This comes a bit late, as baseball season just ended, but I have a new contender for favorite pre-game pub. I'm a big fan of the 21st Amendment, which I've never reviewed but will someday, and you can't beat their homegrown, but the Brickhouse offers a different atmosphere. It's quiet, it's airy, and the slightly punky, slightly granola wait-staff and high wooden rafters give it more the feel of a farmhouse collective than a sports pub. (And no, it's not a brew pub, but with Anchor Steam on tap, it's close enough.)
Like the 21st, the Brickhouse pares down (and prices up?) the menu on game days -- burgers, sandwiches, salads, and the like. (Non-game days feature more variety.) I had the veggie chili (pretty good) and a large spinach salad (very good). Too small a sample size to say anything definitive about the food. Consider it a developing situation.
10/2/07
10/1/07
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.
9/27/07
Pizza My Combo, Take 2
Best pizza combo ever?
* Sliced pesto-chicken sausage
* Kalamata olives, chopped
* Arugula, slightly sauteed first with garlic (and added to the pizza half-way through the 10-minute bake so to avoid over-crisping)
* Sliced pesto-chicken sausage
* Kalamata olives, chopped
* Arugula, slightly sauteed first with garlic (and added to the pizza half-way through the 10-minute bake so to avoid over-crisping)
9/26/07
Bargain Bites Riposte: Lime Tree
The Chron has published this year's Bargain Bites list. I'd like everyone to weigh in on the picks. Feel free to span more than one per post. I'll go first:
Lime Tree, 6th and Irving. Cheap, sure, but not even worth the bargain price the several times I've stopped in. My heart breaks to write this, as the owner is the sweetest man in the Inner Sunset. Perhaps he's finally gotten it together, but I visited at least four times in its early days, each time coming away disappointed with the eternal wait for fairly straightforward food (even with no other customers in sight), and with the middling quality. With the Chron's blessing now bestowed, maybe I'll give it one more shot.
Lime Tree, 6th and Irving. Cheap, sure, but not even worth the bargain price the several times I've stopped in. My heart breaks to write this, as the owner is the sweetest man in the Inner Sunset. Perhaps he's finally gotten it together, but I visited at least four times in its early days, each time coming away disappointed with the eternal wait for fairly straightforward food (even with no other customers in sight), and with the middling quality. With the Chron's blessing now bestowed, maybe I'll give it one more shot.
9/20/07
Fight Club Sandwiches
Grain of truth alert. Paul Levy writes:
> The food writing that's in vogue today consists chiefly of a bellow of bravado. It's a guy thing, sure, but (with a few honorably hungry exceptions) these scribblers mostly ignore what's on the plate. They view themselves as boy hunters and despise sissy gatherers, thrive on the undertow of violence they detect in the professional kitchen, and like to linger on the unappetizing aspects of food preparation.
Bam! See for yourself: http://www.slate.com/id/2174218/
> The food writing that's in vogue today consists chiefly of a bellow of bravado. It's a guy thing, sure, but (with a few honorably hungry exceptions) these scribblers mostly ignore what's on the plate. They view themselves as boy hunters and despise sissy gatherers, thrive on the undertow of violence they detect in the professional kitchen, and like to linger on the unappetizing aspects of food preparation.
Bam! See for yourself: http://www.slate.com/id/2174218/
9/19/07
Mark to Market Bar
The Bistro Hugo's Mysterious Jomo brought me to the Ferry Building, to the Market Bar at 1 Ferry Building on the Embarcadero, and the first and last time I stopped in there last the place was clean out of beer. Tragic.
So here's the rundown: Plenty to drink this time. After wetting my whistle with a Guinness and then a Meteor Pils (from Alsace?), I ordered up half a carafe of dry rosé for the table, along with the prix fixe menu ($35) for myself. My first dish was the rabbit ravioli with chanterelles, an absolute knockout. Then I had the pepper beef filet, pole beans and a little chipotle, perfectly paired with a Grenache blend from the Chateau de Montmiral, Gigondas in the Rhone region ($38), picked kinda randomly and rubber-stamped by the patient and gracious staffer. The dish was perhaps a little overspiced, but perfectly cooked. I also got to tell my favorite cognac story.
My companions noted how the place filled up, and that was a surprise for me for a Wednesday, but hey, it's boom times. Thanks, Jomo!
So here's the rundown: Plenty to drink this time. After wetting my whistle with a Guinness and then a Meteor Pils (from Alsace?), I ordered up half a carafe of dry rosé for the table, along with the prix fixe menu ($35) for myself. My first dish was the rabbit ravioli with chanterelles, an absolute knockout. Then I had the pepper beef filet, pole beans and a little chipotle, perfectly paired with a Grenache blend from the Chateau de Montmiral, Gigondas in the Rhone region ($38), picked kinda randomly and rubber-stamped by the patient and gracious staffer. The dish was perhaps a little overspiced, but perfectly cooked. I also got to tell my favorite cognac story.
My companions noted how the place filled up, and that was a surprise for me for a Wednesday, but hey, it's boom times. Thanks, Jomo!
9/18/07
Here's Looking at Louis
Now catching up with my notes from my last trip, as I prepare for our week in New York. (Any suggestions out there for me?)
Better late than never to commend the fine Bar Louis in the adorable Milford, Pa., hotel where we vegged like royals, in part because it rained. But the place is a great room and has a refreshingly reasonable wine list and desserts that are rich and yet inhaled. It's the kind of place that's stimulating even for just a nightcap while gazing upon Warhol and Lennon gazing back at you, and informal to the extent that somebody will be hanging out nursing Foster's in a glass with ice. Ice in beer, it must be an East Coast thing. Saw this a couple of times.
Kristen and I shared a great bottle of Champagne with some amazing cheeses, the real splurge of the night. Being summer, the roasted corn chowder was dynamite. My Caesar and her salmon with asparagus and balsamic reduction were as good if not better than any others we've had to date. My entree, unforgettable, was the sushi pizza -- a sort of okonomiyaki, a base of sushi rice and rice flour with ahi tuna, a little wasabi cream (I think) and fish roe. It's become a bit famous, very savory and not overpriced at $15.
The upstairs dining room is only open Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays and is prix fixe at $60-$80. I'd love to try it someday. Nevertheless, Bar Louis has made a stamp on this former timber town on the Delaware River. I think about it all the time myself.
Better late than never to commend the fine Bar Louis in the adorable Milford, Pa., hotel where we vegged like royals, in part because it rained. But the place is a great room and has a refreshingly reasonable wine list and desserts that are rich and yet inhaled. It's the kind of place that's stimulating even for just a nightcap while gazing upon Warhol and Lennon gazing back at you, and informal to the extent that somebody will be hanging out nursing Foster's in a glass with ice. Ice in beer, it must be an East Coast thing. Saw this a couple of times.
Kristen and I shared a great bottle of Champagne with some amazing cheeses, the real splurge of the night. Being summer, the roasted corn chowder was dynamite. My Caesar and her salmon with asparagus and balsamic reduction were as good if not better than any others we've had to date. My entree, unforgettable, was the sushi pizza -- a sort of okonomiyaki, a base of sushi rice and rice flour with ahi tuna, a little wasabi cream (I think) and fish roe. It's become a bit famous, very savory and not overpriced at $15.
The upstairs dining room is only open Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays and is prix fixe at $60-$80. I'd love to try it someday. Nevertheless, Bar Louis has made a stamp on this former timber town on the Delaware River. I think about it all the time myself.
9/12/07
June Swoon
A couple years ago fellow Bistrovian BrO turned me on to the marmalade of June Taylor. Best marmalade I've ever had, and better yet I had it all to myself, as The Fanch can't stand the stuff.
Our old friends at Chow have a video interview with June here.
Our old friends at Chow have a video interview with June here.
9/10/07
Review: Le P'tit Laurent
This corner bistro at the Glen Park crossroads of Chenery and Diamond is so French I was shocked when one of the unfailingly young and friendly waitresses was American, not French. Given its Francophilia, perhaps I should have been more shocked the waitresses were friendly.
But there they were, young and chatty and not unpleasant on the 37-year-old eyes, approaching each time with a "Messieurs, alors..." (OK, gentlemen...) to see if my tablemates and I, all late 30-something husbands having a brief boys night out, were ready to order. The answer was mainly no, as we were catching up on not having seen each other for many years, and our particular young and easy-on-the-eyes mademoiselle remained, yes, friendly, even a little jokey.
One of my friends' wives, whom we visited after our boys-only dinner, remarked that she found the service a little rude, but I thought it more off-handed. A slightly larger problem was that the service was a little forgetful. With a smile and wee Gallic shrug our waitress, and one or two others, apologized for not bringing this or that (water, our bottle of wine, a second helping of bread). It didn't matter because we had already set the unhurried pace of the evening. The service simply met us halfway.
I prattle on about the service for another reason: there isn't much to report regarding the food. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't distinguished. Decent bistro food, I guess you could call it. I had the rabbit prepared Normandy style, if I remember correctly, my mates each chose a fish -- monkfish in lobster-bacon sauce and the night's special swordfish. Each of us reported the same reaction: decent enough. Not particularly delicate or subtle, somewhat meager proportions, and less than maximum presentation effort. You could generously call it "unpretentious," and for lower prices, sure, why not.
But main courses were in the $16-$20 range, perhaps even a bit more, apps up to $10. What with rents and labor and fuel prices and foie gras backlash, perhaps that's the going rate these days for a decent-enough neighborhood bistro meal served by good-naturedly insouciant French women (do they bring them in on H1-B visas?) in a cozy neighborhood spot. If so, you could be far more disappointed, but on the whole, c'est dommage.
In this city we're up to our stamped-tin ceilings in wannabe authentic bistros, so you should have no problem finding one closer to home at the same or even better prices without having to wander over to Glen Park.
But there they were, young and chatty and not unpleasant on the 37-year-old eyes, approaching each time with a "Messieurs, alors..." (OK, gentlemen...) to see if my tablemates and I, all late 30-something husbands having a brief boys night out, were ready to order. The answer was mainly no, as we were catching up on not having seen each other for many years, and our particular young and easy-on-the-eyes mademoiselle remained, yes, friendly, even a little jokey.
One of my friends' wives, whom we visited after our boys-only dinner, remarked that she found the service a little rude, but I thought it more off-handed. A slightly larger problem was that the service was a little forgetful. With a smile and wee Gallic shrug our waitress, and one or two others, apologized for not bringing this or that (water, our bottle of wine, a second helping of bread). It didn't matter because we had already set the unhurried pace of the evening. The service simply met us halfway.
I prattle on about the service for another reason: there isn't much to report regarding the food. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't distinguished. Decent bistro food, I guess you could call it. I had the rabbit prepared Normandy style, if I remember correctly, my mates each chose a fish -- monkfish in lobster-bacon sauce and the night's special swordfish. Each of us reported the same reaction: decent enough. Not particularly delicate or subtle, somewhat meager proportions, and less than maximum presentation effort. You could generously call it "unpretentious," and for lower prices, sure, why not.
