can one say.) Business is booming: The corner cafe on 4th is still there, serving takeout like a house afire, and there's now another more-sitdown place a block down on 3rd. As we walk in to get our rice and beans on, I notice there's a letter in the menu box.

It says something along the lines of the following: "Mrs. Hernandez, nice to see that you decided to open a separate restaurant. I've enjoyed your food. But while the green color you've chosen for the exterior may be appropriate for Puerto Rico, it's not appropriate for Marin County. I will no longer patronize your business until you change your color palette. I also will ask my friends not to eat at your restaurant." Signed, "Angelo."

Meanwhile, the line's out the door for the bistec encebollado and plantains fried five ways. The place looks great, the music's hot, the food's on the money. Jim asks me if this is authentic. I say yes. Because it is. Sunday's special, which starts getting served at 4 pm, is arroz con gandules and pasteles.

As for you, Angelo, let me tell you what's appropriate for Puerto Rico: Vete pa'l carajo, comemierda.

The Worst Restaurant Neighborhood -- Explained

I vote for Laurel Village/Presidio Heights. At least on the surface it has the elements you'd expect to sustain lots of good restaurants: walkability, good transportation, and neighbors with plenty of pocket money. There is undoubtedly a market for good food. Check the meat at Bryan's, the shelves and produce bins at Cal-Mart, and the lines at all times of day at Peet's Coffee. This is by and large high-quality stuff, and people in this tony part of town are willing to pay for it.

The neighborhood is also home to plenty of cafes with bites to eat, some of them quite cozy. I'm particular to Cafe Luna on Sac near Presidio and Lo Cubano at the east end of Laurel Village.

So why is the restaurant fare so bleak? Other than Ella's on California and Presidio -- famous for breakfast but, as we found out last year, it deserves a visit for dinner, too -- there is nothing. If you want to sit down, it's either overblown fancy tablecloths (Magic Flute and Spruce, both on Sac) or quasi-fast-food chains (Pasta Pomodoro, Askew Grill, Rigolo -- all three of which are pathetic). The prime location in the JCC, kitty-corner from Ella's, is a cursed space. The most recent attempt there, some sort of Asian fusion thing called 415, died a speedy death. It's a bad sign that other than Ella's, the Italian deli A.G. Ferrari is the best option in the neighborhood.

What's the deal? A few theories: Families. Laurel Village is home to a ton of fashionable moms and their offspring. People who take kids to restaurants want the option of pasta with cheese or grilled chicken skewers. A funky Thai bistro is a bad choice for a cranky toddler and a mom trying to get back into her Sevens. Boring white people. The neighborhood, by my less than scientific appraisal, is overwhelmingly white, rich, skinny and interested in shopping. (See above: fashionable moms.) Not a great formula for fun, funky, adventurous foodstuffs. My neighborhood has its share of cheap franchised eats (even a Pasta Pomodoro), but thanks in part to the student population there's also nearly every ethnic flavor within reach, usually for less than $10. The workers. Most employees in the neighborhood are medical workers. CPMC and UCSF have big campuses, and Sacramento St. is home to half the world's shrinks, it seems. Nurses and doctors who have just finished a grueling shift are not likely to ease into evening over a leisurely meal. They might not even end their shift in the evening. The Inner Sunset has a big influx of med workers, too, but the demographics of those who live here is much different.

Again, my beef is not with the markets of the neighborhood; they're expensive, but it's only sticker shock if you normally shop at TJ's. You wouldn't save much shopping at Safeway over Cal-Mart, methinks. (Feel free to disabuse me of this notion.) What's more, the deli counter at Cal-Mart stocks delectable and difficult-to-find white anchovies.

There are other S.F. neighborhoods with fewer restaurant options, but none so miserably fails to live up to its unspoken promise.