Goodbye to All This

Now that the one-month leave I took to care for Araceli is about to end, I have a couple of thoughts. Come to think of it, I always have a couple of thoughts now that I have Araceli.

One is that we are a remarkably wealthy country despite the nasty unemployment. Look at the folks out and about all the time. For instance, half the people on my block don't seem to have the usual work commitments; by 10 am at least half the garbage bins have been moved back inside. Then there's the constant traffic on the arterials, along with the usual goings-on at Amoeba on Haight during the middle of the day.

Second thing, how is it that a Mission-style burrito pushing $7 and beyond? Is it because I am pushing 40 and started hitting the taquerias two booms ago, when a trip to El Farolito set you back $2.46? (It's hard to forget those Mexican morsels, coming standard with fresh avocado and a fine pico de gallo.) Zona Rosa rolled a nice spinach-tortilla tube for me, throwing in the chopped onions and cilantro, and while enjoying it I couldn't help doing math. If the average tab is $8, how many customers do they need to make their nut? If I ran such a business, I'd call the landlord and offer him a burrito a day in exchange for lower rent. If he balked, I would counter by charging him extra for chips (they're not that good anyway) and then have him lower the rent.

Recession schmecession, places like the Eos wine bar are still turning tables, catering to customers with happy-hour offerings along with some nice plates a bit north of burrito prices. I met Jomo and his Torontan friend Ed there with half-carafes of South African chenin blanc and Chilean cabernet, plenty of pours for $10 each. The oysters also were $1 apiece, but turns out they were flown in from the East Coast somewhere and while plump weren't Tomales Bay quality. The manager made a point to walk around and check on each table, chatting up Jomo about his last take-out order. With the deals and small plates and the human touch, they're working it to keep everyone happy.

Review: EOS Fails to Excite

Alex’s dad and step-mom took us out for a lovely b-day fete a week ago at EOS in Cole Valley. We chose it because it’s new to us, it’s close (I was still on bed-rest) and it’s always busy, surely a good sign.

The restaurant has a good layout, with tables nicely spaced apart and a very tolerable noise level, but there’s a coldness to it. Sleek black tables with very uncomfortable chairs, which might as well be made of cement and give little back support, simply weren’t very inviting. I prefer a chair that feels good and a table setting with a cloth, flowers or candles to liven it up.

Then there’s the service: indifferent. Our waitress disappeared for long stretches, making it difficult to order a second glass of wine, and the small plates came out staggered at odd times, with long yawns between them. I certainly didn’t feel rushed out of the restaurant, but I did feel quite hungry by the time the final dishes were laid to rest.

Then there’s the food: uneven.

The first “small plate” to arrive was the spicy pan-fried long beans, nice, but no better than your typical green beans at a neighborhood Chinese restaurant. Still, the portion was generous.

Our salads, which arrived next, were a mixed bag (no pun intended). Mine, with cabbage, radicchio, green papaya and mango was colorful, flavorful and crisp, and not too sweet as I’d feared. The classic Caesar, however, was bland, unmemorable.

The other appetizer, grilled baby octopus with fennel and cress salad, had potential. The charred meat was satisfying and nicely offset by the lightness of the salad, but was marred by so much salt that it was as if the cook had forgotten to wash the ocean water off the ingredient.

Our “entrees” likewise were puzzling. The tea-smoked Peking duck breast, with gingered plum compote, was cooked perfectly, very flavorful and not greasy as duck tends to be. But the duck was warm and the compote cold, making for an unfortunate clash of temperatures in the pairing.

Also, for $16 bucks, this should have come with some kind of side vegetable or grain, rather than just four pieces of lonely duck meat.

The grilled New Zealand rack of lamb with summer squash and gremolata was juicy and zingy, but so salty it overpowered the dish -- just as the oversalting had nearly ruined the octopus.

Perhaps the best dish was the hazelnut-crusted Halibut. A terrific, crunchy shell coated the meaty, tender slab of fish beneath. It snoozed on a bed of pea shoots and bok choy, a delicious combo.

Sorry to say we won’t be going back to EOS. To be fair, I hate small plates and the restaurant does not indicate anywhere on its web site that it’s guilty of this sin.

So I felt irked immediately after sitting down and learning I would probably leave hungry. But I tried to be open-minded. Unfortunately, the food and service didn't overcome my misgivings about this evil genre of restaurant.

El Bala$o

If it’s a Tuesday at about 8 and you’re in the Upper Haight, where the heck do you get a decent bite?

Three of us checked out a couple of places, including Citrus Club, which a little crowded, and we weren’t patient. (I’ve been there once, and can’t say I’m keen on another visit. Funky Thai, big whoop.) We settled on El Balazo, which was nearly empty, and I think I know why.

The cheapest burritos, for example, can be had for more than $7 with the tax. They’ve got pretty basic plates (two tacos with rice, beans and tortillas) for about $10. I even remember some dinners going for more. Or maybe I just remember being ticked.

I ended up getting two tacos (shredded beef, chicken en mole) for $6 -- no beans, because those cost extra here. The tacos were good, and the signature side of cabbage salad is always nice. But $6?

The rents on Haight must skyrocket every year; one look at the food board at Balazo and you know they’ve been jacking up prices with some regularity.

I can get two friggin’ huge, knockout, fresh-grilled tacos on the Embarcadero for Christ’s sake for less than $5, stuffed with meats and beans and very hot pico de gallo, which is usually called salsa. The salsa bar is also better at Pancho Villa at Pier 1, with roasted jalapeños, not just the pickled ones.

I’ve no real beef with ripping off tourists or kids who don’t know any better. If the only reasonably priced foods a business district can offer are pizza slices, though, let me be among those who say gracias, pero no gracias.