But main courses were in the $16-$20 range, perhaps even a bit more, apps up to $10. What with rents and labor and fuel prices and foie gras backlash, perhaps that's the going rate these days for a decent-enough neighborhood bistro meal served by good-naturedly insouciant French women (do they bring them in on H1-B visas?) in a cozy neighborhood spot. If so, you could be far more disappointed, but on the whole, c'est dommage.
In this city we're up to our stamped-tin ceilings in wannabe authentic bistros, so you should have no problem finding one closer to home at the same or even better prices without having to wander over to Glen Park.
9/6/07
Sustainable Tuna
Look for the American Albacore Fishing Association label in finer sushi parlors everywhere.
9/5/07
Recipes: Chron Chicken
The Chronicle this morning published a paean to the simple roast chicken, with a few not-so-simple recipes thrown in. Click through for the article and several recipes, but here's the one I'm itching to try:
My Dad's Best Ever Chicken
(from Traci Des Jardins)
* 1 large free-range chicken, whole, about 5 pounds
* 1 bunch basil, leaves only
* 2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
* 4 tablespoons Dijon mustard
* 1 tablespoon dried thyme
* 1 teaspoon dried oregano
* 1 teaspoon savory
* 1 teaspoon dried sage
* 1 teaspoon dried rosemary
* 1 teaspoon ground cumin
* -- Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
* 1 lemon
Instructions: Preheat oven to 500°. Loosen the skin of the chicken by running your fingers up under the skin of the breasts. Stuff the basil leaves and garlic under the skin, trying to distribute evenly. Combine all of the dried herbs. Rub Dijon mustard over the entire bird, and then sprinkle the herbs over the entire skin of the chicken. Season the inside of the cavity and the skin generously with salt and pepper. Finish by poking holes in the lemon with a fork and placing it in the cavity.
Place the chicken in a roasting pan and cook for 50 minutes to 1 hour, or until the internal temperature reaches 165°. You may have to reduce the temperature of the oven by 50° after 15-20 minutes if you notice that the skin is getting too dark too quickly. When the chicken is done, all of the juices coming from the cavity should be clear. Remove the lemon from the cavity and squeeze the juice over the chicken. Serve with any variety of accompaniments such as mashed potatoes, roasted heirloom potatoes and corn or parsnip puree.
My Dad's Best Ever Chicken
(from Traci Des Jardins)
* 1 large free-range chicken, whole, about 5 pounds
* 1 bunch basil, leaves only
* 2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
* 4 tablespoons Dijon mustard
* 1 tablespoon dried thyme
* 1 teaspoon dried oregano
* 1 teaspoon savory
* 1 teaspoon dried sage
* 1 teaspoon dried rosemary
* 1 teaspoon ground cumin
* -- Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
* 1 lemon
Instructions: Preheat oven to 500°. Loosen the skin of the chicken by running your fingers up under the skin of the breasts. Stuff the basil leaves and garlic under the skin, trying to distribute evenly. Combine all of the dried herbs. Rub Dijon mustard over the entire bird, and then sprinkle the herbs over the entire skin of the chicken. Season the inside of the cavity and the skin generously with salt and pepper. Finish by poking holes in the lemon with a fork and placing it in the cavity.
Place the chicken in a roasting pan and cook for 50 minutes to 1 hour, or until the internal temperature reaches 165°. You may have to reduce the temperature of the oven by 50° after 15-20 minutes if you notice that the skin is getting too dark too quickly. When the chicken is done, all of the juices coming from the cavity should be clear. Remove the lemon from the cavity and squeeze the juice over the chicken. Serve with any variety of accompaniments such as mashed potatoes, roasted heirloom potatoes and corn or parsnip puree.
9/4/07
What's Cooking with You?
As I do every couple of months, I remind you all that the "What's Cooking" box at top right is open to guest chefs. When you're delighted with what you've just dished up, send me a paragraph and I'll post it.
9/3/07
Lazy Monday roundup
Weeks' worth of meals have come my way since I've come around, and instead of a roster or ingredients dossier, I have a few threads to put together, in no particular order.
Food is like music and like so many other things, in that some people spend an enormous around of time and energy crafting and harmonizing and others don't care if you get soggy fries with that. Forget about going on vacation: At the beginning and end of the last work week, I sipped at slow gin/Ramos fizz before lapping up the cioppino at Tadich (thanks to the gracious Jomo), and that was in every way a counterpoint to the crap I had at at Harrington's, which does not give a hoot if its salads or sandwiches are lousy or its fries are soggy, since you're drinking anyway. Funny how the average customer's income at both places is about the same. Just goes to show you can run a hedge fund, but your taste will forever be for shit.
What is it about a composed salad that is so hard to understand? Why is serving a simulacrum acceptable? Harrington's has no excuse for its lame-ass everything, being in San Francisco, but I felt particularly violated by a so-called Niçoise salad I had at a fancyish bar and grill in Easton, Pa. -- the Boston/Bibb lettuce pulled and plated wrong, the glaring omission of olives for God's sake, a piece of tuna that either was past its prime or proof that the grill needed cleaning. Because it smelled like armpit. Best thing about the bar and grill, a watering hole for big-shot lawyers and others working in the county courthouse and prison up the street, was the beer. $2 for local pints!
The setting was almost as sketchy and depressing in the Mission Saturday, on the block with the two small-plates-and-sangria drunk tanks. (We had a gift certificate.) Formally, this type of food makes no sense, and I'll save that rant for another post. First off, you can't tell the staff apart from the clientele. Am also glad someone took the trouble to get goopy cream into a squeeze bottle, but zigzagging it on black beans isn't impressive or appreciated anymore.
One of my favorite times at table over the recent period was when Kristen and I got gyros at a Greek diner in the town of Milford, Pa., on our stint away from the Lehigh Valley. The pita sandwiches came warm, wrapped they were in wax paper so that they stay hot and so that you can actually pick them up. The fries, for the record, were crispy crisp. These things are satisfying, and I can't think of an excuse for those who want to get by with less.
I want to wrap on another up note: We won over a couple of converts by bringing croissants from Schubert's over to brunch just earlier today at Alex and Emily's. A few minutes in the oven, and their savory flakiness (the pastries, not the hosts) resets perspective. You are what you say you eat.
Food is like music and like so many other things, in that some people spend an enormous around of time and energy crafting and harmonizing and others don't care if you get soggy fries with that. Forget about going on vacation: At the beginning and end of the last work week, I sipped at slow gin/Ramos fizz before lapping up the cioppino at Tadich (thanks to the gracious Jomo), and that was in every way a counterpoint to the crap I had at at Harrington's, which does not give a hoot if its salads or sandwiches are lousy or its fries are soggy, since you're drinking anyway. Funny how the average customer's income at both places is about the same. Just goes to show you can run a hedge fund, but your taste will forever be for shit.
What is it about a composed salad that is so hard to understand? Why is serving a simulacrum acceptable? Harrington's has no excuse for its lame-ass everything, being in San Francisco, but I felt particularly violated by a so-called Niçoise salad I had at a fancyish bar and grill in Easton, Pa. -- the Boston/Bibb lettuce pulled and plated wrong, the glaring omission of olives for God's sake, a piece of tuna that either was past its prime or proof that the grill needed cleaning. Because it smelled like armpit. Best thing about the bar and grill, a watering hole for big-shot lawyers and others working in the county courthouse and prison up the street, was the beer. $2 for local pints!
The setting was almost as sketchy and depressing in the Mission Saturday, on the block with the two small-plates-and-sangria drunk tanks. (We had a gift certificate.) Formally, this type of food makes no sense, and I'll save that rant for another post. First off, you can't tell the staff apart from the clientele. Am also glad someone took the trouble to get goopy cream into a squeeze bottle, but zigzagging it on black beans isn't impressive or appreciated anymore.
One of my favorite times at table over the recent period was when Kristen and I got gyros at a Greek diner in the town of Milford, Pa., on our stint away from the Lehigh Valley. The pita sandwiches came warm, wrapped they were in wax paper so that they stay hot and so that you can actually pick them up. The fries, for the record, were crispy crisp. These things are satisfying, and I can't think of an excuse for those who want to get by with less.
I want to wrap on another up note: We won over a couple of converts by bringing croissants from Schubert's over to brunch just earlier today at Alex and Emily's. A few minutes in the oven, and their savory flakiness (the pastries, not the hosts) resets perspective. You are what you say you eat.
8/31/07
Recipe: Lamb With Thyme and Orange Peel
I'm trying this one tonight, but subbing lemon-scented thyme for regular thyme.
8/25/07
Review: Mi Lindo Yucatan
It was the rare Saturday sit-down lunch without out-of-town guests or birthdays or any other excuse. Just the snap decision to cool our heels in the midst of errands, and upon a recommendation we stopped at Mi Lindo Yucatan on 24th between Castro and Noe. Not a hood often fêted for its Mexican food.
Start fêting. It was one of the best meals I've had all year. Mi Lindo Yucatan is not a taqueria, though they have tacos on the appetizer menu. It's a family-run restaurant, with iconic Mayan figures on the walls, a modest number of tables, and big windows that invite people-watching. (Alas, no sidewalk seating.)
Fanch and I split a veggie tamal to start. The cornmeal sheath was satisfyingly toothsome but light on the tongue. The veggie filling was uncomplicated, unspectacular, but fresh and tasty. The homemade salsas on the side were a subtle but welcome departure: the verde with a bit more smoke and pique than normal, and the rojo with a faintly sweet undercurrent.
My main was a grilled pork plate -- again, nothing complicated. Raw shredded cabbage, chopped radish, slices of avocado, a side of whole black beans, and a dollop of stewed tomato rounded out the plate, with a cloth napkin cozying three hot homemade tortillas, some of the best I've ever tasted. Served in large postage-stamp sized slices, the pork stayed juicy, lean and tender, no easy feat.
Emily had a spinach salad with mango, avo and grapefruit. For $2 extra she had an entire grilled chicken breast sliced atop. The chicken was tender, lightly spiced, and from the lingering whiff of char obviously cooked to order -- this was no precooked, presliced salad topping. I couldn't have made a better vinaigrette. With my bottomless glass of ice tea (fragrant with bergamot), the total bill came to $27.
The service was warm -- the older woman (Mom?) who ran the place and a younger woman (daughter?) split the table duties and beamed when I told them I would never eat store-bought tortillas again.
Start fêting. It was one of the best meals I've had all year. Mi Lindo Yucatan is not a taqueria, though they have tacos on the appetizer menu. It's a family-run restaurant, with iconic Mayan figures on the walls, a modest number of tables, and big windows that invite people-watching. (Alas, no sidewalk seating.)
Fanch and I split a veggie tamal to start. The cornmeal sheath was satisfyingly toothsome but light on the tongue. The veggie filling was uncomplicated, unspectacular, but fresh and tasty. The homemade salsas on the side were a subtle but welcome departure: the verde with a bit more smoke and pique than normal, and the rojo with a faintly sweet undercurrent.
My main was a grilled pork plate -- again, nothing complicated. Raw shredded cabbage, chopped radish, slices of avocado, a side of whole black beans, and a dollop of stewed tomato rounded out the plate, with a cloth napkin cozying three hot homemade tortillas, some of the best I've ever tasted. Served in large postage-stamp sized slices, the pork stayed juicy, lean and tender, no easy feat.
Emily had a spinach salad with mango, avo and grapefruit. For $2 extra she had an entire grilled chicken breast sliced atop. The chicken was tender, lightly spiced, and from the lingering whiff of char obviously cooked to order -- this was no precooked, presliced salad topping. I couldn't have made a better vinaigrette. With my bottomless glass of ice tea (fragrant with bergamot), the total bill came to $27.
The service was warm -- the older woman (Mom?) who ran the place and a younger woman (daughter?) split the table duties and beamed when I told them I would never eat store-bought tortillas again.
8/24/07
Best Cheap Lunch in San Francisco?
I used to tell myself back in 1980 (when I worked in downtown Nevada City for Crittenden Publishing) that what what my town needed more than anything was a good $3.00 lunch. Whudda guessed I'd find it 27 years later in San Francisco?
Zapata's at the northwest corner of 18th and Collingwood is a modest taqueria (a redundancy, I know, but a useful one) offering the usual fare, which no one needs me to list. Very rarely, the cook tapes a handwritten special on the spit guard separating the mostly illegal, no doubt, immigrant servers from their customers. This isn't the world's best taqueria, though I'd rate it above average. A weakness: its slim selection of salsas and no cut limes.
A major strength: The fish taco. These are much more generous and flavorful than the standard San Francisco specimen. Can't tell you what it is, but the main ingredient, cooked to order right in front of you on the always-sizzling griddle, is white, fresh, firm-fleshed but somewhat flaky, and remarkably flavorful. Your choice, natch, of black, pinto, or refried beans and either mild or spicy salsa. You can also choose between regular and super, which adds -- unnecessarily in my opinion -- guacamole, sour cream, and maybe cheese. I always order black, spicy, reg. The unusual and impressively successful ingredient Zapata adds to its signature fish taco is fresh mushrooms, a lot of them, griddled along with the fish.
A single regular fish taco comes with a little rectangular paper box of fresh corn chips. You can load up with roasted tomato salsa, a raw radish or two, and easily call this lunch. Or at least I can. With free water, the midday meal comes in at $3.10.
I'm always satisfied, never tempted to have more, and go back regularly, as does Dan. There's no reason for this to be a secret. Tell everybody!
Your turn: Any other nominations for San Francisco's best cheap lunch?
Zapata's at the northwest corner of 18th and Collingwood is a modest taqueria (a redundancy, I know, but a useful one) offering the usual fare, which no one needs me to list. Very rarely, the cook tapes a handwritten special on the spit guard separating the mostly illegal, no doubt, immigrant servers from their customers. This isn't the world's best taqueria, though I'd rate it above average. A weakness: its slim selection of salsas and no cut limes.
A major strength: The fish taco. These are much more generous and flavorful than the standard San Francisco specimen. Can't tell you what it is, but the main ingredient, cooked to order right in front of you on the always-sizzling griddle, is white, fresh, firm-fleshed but somewhat flaky, and remarkably flavorful. Your choice, natch, of black, pinto, or refried beans and either mild or spicy salsa. You can also choose between regular and super, which adds -- unnecessarily in my opinion -- guacamole, sour cream, and maybe cheese. I always order black, spicy, reg. The unusual and impressively successful ingredient Zapata adds to its signature fish taco is fresh mushrooms, a lot of them, griddled along with the fish.
A single regular fish taco comes with a little rectangular paper box of fresh corn chips. You can load up with roasted tomato salsa, a raw radish or two, and easily call this lunch. Or at least I can. With free water, the midday meal comes in at $3.10.
I'm always satisfied, never tempted to have more, and go back regularly, as does Dan. There's no reason for this to be a secret. Tell everybody!
Your turn: Any other nominations for San Francisco's best cheap lunch?
8/23/07
Recipe: Zucchini-and-Fennel Salad
This comes from the NYT mag, and it has a problem: sogginess. The finer you cut, slice, shave, or grate squash, the more water it releases. The writer, Daniel Patterson, alludes to this in the intro -- "One problem with squash is that it’s largely water, so my initial idea for a gratin prompted visions of a soggy mess" -- but the recipe itself has no such warning.
Zucchini-and-Fennel Salad With Pecorino and Mint
1 ¼ pounds zucchini
½ cup torn mint leaves
1 cup shaved aged pecorino Romano
1 small head fennel, cored and thinly shaved
Juice of 1 lemon, plus more as needed
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more as needed
Salt and freshly ground black pepper.
Use a vegetable peeler or mandoline to thinly shave the zucchini lengthwise. In a large bowl, toss together the zucchini, mint, pecorino Romano, fennel, lemon juice and olive oil. Season with salt and black pepper. Add more lemon juice or olive oil to taste. Serves 4.
We compounded the problem by grating the zucchini instead of using a mandoline (which we don't have) or vegetable peeler, but I would think the problem would remain even after using those instruments.
Other than the excess liquid at the bottom of the bowl, the salad was wonderful, a perfect balance of flavors. It begs the question, to which perhaps someone here has an answer: what's the best way to wring the water from the raw squash? Paper towels? Colander?
Zucchini-and-Fennel Salad With Pecorino and Mint
1 ¼ pounds zucchini
½ cup torn mint leaves
1 cup shaved aged pecorino Romano
1 small head fennel, cored and thinly shaved
Juice of 1 lemon, plus more as needed
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more as needed
Salt and freshly ground black pepper.
Use a vegetable peeler or mandoline to thinly shave the zucchini lengthwise. In a large bowl, toss together the zucchini, mint, pecorino Romano, fennel, lemon juice and olive oil. Season with salt and black pepper. Add more lemon juice or olive oil to taste. Serves 4.
We compounded the problem by grating the zucchini instead of using a mandoline (which we don't have) or vegetable peeler, but I would think the problem would remain even after using those instruments.
Other than the excess liquid at the bottom of the bowl, the salad was wonderful, a perfect balance of flavors. It begs the question, to which perhaps someone here has an answer: what's the best way to wring the water from the raw squash? Paper towels? Colander?
8/17/07
Recipe: Summer Eggplant Salad
On a rare warm Inner Sunset summer night, this recipe hit the spot, and it was the rare clip-job recipe that was spot-on. I wouldn't change a thing. One caveat: do not under any circumstances use cow's milk feta (such as Athenos -- disgusting). If it doesn't expressly say sheep's milk, walk on by.
In case you can't log in to the NY Times Web site, here's the recipe:
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 3/4 pounds eggplant (any kind, or a mixture), trimmed and cut into 1-inch chunks
3 ounces feta cheese, crumbled (about 2/3 cup)
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon capers, chopped
1 pound mixed bell peppers, seeded and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves.
1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Whisk together the oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper.
2. Toss eggplant with 1/3 cup vinaigrette, reserving the rest. Arrange on a baking sheet. Bake, tossing occasionally, until tender and golden around edges, about 30 minutes. Let eggplant cool somewhat. (It can be warm but not hot enough to melt feta or wilt mint.)
3. Whisk feta, garlic and capers into reserved vinaigrette. In a large bowl, combine eggplant, peppers, tomatoes and mint leaves. Toss with vinaigrette, and serve immediately or within several hours. (It holds up all day.)
Yield: 4 to 6 servings.
In case you can't log in to the NY Times Web site, here's the recipe:
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 3/4 pounds eggplant (any kind, or a mixture), trimmed and cut into 1-inch chunks
3 ounces feta cheese, crumbled (about 2/3 cup)
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon capers, chopped
1 pound mixed bell peppers, seeded and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves.
1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Whisk together the oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper.
2. Toss eggplant with 1/3 cup vinaigrette, reserving the rest. Arrange on a baking sheet. Bake, tossing occasionally, until tender and golden around edges, about 30 minutes. Let eggplant cool somewhat. (It can be warm but not hot enough to melt feta or wilt mint.)
3. Whisk feta, garlic and capers into reserved vinaigrette. In a large bowl, combine eggplant, peppers, tomatoes and mint leaves. Toss with vinaigrette, and serve immediately or within several hours. (It holds up all day.)
Yield: 4 to 6 servings.
8/8/07
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.
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.
8/6/07
Mixology
1-1/2 oz. Tanqueray Rangpur gin3/4 oz. Campari
3/4 oz. Villa Italia blood orange soda from Trader Joe's
Shake with ice, and serve up.
I came up with this on Friday night. It's descended from the Negroni; I'm starting to think that any drink that's one-third sweet vermouth needs a tweak. I even put a shake of Angostura bitters in there just to see how it would work alongside the Campari, but it wasn't necessary. This is a summertime drink best served very cold on a warm evening. It works as an apertif. Pair with something by Lee Morgan.
The Tanqueray Rangpur probably works in a G&T, but it's not Martini material; I guess you could work with it in a Gimlet too. Inessential in your liquor cabinet.
Name my drink?
More Flapjacks, Please
The Fanch reports:
It's only recently I've become a more confident flapjack flipper. For years, I felt that I couldn't really master pancakes. Too thick, too thin. Doughy and raw inside. Or leaden and one-note.
But in the past year, I've learned the trick: separating and beating the egg whites. A recipe from Alex's Aunt Dena for orange souffle ricotta pancakes turned me on to the power of whipping egg whites to loamy peaks before folding them gentle into the batter. Dina's are citrusy and light, but also creamy from the ricotta.
This weekend, we had another success with a buckwheat batter mix from Bette's Dinner in Berkeley, which also called for the egg trick. We also added blueberries to the batter for color and flavor, and topped the perfect pancakes with strawberries and peaches. Easy and delish.
It's only recently I've become a more confident flapjack flipper. For years, I felt that I couldn't really master pancakes. Too thick, too thin. Doughy and raw inside. Or leaden and one-note.
But in the past year, I've learned the trick: separating and beating the egg whites. A recipe from Alex's Aunt Dena for orange souffle ricotta pancakes turned me on to the power of whipping egg whites to loamy peaks before folding them gentle into the batter. Dina's are citrusy and light, but also creamy from the ricotta.
This weekend, we had another success with a buckwheat batter mix from Bette's Dinner in Berkeley, which also called for the egg trick. We also added blueberries to the batter for color and flavor, and topped the perfect pancakes with strawberries and peaches. Easy and delish.
Review: Buy Me Some Bi-Rite
The Fanch reports:
We had quite the foodie weekend with our visitors from NY, Hillary and Kofi. We started out chez Bistro Hugo Friday evening, where we whipped up a sensational meal culled from the fruits of Roz's garden.
A tangy, light cucumber, avocado and heirloom tomato salad laced with cilantro and grapeseed-oil vinaigrette accompanied a hearty roasted-green-eggplant-and-sausage sugo over whole-wheat pasta.
The next morning, we were ready for more indulgence, heading off to the Farmer's Market for an orgy of fruit, from green figs to soft-ball-sized peaches. But a highlight, in addition to our Bodega Bistro experience, outlined by Alex below, was Saturday evening's dessert.
At Dan Becker's urging, we decided to try Bi-Rite Creamery, the new ice cream shop on 18th off Dolores, a block that already had an embarrassment of culinary riches before its latest addition opened.
Inside the brightly lit, compact store we found alluring flavors, from honey-lavender to salted caramel. We tasted a few and made our strategic choices: balsamic strawberry, coffee toffee and chai-laced milk chocolate. All winners. Good thing the pints cost $7.99. Otherwise, I would have been tempted to take some of this divine dairy home.
We had quite the foodie weekend with our visitors from NY, Hillary and Kofi. We started out chez Bistro Hugo Friday evening, where we whipped up a sensational meal culled from the fruits of Roz's garden.
A tangy, light cucumber, avocado and heirloom tomato salad laced with cilantro and grapeseed-oil vinaigrette accompanied a hearty roasted-green-eggplant-and-sausage sugo over whole-wheat pasta.
The next morning, we were ready for more indulgence, heading off to the Farmer's Market for an orgy of fruit, from green figs to soft-ball-sized peaches. But a highlight, in addition to our Bodega Bistro experience, outlined by Alex below, was Saturday evening's dessert.
At Dan Becker's urging, we decided to try Bi-Rite Creamery, the new ice cream shop on 18th off Dolores, a block that already had an embarrassment of culinary riches before its latest addition opened.
Inside the brightly lit, compact store we found alluring flavors, from honey-lavender to salted caramel. We tasted a few and made our strategic choices: balsamic strawberry, coffee toffee and chai-laced milk chocolate. All winners. Good thing the pints cost $7.99. Otherwise, I would have been tempted to take some of this divine dairy home.
Review: Bodega Bistro
I'll keep it short: Best Viet food I've had in San Francisco and perhaps the best meal I've had all year. The best dish among many was the roast squab appetizer, served atop caramelized onions and golden raisins and with a salty lemon pepper dipping sauce on the side. Bonus points that they serve it with the head and claws for the adventurous to gnaw.
Also delicious: the papaya salad, tossed by the waiter at the table, which saves it from the typical papaya-salad fate of getting too mushy; the roast pork and vermicelli (bun) with lettuce leaf wrap; and the three-kinds-of-beef pho, with a broth that was rich but not greasy.
Also delicious: the papaya salad, tossed by the waiter at the table, which saves it from the typical papaya-salad fate of getting too mushy; the roast pork and vermicelli (bun) with lettuce leaf wrap; and the three-kinds-of-beef pho, with a broth that was rich but not greasy.
8/1/07
The Way We Eat Now
Propagandists in general need no extra megaphones, but I know and appreciate good agitprop when I see it. Here's the latest from Michael Jacobson from the Center for Science in the Public Interest, in my junk-mail pile: foods you should never eat. He underlined it. Because he means it.
Try his "Angioplasta: Ruby Tuesday's Fresh Chicken & Broccoli Pasta." Funny, it doesn't sound that bad. It has fresh ingredients, pasta is light and broccoli is supposed to be this miracle food, right?
Check the full description: "Fresh, pulled white-meat chicken, fresh steamed broccoli and penne pasta tossed in Parmesan cream sauce, then baked." The dish has 2,060 calories and 128 total grams of fat -- which Jacobson calls the equivalent of "two sirloin-steak dinners with Caesar salad and buttered baked potato." Italics are mine. Because I love Caesar salad.
Would you like something for dessert? There are a couple of good ones here: a Mint Chip Dazzler at Häagen Dazs, and the Cheesecake Factory's 6 Carb Cheesecake.
The Mint Chip thing has three scoops of ice cream, hot fudge, Oreos, chocolate sprinkles and whipped cream, adding up to 1,270 calories and 38 grams of saturated fat. Jacobson says this is like a T-bone steak dinner with Caesar salad and baked potato with sour cream.
Maybe you should go for the low-carb cheesecake. One piece has 610 calories and 29 grams of saturated fat, which Dr. J (he says he has a Ph.D.) equates to eight ounces of prime rib. No salad or starch, though.
You wonder why we're going to hell as fat as cows. Keep the diet diatribes coming!
Try his "Angioplasta: Ruby Tuesday's Fresh Chicken & Broccoli Pasta." Funny, it doesn't sound that bad. It has fresh ingredients, pasta is light and broccoli is supposed to be this miracle food, right?
Check the full description: "Fresh, pulled white-meat chicken, fresh steamed broccoli and penne pasta tossed in Parmesan cream sauce, then baked." The dish has 2,060 calories and 128 total grams of fat -- which Jacobson calls the equivalent of "two sirloin-steak dinners with Caesar salad and buttered baked potato." Italics are mine. Because I love Caesar salad.
Would you like something for dessert? There are a couple of good ones here: a Mint Chip Dazzler at Häagen Dazs, and the Cheesecake Factory's 6 Carb Cheesecake.
The Mint Chip thing has three scoops of ice cream, hot fudge, Oreos, chocolate sprinkles and whipped cream, adding up to 1,270 calories and 38 grams of saturated fat. Jacobson says this is like a T-bone steak dinner with Caesar salad and baked potato with sour cream.
Maybe you should go for the low-carb cheesecake. One piece has 610 calories and 29 grams of saturated fat, which Dr. J (he says he has a Ph.D.) equates to eight ounces of prime rib. No salad or starch, though.
You wonder why we're going to hell as fat as cows. Keep the diet diatribes coming!
7/30/07
Review: Papalote
May I suggest a tag line: "The Taqueria for People Who Don't Like Taquerias."
Alternately: "We Should Have Gone to La Corneta."
The homemade salsa was as good as advertised. Everything else was crap, from the one-tortilla tacos (two per taco is standard to prevent disintegration), to my dull chile verde, to Fanch's grilled chicken plate (dry rice, dry tough chicken, only two tortillas on the side), to the absence of a DIY salsa and chip bar (though there was a help-yourself jar of jalapenos by the register).
Here's the ultimate insult: I wasn't allowed to order two tacos with a different meat in each. Two tacos per order, and only one meat choice. "But I want to try two different meats," I said. "Then you have to order four tacos," was the reply. Complete, utter, unprecedented bullshit.
I should have known. Always be suspicious of a taqueria with no Latinos at the tables. Skinny white girls with $200 jeans who eat taqueria food with a knife and fork do not generally make for knowledgeable patrons. Call me judgmental.
Alternately: "We Should Have Gone to La Corneta."
The homemade salsa was as good as advertised. Everything else was crap, from the one-tortilla tacos (two per taco is standard to prevent disintegration), to my dull chile verde, to Fanch's grilled chicken plate (dry rice, dry tough chicken, only two tortillas on the side), to the absence of a DIY salsa and chip bar (though there was a help-yourself jar of jalapenos by the register).
Here's the ultimate insult: I wasn't allowed to order two tacos with a different meat in each. Two tacos per order, and only one meat choice. "But I want to try two different meats," I said. "Then you have to order four tacos," was the reply. Complete, utter, unprecedented bullshit.
I should have known. Always be suspicious of a taqueria with no Latinos at the tables. Skinny white girls with $200 jeans who eat taqueria food with a knife and fork do not generally make for knowledgeable patrons. Call me judgmental.
Headline of the Week
"Arroz con Caca," in the SF Weekly. Here's La Rondalla's glowing grade of 49 from the city's Department of Public Health. Yuck.
7/29/07
Recipe: Plum Berry Crisp
This was the hit of our dinner last night. Here's the recipe, but La Chef de la Fanche makes a couple notes:
* Added lemon zest and grated ginger to the fruit mix before putting it in the oven.
* The recipe calls for a little too much butter, which keeps the top of the crisp from getting crisp.
* Serve with vanilla ice cream.
* Added lemon zest and grated ginger to the fruit mix before putting it in the oven.
* The recipe calls for a little too much butter, which keeps the top of the crisp from getting crisp.
* Serve with vanilla ice cream.
Wine: Rabbit Ridge Allure de Robles
I found it at TJ's, its inconspicuous spot on the shelf marked by a celebratory sticker of a silver medal from some contest or another. At $5.99, I figured it was worth a shot. It was indeed. Our oenophiliac dinner guest last night also gave it a thumbs-up, and that was the last third of a bottle that had been opened three days previous. we drank it with a lamb-and-roasted-veggie lasagna.
Note: the bottle did not specify the year, which I believe makes it the "NV" (no vintage?).
Returning to TJ's yesterday, the Allure was awarded its own end-of-aisle display, the type normally reserved for Charles Shaw. Get it while it's hot.
Note: the bottle did not specify the year, which I believe makes it the "NV" (no vintage?).
Returning to TJ's yesterday, the Allure was awarded its own end-of-aisle display, the type normally reserved for Charles Shaw. Get it while it's hot.
7/25/07
Lunch: Café Chez Carla
I admit it: I've been digressing to kinda gross Subway for quick work lunches again, but only once or twice a week, and only because I only want to spend a lousy $3. (I saw some guy substitute fresh spinach for shredded lettuce, and boy, does that make a difference.) So in short order I am disgusted and looking to refresh the options, without waiting for Rupert to send raises.
I've narrowed Wildflower down to Fridays, with the lighter salad a perfect lead-in to the weekend. But now I am sick of it, too. My colleague Jomo, known for the $12 Wildflower salads, has looked to greener pastures as well, and he turned me on to Café Carla, which I've noticed a couple of doors down from Soup Freaks (home of the $7 soup and lame chicken-sandwich combo). Except that it's called Chez Carla. I still think Café Carla is better.
So I walk in and right away I love the piped-in salsa. Taquería María in San Rafael probably tunes into the same satellite-radio stream. I start tentatively -- serving myself very small portions of greens, a little angel hair with veggies and fresh herbs, roasted mushrooms and zucchini, sautéed green beans and a tiny piece of chicken -- bracing myself for the $8 tab. Someone comes out to ring me up, and my jaw drops: $4.26. Unbelievable.
The woman mentions something about a $4.99 minimum, but hands me a frequent-diner card (10th salad free, max. $7) and tells me not to worry about it. Everything looks great and has fresh basil and cilantro, and turns out tastes great and is not over- or undersalted either. (I didn't even touch other hot items than chicken.) It's a delicious and satisfying lunch, though four hours later I snack on an apple and some nuts. But that's the way you should eat anyway.
The chicken, I learn from this podcast I found, is first roasted and then deep-fried. God, I am happy.
I can't wait to go back tomorrow. How many times can you say that about a place? Dispatches and salsa playlists to follow. (Day 1: "Pedro Navaja," Ruben Blades.)
I've narrowed Wildflower down to Fridays, with the lighter salad a perfect lead-in to the weekend. But now I am sick of it, too. My colleague Jomo, known for the $12 Wildflower salads, has looked to greener pastures as well, and he turned me on to Café Carla, which I've noticed a couple of doors down from Soup Freaks (home of the $7 soup and lame chicken-sandwich combo). Except that it's called Chez Carla. I still think Café Carla is better.
So I walk in and right away I love the piped-in salsa. Taquería María in San Rafael probably tunes into the same satellite-radio stream. I start tentatively -- serving myself very small portions of greens, a little angel hair with veggies and fresh herbs, roasted mushrooms and zucchini, sautéed green beans and a tiny piece of chicken -- bracing myself for the $8 tab. Someone comes out to ring me up, and my jaw drops: $4.26. Unbelievable.
The woman mentions something about a $4.99 minimum, but hands me a frequent-diner card (10th salad free, max. $7) and tells me not to worry about it. Everything looks great and has fresh basil and cilantro, and turns out tastes great and is not over- or undersalted either. (I didn't even touch other hot items than chicken.) It's a delicious and satisfying lunch, though four hours later I snack on an apple and some nuts. But that's the way you should eat anyway.
The chicken, I learn from this podcast I found, is first roasted and then deep-fried. God, I am happy.
I can't wait to go back tomorrow. How many times can you say that about a place? Dispatches and salsa playlists to follow. (Day 1: "Pedro Navaja," Ruben Blades.)
7/23/07
Fish, Your Wish V
Meanwhile, the saga of the tamago vs. the sashimi and whatnot continues. Turns out that the wealthy big shots wolfing down as much fish flesh as their expense accounts can cover are skewing the demographics for mercury poisoning. Sheesh.
Fish, Your Wish IV
Simply going with wild-caught fish won't let you off the hook. The last two weeks we've bought the wild-caught red snapper at TJ's, but I just looked it up on the Monterey Bay Aquarium's Seafood Watch guide: depending on where the red snapper is caught, it might be best to avoid it. I've added the guide to our link list on the right.
A few other fish commonly found at TJs or other outlets:
* Tilapia. Make sure it's farm-raised in the U.S.
* Salmon: Wild-caught good, farmed bad.
* Mahi-mahi: I was surprised -- it's generally OK to eat, sustainability-wise.
A few other fish commonly found at TJs or other outlets:
* Tilapia. Make sure it's farm-raised in the U.S.
* Salmon: Wild-caught good, farmed bad.
* Mahi-mahi: I was surprised -- it's generally OK to eat, sustainability-wise.
7/18/07
Fish, Your Wish III
So glad the word's gotten out. Here’s the story on the front page of today’s WSJ (subscription required):
> African waters are losing fish stock rapidly, with ramifications both to the economies of Africa's coastal nations and to the world's ocean ecology. Over the past three decades, the amount of fish in West African waters has declined by up to 50%, according to Daniel Pauly, a researcher at the University of British Columbia.
The Mauritanian locals can’t compete with the big trawlers, which have depleted the stocks in their home regions.
If you can’t read the story, let me know in a polite comment and I’ll email it to you.
> African waters are losing fish stock rapidly, with ramifications both to the economies of Africa's coastal nations and to the world's ocean ecology. Over the past three decades, the amount of fish in West African waters has declined by up to 50%, according to Daniel Pauly, a researcher at the University of British Columbia.
The Mauritanian locals can’t compete with the big trawlers, which have depleted the stocks in their home regions.
If you can’t read the story, let me know in a polite comment and I’ll email it to you.
7/17/07
¡Fuñeta! Qué Tacos!
Y’all may recall that I’ve been visiting the taco truck that parks next to the old Standard brick building on Pacific near Sansome. I’d be happy to supply a new review, but time and other constraints are impinging -- like the fact that they raised their taco prices 33% just yesterday.
Yes, I was one of those price-sensitive affluents (a mind-blowing marketing term that explains why there are BMWs in Wal-Mart parking lots) that loaded up on three kinds of tacos for $4.50, with some pickled jalapeños and fresh radishes and cut lime to boot. The quality is still pretty excellent; my grilled chicken was toothsome without being way too dry, and the spice is right. But now these puppies are $2 each. (Burrito prices stayed the same. How izzat?)
Is it rising corn and produce prices? Gas, cooking fuel or tolls? Doth I complain too much? For now, I’m lumping it.
Yes, I was one of those price-sensitive affluents (a mind-blowing marketing term that explains why there are BMWs in Wal-Mart parking lots) that loaded up on three kinds of tacos for $4.50, with some pickled jalapeños and fresh radishes and cut lime to boot. The quality is still pretty excellent; my grilled chicken was toothsome without being way too dry, and the spice is right. But now these puppies are $2 each. (Burrito prices stayed the same. How izzat?)
Is it rising corn and produce prices? Gas, cooking fuel or tolls? Doth I complain too much? For now, I’m lumping it.
Whatevertini
Call me hypocritical, call me contrarian -- call me a cab! Especially when the topic comes to martinis. With all my grousing about philistines who ask if I want my martini on the rocks, and my loathing for apple-, mango-, and chocotinis, I'll admit that I've started straying from the righteous path. I put a lemon twist in my martinis. Sometimes the bitter medicine of the gin and the long-marinating brine of the olives need a little pick-me-up, something sunny at the end of a foggy summer day. Is that so wrong?
7/15/07
Fish, Your Wish II
There seems to be a boomlet in writing about sushi going on. In addition to the Slate piece Anthony blogged about a few days ago, the New York Times today had not one, not two, but — count them — three op-ed pieces about sushi.
The Sushi for Two piece, which advocates that Americans rediscover both the culinary and social meanings of sushi, reminds me of the Sushi Eating How-To — recommended reading for both beginning and more advanced practitioners.
The Sushi for Two piece, which advocates that Americans rediscover both the culinary and social meanings of sushi, reminds me of the Sushi Eating How-To — recommended reading for both beginning and more advanced practitioners.
7/13/07
Look Who's Back
Our old Pizzetta friend Tamar has resurfaced, according to this Chron column. Was she cheesemaking in Vermont this whole time? We must go visit and ask. She's executive chef of Socha a new cafe in the Mission/Bernal Heights area, near the Safeway. Note: the article calls Pizzetta a "cult favorite."
7/10/07
Fish, Your Wish
Surfed over to a great piece on sushi today, and it's the proverbial food for thought.
Note how the people interviewed describe the cold-storage supply chain and how tuna belly is basically a luxury item -- you know, like gasoline.
Aquaculture could stave off the inevitable fin di la frutta di mare, letting the ocean's stocks recover, but I know I'm not alone in wondering whether wild salmon and snapper and whatnot are going to be gone in a generation or two. So what to do?
Maybe put our morals where our mouths are and save sushi for a special occasion once or twice a year. The marketplace has got to get the message somehow.
Note how the people interviewed describe the cold-storage supply chain and how tuna belly is basically a luxury item -- you know, like gasoline.
Aquaculture could stave off the inevitable fin di la frutta di mare, letting the ocean's stocks recover, but I know I'm not alone in wondering whether wild salmon and snapper and whatnot are going to be gone in a generation or two. So what to do?
Maybe put our morals where our mouths are and save sushi for a special occasion once or twice a year. The marketplace has got to get the message somehow.
7/9/07
7/3/07
Review: Oliveto
Like Chez Panisse, Oliveto has two floors, two menus and two price ranges, the social stratification made visceral by a staircase. Is this what John Edwards is talking about? While a privileged few in America are upstairs eating stuffed Jones Ranch rabbit, the rest of us are downstairs scraping by on pizza con pancetta, fennel and dandelion? No justice, no peace!
We opted for the lower realm, mainly because we didn't have a reservation but also because of our sneaker-ish footwear, which the hostess assessed with an obvious glance as we stepped inside.
Let's get this out of the way first: it still wasn't cheap. Nearly $90 for two people, and it teetered on the edge of "worth it." Here's why:
I started with a negroni to slake my summertime thirst. It was too sweet, and the waitress spilled a few splashes as she set it down. At $10 a cocktail, that's no small loss.
We ordered three apps, two of which were spectacular, a summer squash carpaccio and a wild-greens soup. The salumi plate was uninspiring, with two of the salumis very similar in taste and texture (what's the point of doing a sampler?) and the third, a pate on crostini, basically pure fat and salt. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, but it was far from sublime. So 2-for-3, and high hopes for the entrees...
The Fanch had lamb shoulder daube, I had the grilled squid piled on a large crostino and drizzled with aioli. Both were flavorful; both were salty. Again, salty's not necessarily bad, but when you're paying $15 for mini-entrees in a house of excellent repute, you hope for a bit more subtlety, a few more well-played notes. With a bit of the grill's char riffing off the deep-sea brine, my squid worked better toward that goal than Fanch's lamb.
We skipped dessert.
Sometimes I sound like a broken record. It's just not worth it. I won't go quite that far this time; in fact, the upstairs menu, which changes frequently, was adventuresome enough to lure me back for a big splurge, but it would have to be a very special occasion.
As for downstairs, which is more along the lines of a trattoria with pastas and pizzas and salads, I would do it again, especially if it were a choice between that and the Pasta Pomodoro down the block.
We opted for the lower realm, mainly because we didn't have a reservation but also because of our sneaker-ish footwear, which the hostess assessed with an obvious glance as we stepped inside.
Let's get this out of the way first: it still wasn't cheap. Nearly $90 for two people, and it teetered on the edge of "worth it." Here's why:
I started with a negroni to slake my summertime thirst. It was too sweet, and the waitress spilled a few splashes as she set it down. At $10 a cocktail, that's no small loss.
We ordered three apps, two of which were spectacular, a summer squash carpaccio and a wild-greens soup. The salumi plate was uninspiring, with two of the salumis very similar in taste and texture (what's the point of doing a sampler?) and the third, a pate on crostini, basically pure fat and salt. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, but it was far from sublime. So 2-for-3, and high hopes for the entrees...
The Fanch had lamb shoulder daube, I had the grilled squid piled on a large crostino and drizzled with aioli. Both were flavorful; both were salty. Again, salty's not necessarily bad, but when you're paying $15 for mini-entrees in a house of excellent repute, you hope for a bit more subtlety, a few more well-played notes. With a bit of the grill's char riffing off the deep-sea brine, my squid worked better toward that goal than Fanch's lamb.
We skipped dessert.
Sometimes I sound like a broken record. It's just not worth it. I won't go quite that far this time; in fact, the upstairs menu, which changes frequently, was adventuresome enough to lure me back for a big splurge, but it would have to be a very special occasion.
As for downstairs, which is more along the lines of a trattoria with pastas and pizzas and salads, I would do it again, especially if it were a choice between that and the Pasta Pomodoro down the block.
7/1/07
Recipe: Tortilla Casserole
After a few weeks of too much of good things that are wonderful, I am downsizing a bit. It's sometimes easier on weekends to space out two meals where there would ordinarily be three, with the shift in schedules, busy work such as errands and countless snacking opportunities (such as grabbing dim sum while doing errands).
Consider the early supper of last night, which I've memorized out of the Moosewood cookbook. (Which begs the question, is there still life for Moosewood in this post-Alice Waters, Batali-Boulud-Bourdain period? You could even remake the Billy Joel song these days: "Charlie Parker, Rachael Ray, Emeril and Bobby Flay, watch Iron Chef." Something like that. Elbo?)
Start with a sauté of fine-chopped onions and garlic in a cast-iron skillet, and add a handful of diced peppers; spicy ones are fine. Season with salt, pepper, oregano and some chili powder if you like. Then throw in two or three chopped tomatoes of any color and let them soften up. Kill the heat and stir in some tortilla strips -- basically 10 corn tortillas cut into half-inch lengths -- and pour in half a pint of half and half. (The recipe calls for heavy cream, but I balk at the heavy cream.) Top it with some Parmesan or any dry cheese you can grate, and pop the whole thing into a 375-degree oven for 30 minutes.
After a half-hour, retop with a little shredded jack or cheddar and let that melt for four or five minutes more. Then pull it out and let it sit a bit while you warm the plates. Cut quarter pieces out with a metal spatula (no bending), and garnish with salsa. Enjoy.
Consider the early supper of last night, which I've memorized out of the Moosewood cookbook. (Which begs the question, is there still life for Moosewood in this post-Alice Waters, Batali-Boulud-Bourdain period? You could even remake the Billy Joel song these days: "Charlie Parker, Rachael Ray, Emeril and Bobby Flay, watch Iron Chef." Something like that. Elbo?)
Start with a sauté of fine-chopped onions and garlic in a cast-iron skillet, and add a handful of diced peppers; spicy ones are fine. Season with salt, pepper, oregano and some chili powder if you like. Then throw in two or three chopped tomatoes of any color and let them soften up. Kill the heat and stir in some tortilla strips -- basically 10 corn tortillas cut into half-inch lengths -- and pour in half a pint of half and half. (The recipe calls for heavy cream, but I balk at the heavy cream.) Top it with some Parmesan or any dry cheese you can grate, and pop the whole thing into a 375-degree oven for 30 minutes.
After a half-hour, retop with a little shredded jack or cheddar and let that melt for four or five minutes more. Then pull it out and let it sit a bit while you warm the plates. Cut quarter pieces out with a metal spatula (no bending), and garnish with salsa. Enjoy.
6/28/07
Perennial Wheat
The current ish of Gourmet has a fantastic article on the perennial-wheat movement, a group of agri-scientists, anthropologists and enviromentalists looking to bring back ancient wheat crops -- without genetic engineering.
Why perennial? Annual crops, which dominate big-agro wheat, die every year, and that means vast amounts of soil erosion, leading to problems such as the great dead zone of the Gulf of Mexico off the Louisiana coast.
The story text isn't online, but epicurious.com posted a Q&A here with the article's author Steven Johnson. The Q&A itself is a must-read. Yes, that Steven Johnson, who usually writes about high-tech and social/cultural trends and histories. Great writer, great thinker, and a great assignment by Gourmet. I'm happy to photocopy the Gourmet piece for those who want.
What does it say about the spread of eco-consciousness when one of America's oldest recipe mags runs a piece that argues for a complete change in our wheat production?
Why perennial? Annual crops, which dominate big-agro wheat, die every year, and that means vast amounts of soil erosion, leading to problems such as the great dead zone of the Gulf of Mexico off the Louisiana coast.
The story text isn't online, but epicurious.com posted a Q&A here with the article's author Steven Johnson. The Q&A itself is a must-read. Yes, that Steven Johnson, who usually writes about high-tech and social/cultural trends and histories. Great writer, great thinker, and a great assignment by Gourmet. I'm happy to photocopy the Gourmet piece for those who want.
What does it say about the spread of eco-consciousness when one of America's oldest recipe mags runs a piece that argues for a complete change in our wheat production?
6/26/07
What's Cooking?
Also, feel free to send me quick hits for the "What's Cooking?" box on the right. As you might have noticed, I don't change it very often, so if you're inspired by what you've just whipped up, or out, e-mail it to me and I'll post it.
6/25/07
Links?
Bistrovians, I wouldn't mind more food links for the right-hand margin. Any and all suggestions most welcome. Same goes for "inedibles" -- which I'd like to limit to our little community's own non-food endeavors. Don't be shy.
Review: Good Earth Cuisine
The happiest person on Earth right now might be Harry Pariser, the apartment dweller on 9th Avenue in the Inner Sunset who for years waged a lonely war of signage against the Burger King on the ground floor of his building.
As he has noted on his Web page, his nemesis is gone. It's unclear what he thinks about the new tenant, which he describes as an "organic bison burger joint," Good Earth Cuisine. It's still fast food but with a friendlier face: in fact, the logo looks like a cynical mishmash of eco-feelgoodism and Starbucks. Good Earth makes bison burgers, yes, as well as turkey and salmon versions. It also serves wraps, breakfast burritos, salads, minestrone soup, and a few dinner entrees.
Of course, I had the bison burger. Topped with tomato, lettuce, and a dollop of aioli, and served with a simple, generous and perfectly-dressed side salad, it was $7 and excellent.
Fanch had the grilled chicken and asparagus served with a caprese salad, $10. Like the bison burger, it was no more or less than advertised: fresh ingredients (as far as we could tell), cooked with a minimum of fuss and sauce, and quite tasty. Nothing you couldn't make at home, but as long as the price is right, I don't mind paying for a competent meal.
One caveat: the restaurant presents itself as calorie/carb/diet-conscious, going as far as to offer books and videos that espouse the "Zone" method, yet another of the diet fads I've tried to ignore over the years. It's not quite culty, but the restaurant's ponderous raison d'etre paragraph inside the menu offered dubious health info (calorie restriction is not a scientifically proven method to increase longevity, unless you're a mouse), and the counter guy, who would answer every "thank you" with "You're very welcome," was far too cheerful.
I chewed with some suspicion -- was this all to throw Harry Pariser off-balance before he realizes that "good earth" food also sends stinky cooking fumes into his apartment? We'll keep an eye on his apartment window for signs of discontent.
As he has noted on his Web page, his nemesis is gone. It's unclear what he thinks about the new tenant, which he describes as an "organic bison burger joint," Good Earth Cuisine. It's still fast food but with a friendlier face: in fact, the logo looks like a cynical mishmash of eco-feelgoodism and Starbucks. Good Earth makes bison burgers, yes, as well as turkey and salmon versions. It also serves wraps, breakfast burritos, salads, minestrone soup, and a few dinner entrees.
Of course, I had the bison burger. Topped with tomato, lettuce, and a dollop of aioli, and served with a simple, generous and perfectly-dressed side salad, it was $7 and excellent.
Fanch had the grilled chicken and asparagus served with a caprese salad, $10. Like the bison burger, it was no more or less than advertised: fresh ingredients (as far as we could tell), cooked with a minimum of fuss and sauce, and quite tasty. Nothing you couldn't make at home, but as long as the price is right, I don't mind paying for a competent meal.
One caveat: the restaurant presents itself as calorie/carb/diet-conscious, going as far as to offer books and videos that espouse the "Zone" method, yet another of the diet fads I've tried to ignore over the years. It's not quite culty, but the restaurant's ponderous raison d'etre paragraph inside the menu offered dubious health info (calorie restriction is not a scientifically proven method to increase longevity, unless you're a mouse), and the counter guy, who would answer every "thank you" with "You're very welcome," was far too cheerful.
I chewed with some suspicion -- was this all to throw Harry Pariser off-balance before he realizes that "good earth" food also sends stinky cooking fumes into his apartment? We'll keep an eye on his apartment window for signs of discontent.
6/18/07
Cocinando en San Carlos
With my folks at their place in the Peninsula and Kristen's folks out and about on day trips, I got a chance to be the true mensch and help my mom make the Puerto Rican food last Sunday afternoon. I swing down in the mean machine loaded with some goodies and in short order pull my shirt off, pop open a Bud Light and get busy as sous chef.
First I brown some ripe plantain rounds in butter, and when that's done add quite a bit of brown sugar and water. Then we spice with cinnamon and cloves, and once that reduces 20 minutes later, it's topped off with a cut-up green apple. Diabetics, beware the amarillitos con manzana.
While all this is going on, some very thin slices of pancetta (Primo Taglio from Safeway, awesome packing job) are sizzling in the bottom of a big Dutch oven. Those come out and seasoned parts of a bird are brought out of ziplock bags to get browned in batches. Then the sofrito goes in with a bit of tomato sauce. Then the rice (Uncle Ben's) cascades for its turn in the hot oil, and finally the bird and lots of water. An hour later or so, we have arroz con pollo.
With a little more pancetta and sofrito I start the base for the beans, which this time are just canned pintos from Safeway. Mom softens up some cubes of butternut squash in a separate pot and throws them in. After some requisite boiling, we have the usual debate on the salt. I defer to the expert.
Later I soften up some asparagus spears and run off the water. As Kristen spins romaine leaves in a spinner, Mom takes the crispy pancetta and crumbles it on the asparagus. I love that touch.
So for a late lunch we have arroz con pollo, amarillitos, habichuelas guisadas, aspárragos y ensalada. I have seconds and finish Kristen's plate.
The next day, I wake up feeling a little full. I stick to soup and salad.
First I brown some ripe plantain rounds in butter, and when that's done add quite a bit of brown sugar and water. Then we spice with cinnamon and cloves, and once that reduces 20 minutes later, it's topped off with a cut-up green apple. Diabetics, beware the amarillitos con manzana.
While all this is going on, some very thin slices of pancetta (Primo Taglio from Safeway, awesome packing job) are sizzling in the bottom of a big Dutch oven. Those come out and seasoned parts of a bird are brought out of ziplock bags to get browned in batches. Then the sofrito goes in with a bit of tomato sauce. Then the rice (Uncle Ben's) cascades for its turn in the hot oil, and finally the bird and lots of water. An hour later or so, we have arroz con pollo.
With a little more pancetta and sofrito I start the base for the beans, which this time are just canned pintos from Safeway. Mom softens up some cubes of butternut squash in a separate pot and throws them in. After some requisite boiling, we have the usual debate on the salt. I defer to the expert.
Later I soften up some asparagus spears and run off the water. As Kristen spins romaine leaves in a spinner, Mom takes the crispy pancetta and crumbles it on the asparagus. I love that touch.
So for a late lunch we have arroz con pollo, amarillitos, habichuelas guisadas, aspárragos y ensalada. I have seconds and finish Kristen's plate.
The next day, I wake up feeling a little full. I stick to soup and salad.
6/17/07
Eureka! Apricots of Yore!
Like me, my friend Sam is a lifelong Californian. Like me and, I suspect, many lifelong Californians 50 and over, Sam had given up on ever tasting a ripe apricot again. When I was a kid, tree-ripened apricots were as much a part of summer as riding bikes to swim in the municipal plunge every day or taking turns cranking the ice cream freezer in the backyard. These sweet, jammy gems were second only to ripe figs for what I later came to realize was vaginal lusciousness. They disappeared, as best I can recall, in the early 70s, mainly, I suspect, because markets grew more and more distant from sources. A ripe apricot is difficult to ship, so they're picked green and hard. Unfortunately, unlike peaches, apricots don't ripen after they're picked.
Like an obsessive birder set on finding a nesting pair of ivory-billed woodpeckers, I kept hope alive, searching down the decades: farmers markets, expensive boutique groceries, Napa Valley fruitstands. Nothing came close. When Sam called last Saturday morning, the urgency in his terse message was unmistakable: "Alemany Farmers Market. South row, far west end. Apricots of yore. Hurry!"
I drove down immediately and ran into Sam. He pointed to the stand and instructed, "Ask for a sample. They'll give you a whole one." I did, they did, and I bought 2 pounds. Yesterday, I bought 6 pounds. Forgot the price. Who cares?
I don't believe in hoarding treasure. And so I am obliged to report Sam's historic rediscovery. I apologize for my delay, since apricot season comes early in the summer and does not linger. The Alemany wonders are from Modesto. And they're also a variety called "Modesto," a distinction that both amused the farmer selling them and made him proud. As he deserves to be.
For eating fresh, choose the soft, even mushy, ones. For baking, any will do. Store in the reefer, but do not eat them cold; God's in his heaven...all's right with the world!
Like an obsessive birder set on finding a nesting pair of ivory-billed woodpeckers, I kept hope alive, searching down the decades: farmers markets, expensive boutique groceries, Napa Valley fruitstands. Nothing came close. When Sam called last Saturday morning, the urgency in his terse message was unmistakable: "Alemany Farmers Market. South row, far west end. Apricots of yore. Hurry!"
I drove down immediately and ran into Sam. He pointed to the stand and instructed, "Ask for a sample. They'll give you a whole one." I did, they did, and I bought 2 pounds. Yesterday, I bought 6 pounds. Forgot the price. Who cares?
I don't believe in hoarding treasure. And so I am obliged to report Sam's historic rediscovery. I apologize for my delay, since apricot season comes early in the summer and does not linger. The Alemany wonders are from Modesto. And they're also a variety called "Modesto," a distinction that both amused the farmer selling them and made him proud. As he deserves to be.
For eating fresh, choose the soft, even mushy, ones. For baking, any will do. Store in the reefer, but do not eat them cold; God's in his heaven...all's right with the world!
6/14/07
Review: Two Thai, Pre-Theater
Two quick Thai hits to add to our list of pre-theater options, both on Post.
1) Ar Roi, or perhaps Arroi. 643 Post between Taylor and Jones. Great space -- an old art-deco'ish long room with rather uncomfortable but stylish booths and curvy light fixtures. If you sit facing the street you look right up Shannon Alley and watch the posh crowd traipse in and out of Le Colonial. We ordered roast duck soup with thick rice noodles, veggies and tofu with ample ginger, and a grilled chicken. It was all quite serviceable, flavorful and reasonable, but with a bit more grease than some of us cared for. $30 for two. The better option is...
2) Thai Stick, 698 Post. I'm not sure if this is the original or the sequel to Thai Stick 2000 on the upper Fillmore. Their tom yum gai -- our litmus test for Thai restaurants -- was perfectly balanced between hot, sweet and sour, with lots of chicken. Other dishes which I don't quite remember were just fine and not as oily as Ar Roi. Thai Stick also serves brown rice, a nice change of pace.
1) Ar Roi, or perhaps Arroi. 643 Post between Taylor and Jones. Great space -- an old art-deco'ish long room with rather uncomfortable but stylish booths and curvy light fixtures. If you sit facing the street you look right up Shannon Alley and watch the posh crowd traipse in and out of Le Colonial. We ordered roast duck soup with thick rice noodles, veggies and tofu with ample ginger, and a grilled chicken. It was all quite serviceable, flavorful and reasonable, but with a bit more grease than some of us cared for. $30 for two. The better option is...
2) Thai Stick, 698 Post. I'm not sure if this is the original or the sequel to Thai Stick 2000 on the upper Fillmore. Their tom yum gai -- our litmus test for Thai restaurants -- was perfectly balanced between hot, sweet and sour, with lots of chicken. Other dishes which I don't quite remember were just fine and not as oily as Ar Roi. Thai Stick also serves brown rice, a nice change of pace.
6/13/07
Review: Taco Del Mar
I needed a quick hit before the Giants game. Instead of a sandwich, I stopped at Taco Del Mar on 2nd near Folsom. The meat selection was wanting: stewed chicken, stewed beef, carne asada, and ground beef. Chicken mole. Maybe some pork. No chile verde, no pollo asado. Weak. The chips were stale.
On the plus side: chopped cabbage was available in addition to lettuce. The homemade salsa was extra hot. Spinach and other tortilla flavors were available. The people were friendly. Could've been worse, especially since it's a chain that started in Seattle, according to this site. At least they're keeping it clean.
On the plus side: chopped cabbage was available in addition to lettuce. The homemade salsa was extra hot. Spinach and other tortilla flavors were available. The people were friendly. Could've been worse, especially since it's a chain that started in Seattle, according to this site. At least they're keeping it clean.
6/12/07
TJ East Bay Delay
This time, Oakland city council members (including Barbara Boxer's son) are making it difficult for two Trader Joe's to open in Oakland because of union concerns. Last time, it was uptight Berkeley neighbors fretting about secretive German families and cheap booze. When are they going to learn? You can't stop the Fearless Flyer.
6/11/07
Review: San Jose in San Rafael
A quick note this morning on a longstanding taqueria favorita, San Jose, under the freeway in San Rafael. It's the best in town, although Taqueria Maria across from City Hall on 4th St. is a worthy competitor.
I stopped in with a teammate after our game in Marin yesterday (White Sox beat the SFPD Blues 5-4 with a run in the bottom of the ninth). As usual, the free chips and homemade salsa were excellent and abundant, the fresh-squeezed juices were flying out the door, and the meat selection was varied. I opted for two tacos, one chile verde, one lengua, and Bill went for the veggie burrito. His order had a small, unexpected mishap: the burrito fell apart after two bites. Could've been faulty construction, could've been a stale tortilla. Either way, it was the first blip on San Jose's perfect record.
Taquerias in San Rafael to avoid: Las Calandrias (on Lincoln), Puentez (in the Trader Joe's mall).
I stopped in with a teammate after our game in Marin yesterday (White Sox beat the SFPD Blues 5-4 with a run in the bottom of the ninth). As usual, the free chips and homemade salsa were excellent and abundant, the fresh-squeezed juices were flying out the door, and the meat selection was varied. I opted for two tacos, one chile verde, one lengua, and Bill went for the veggie burrito. His order had a small, unexpected mishap: the burrito fell apart after two bites. Could've been faulty construction, could've been a stale tortilla. Either way, it was the first blip on San Jose's perfect record.
Taquerias in San Rafael to avoid: Las Calandrias (on Lincoln), Puentez (in the Trader Joe's mall).
6/10/07
Tainted
Well, it happened to us: I put out some burgers in the afternoon for an evening meal, and as I pull in and zip down the cowhide, Kristen says: "Check out the Gate and see if we've got bad beef." Something like that.
I look, and there it is. On my patty pack from Trader Joe's Butcher Shop, the "freeze-by" date is April 20, on the edge of the envelope. It looks like there's another date, "0422," but it's not clear what that number is. The Web site is confusing too.
Another pound of beef goes to the dump. What to do, go back for more?
I look, and there it is. On my patty pack from Trader Joe's Butcher Shop, the "freeze-by" date is April 20, on the edge of the envelope. It looks like there's another date, "0422," but it's not clear what that number is. The Web site is confusing too.
Another pound of beef goes to the dump. What to do, go back for more?
6/7/07
¡Camarones!
Mi amigo el Elbo picks me up and shows me how he rolls in Oaktown: First stop is Fruitvale's International Blvd. for Taquería San José, then a quick run for tall boys and finally greeting Susan the ticket taker at the parking lot for the Mac -- also known as McAfee Coliseum, home of the Oakland Athletics, who were hosting las Medias Rojas de Boston.
It sure would have been fun to have Manny and Big Papi over to San José, which is next to the pawn shop that's next to the Puerto Rican restaurant. (Sofrito: That place is a little too starchy and way too salty, and adding a Guinness on top of all that nearly put me over the edge once. A couple of burps later I was fine.) In the nearly 10 minutes I was in the taco place, I learned the following: Burritos are $3.50, supers with the works a buck more. Shrimp burritos are a splurge at $4.50. The staff is friendly and attentive. The salsa verde is the *best in the Bay Area.*
Wanting to see what the griddleman could do, I went with the shrimp tube. Minutes later, with our chips and salsa on the hood of the Honda, I dug in. Unbelievable crunch and spice explosion. The G-man threw a mix of sautéed red and green peppers and onions with seasoned shrimp. Spoonfuls of the salsa verde added (help me out here, Elbo) tomatillo, jalapeño and creamy avocado.
I finished that pup in a heartbeat, while the tortilla was still warm. My Tecate was not as cold as I would have liked, but I have to say, this was almost as good as the pregame eats for my last ball game. If only International Blvd. weren't in the East Bay.
It sure would have been fun to have Manny and Big Papi over to San José, which is next to the pawn shop that's next to the Puerto Rican restaurant. (Sofrito: That place is a little too starchy and way too salty, and adding a Guinness on top of all that nearly put me over the edge once. A couple of burps later I was fine.) In the nearly 10 minutes I was in the taco place, I learned the following: Burritos are $3.50, supers with the works a buck more. Shrimp burritos are a splurge at $4.50. The staff is friendly and attentive. The salsa verde is the *best in the Bay Area.*
Wanting to see what the griddleman could do, I went with the shrimp tube. Minutes later, with our chips and salsa on the hood of the Honda, I dug in. Unbelievable crunch and spice explosion. The G-man threw a mix of sautéed red and green peppers and onions with seasoned shrimp. Spoonfuls of the salsa verde added (help me out here, Elbo) tomatillo, jalapeño and creamy avocado.
I finished that pup in a heartbeat, while the tortilla was still warm. My Tecate was not as cold as I would have liked, but I have to say, this was almost as good as the pregame eats for my last ball game. If only International Blvd. weren't in the East Bay.
Sexy Pleasure: Cock in Wine
When I was a kid, Sunday dinner—always ready around 1 pm, but in contrast to weekday dinners, you could eat whenever you wanted—alternated between pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions, and what I believe my mother called “standing roast,” which did not include vegetables. The former was a juicy horizontal slab, the latter a tightly grained vertical monument. Both were delicious, better than steak, barbecued ribs, hot dogs, or fried chicken, which—apostasy!—I’ve never much cared for (feh! all that greasy skin).
When I think about my mother’s Sunday standards, I realize that unlike Piaf, I cannot claim to have no regrets. My mother died when I was 29, and I’m sorry that I never learned how to make my favorite childhood dishes while she was alive.
Happily, one finds one’s way to the larger world, where I was introduced to a new favorite that never appeared on my family’s dinner table and may never have shown up on any dinner table in Atwater, California, during the 50s and 60s. Or come to think of it, maybe it did. The French girl down street, the one with the mustache who aspired to the convent, would likely have been familiar with coq au vin, variously translated as "chicken stew" (Nigel Slater in The Observer), "rooster with wine" (Wikepedia), and adding an assumed adjective, "chicken in red wine" (Julia Child, The Way To Cook).
I’ve been ordering coq au vin at restaurants and attempting it on my own for 25 years nearly, with uneven results. Whether dining out or dining in, I have never tasted a version as delicious and inspiring as that served by Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser (like the quadratic equation in Billy Collins’s celebrated poem, “Forgetfulness,” Mrs. Donhauser’s first name has packed its bag) in her country house in East Chatham, New York. Mrs. Donhauser’s son was a college classmate of my ex, and he used to invite us up for the weekend from time to time. She was Belgian, which may explain her scowl the single time I offered to help in the kitchen. The glory of her version of coq au vin was its richness of taste, the perfect consistency of the sauce, and undeniably, the enchantment of feasting in the dining room of a creaky 18th-century upstate farmhouse set amid rolling woodsy hills that looked as if they had changed little in 200 years.
Last weekend, Dan and I had six friends over for a Sunday dinner—at 6, not 1 pm. I made coq au vin (recipe below) and it turned out pretty well. It was a casual evening, and I was flattered when Alex shot up and declared, “We need more sauce! Is there something I can put it in?” Naturally, I listened for compliments on my cooking and was not disappointed. I clucked approvingly to myself after dinner when I noticed that all the bread—two loaves, one a sweet baguette, the other ciabatta, both heated in the oven before serving—had been entirely consumed, evidence of rampant sauce-sopping. I joined in the accolades for Dan’s dessert, a rhubarb cobbler topped with homemade vanilla ice cream.
Our dinner was a social and gustatory success.
But I’m no Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. My coq au vin, though improved from efforts in other decades, was decent, tasty, appreciated, but not memorable. While I don’t ever expect to equal Mrs. Donhauser’s achievement, I do want to move in that direction.
So I’ve been reading up, and there seem to be several key opportunities for my future efforts:
• Use more wine
My recipe, a simplified version from Martha Stewart’s monthly digest, Everyday Food—a useful source, by-the-way, of accessible recipes—calls for a cup and a half, but most recipes call for more, up to a full bottle.
• Use good wine
Shyamala tells us, “Don’t cook with wine you wouldn’t drink.” Sure. But I drink a lot of cheap wine. Not bad wine, mind, just ordinaire. And that’s what I used in last Sunday’s coq au vin. Next time, I’ll reach for “a loud, inky Beaujolais,” as Nigel Slater recommends in The Observer or more broadly, “young red wine (zinfandel, Mâcon, or Chianti type)” as Julia instructs in The Way To Cook. Julia further allows for the option of 1/3 cup good brandy. Slater echoes this suggestion, advising 2 Tbs cognac.
• The pros seem to agree: The older the bird, the better the sauce. As Wikipedia, explains, “Older roosters are traditionally used because they contain a lot of connective tissue, which creates a richer broth when cooked.” And maybe, use the whole bird, not just thighs, as Martha in her role as the siren of simplicity, recommends. Further, Martha calls for skinless, bone-in chicken. Neither Julia nor Joy advocates going skinless. And then there’s the question alluded to in the quote above: Rooster or hen? I recall that when a culinarily gifted friend made coq au vin for a dinner party I attended several years ago, he used a rooster. He had to special-order it from a Mexican butcher in the Mission, pay extra, and drive across town to pick it up. I would do this too, if I knew for sure it was sine qua non. But it’s not this friend’s coq au vin I dream of, it’s Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s, and I have a feeling that her chicken was store-bought and shrink-wrapped.
• Use fresh pearl onions, the kind you have to peel yourself, rather than chopped whole onions. Or does it matter? I used chopped red onion, but next time, I'll parboil and peel the pearls. If nothing else, they’re decorativ—quaint if not piquant.
• Most recipes, but not Julia’s, call for carrots, and I agree: Carrots are a boon to this dish. And most call for mushrooms, which Martha eliminates. (Note: I did use mushrooms for my coq au vin, but I think I could’ve used more.)
• During her lifetime, Julia consistently advocated using only imported bay leaves regardless of what savory comestible you’re concocting. Though California born, she emphatically rejects leaves from Umbellularia californica, our native and lavishly abundant bay laurel (called Oregon myrtle one state north). I always have a sprig of dried local bay leaves handy, collected on one of my hikes, and have resisted her “prejudice,” as I’ve thought of it. But maybe it’s my prejudice that’s the problem. All the recipes call for thyme, though they diverge regarding fresh vs. dried or avoid taking a stand altogether.
• My edition of The Joy of Cooking (1975) informs me that “Abroad, in country places where chickens are locally butchered, the blood is often kept and added to the gravy at the last minute as thickener. After this addition, the sauce is not allowed to boil. Here in America, this effect is imitated by adding caramel coloring.” I’m dubious. I’ll bet the newest edition of Joy doesn’t include this augmentation. But sauce thickness is important and I suspect that part of the dreamy richness I recall from Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s coq au vin is related to a sauce thicker than I achieved. My recipe and others rely on flour. But Julia calls for beurre manié, "1 1/2 Tbs each flour and softened butter blended to a paste."
• All coq au vin recipes call for bacon or a similar ingredient. I use smoked slab bacon, though a version that claims minimum chemical adulteration. Julia warns that whether you use slab bacon or salt pork, you must blanch it to “remove its salt as well as its smoky flavor, which would permeate the rest of the food,” something I assumed was an enhancement. Joy cites only salt pork, not bacon, and makes no mention of blanching. I’ve never blanched bacon in my life and have little experience with salt pork. Nigel Slater, an advocate for staying true to traditional versions of the classics, is the most extreme, noting that “it just isn't coq au vin without some fat, juicy strips of green bacon. The rashers with which the British are obsessed are too thin—if they don't burn, they'll disintegrate. What you need is a solid lump that you can cut into thick strips. Pancetta will do nicely.”
Obviously, since the experts diverge in key respects, further experimentation is called for. Unless, that is, I get the call from an older, mellower Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. In my delicious fantasy, she not only invites me to dinner, but allows me to hang out in the kitchen. I take notes, a digital picture or two, and promise not to get in the way.
Chicken Braised in Wine
from Everyday Food, January 2007
Listed as Coq au Vin in cookbooks and on restaurant menus, the name of this hearty French dish may sound fancy, but it’s simply chicken cooked in red wine.
- 3 fresh thyme springs
- 5 flat-leaf parsley sprigs
- 1 bay leaf
- 3 slices bacon, cut into pieces
- 12 bone-in, skinless chicken thighs, about 4 pounds total (att’n: SKINLESS!)
- coarse salt and ground pepper
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 6 medium carrots, sliced crosswise
- 2 garlic cloves, minced
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 1/2 cups dry red wine, such as a Pinot Noir or French Burgundy
- 1 can (14.5 ounces) reduced-sodium chicken broth
1. Using cotton kitchen twine, tie thyme, parsley, and bay leaf into a bundle; set aside.
2. Heat a Dutch oven or 50quart heavy pot with a lid over medium-low. Add bacon; cook until browned, about 10 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain (leave bacon fat in pot).
3. Raise heat to medium-high. Season chicken generously with salt and pepper. Working in three batches to avoid crowding, brown chicken about 4 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate; set aside.
4. Add onion, carrots, and garlic to pot. Cook until onion softens, about 4 minutes. Stir in tomato paste and flour; cook 1 minute.
5. Add wine, broth, chicken, and herb bundle. Bring to a boil; cover, and reduce to a simmer. Cook 10 minutes; uncover, and simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 10 minutes. Remove and discard herb bundle; stir in bacon. Serve with steamed new potatoes tossed with parsley.
When I think about my mother’s Sunday standards, I realize that unlike Piaf, I cannot claim to have no regrets. My mother died when I was 29, and I’m sorry that I never learned how to make my favorite childhood dishes while she was alive.
Happily, one finds one’s way to the larger world, where I was introduced to a new favorite that never appeared on my family’s dinner table and may never have shown up on any dinner table in Atwater, California, during the 50s and 60s. Or come to think of it, maybe it did. The French girl down street, the one with the mustache who aspired to the convent, would likely have been familiar with coq au vin, variously translated as "chicken stew" (Nigel Slater in The Observer), "rooster with wine" (Wikepedia), and adding an assumed adjective, "chicken in red wine" (Julia Child, The Way To Cook).
I’ve been ordering coq au vin at restaurants and attempting it on my own for 25 years nearly, with uneven results. Whether dining out or dining in, I have never tasted a version as delicious and inspiring as that served by Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser (like the quadratic equation in Billy Collins’s celebrated poem, “Forgetfulness,” Mrs. Donhauser’s first name has packed its bag) in her country house in East Chatham, New York. Mrs. Donhauser’s son was a college classmate of my ex, and he used to invite us up for the weekend from time to time. She was Belgian, which may explain her scowl the single time I offered to help in the kitchen. The glory of her version of coq au vin was its richness of taste, the perfect consistency of the sauce, and undeniably, the enchantment of feasting in the dining room of a creaky 18th-century upstate farmhouse set amid rolling woodsy hills that looked as if they had changed little in 200 years.
Last weekend, Dan and I had six friends over for a Sunday dinner—at 6, not 1 pm. I made coq au vin (recipe below) and it turned out pretty well. It was a casual evening, and I was flattered when Alex shot up and declared, “We need more sauce! Is there something I can put it in?” Naturally, I listened for compliments on my cooking and was not disappointed. I clucked approvingly to myself after dinner when I noticed that all the bread—two loaves, one a sweet baguette, the other ciabatta, both heated in the oven before serving—had been entirely consumed, evidence of rampant sauce-sopping. I joined in the accolades for Dan’s dessert, a rhubarb cobbler topped with homemade vanilla ice cream.
Our dinner was a social and gustatory success.
But I’m no Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. My coq au vin, though improved from efforts in other decades, was decent, tasty, appreciated, but not memorable. While I don’t ever expect to equal Mrs. Donhauser’s achievement, I do want to move in that direction.
So I’ve been reading up, and there seem to be several key opportunities for my future efforts:
• Use more wine
My recipe, a simplified version from Martha Stewart’s monthly digest, Everyday Food—a useful source, by-the-way, of accessible recipes—calls for a cup and a half, but most recipes call for more, up to a full bottle.
• Use good wine
Shyamala tells us, “Don’t cook with wine you wouldn’t drink.” Sure. But I drink a lot of cheap wine. Not bad wine, mind, just ordinaire. And that’s what I used in last Sunday’s coq au vin. Next time, I’ll reach for “a loud, inky Beaujolais,” as Nigel Slater recommends in The Observer or more broadly, “young red wine (zinfandel, Mâcon, or Chianti type)” as Julia instructs in The Way To Cook. Julia further allows for the option of 1/3 cup good brandy. Slater echoes this suggestion, advising 2 Tbs cognac.
• The pros seem to agree: The older the bird, the better the sauce. As Wikipedia, explains, “Older roosters are traditionally used because they contain a lot of connective tissue, which creates a richer broth when cooked.” And maybe, use the whole bird, not just thighs, as Martha in her role as the siren of simplicity, recommends. Further, Martha calls for skinless, bone-in chicken. Neither Julia nor Joy advocates going skinless. And then there’s the question alluded to in the quote above: Rooster or hen? I recall that when a culinarily gifted friend made coq au vin for a dinner party I attended several years ago, he used a rooster. He had to special-order it from a Mexican butcher in the Mission, pay extra, and drive across town to pick it up. I would do this too, if I knew for sure it was sine qua non. But it’s not this friend’s coq au vin I dream of, it’s Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s, and I have a feeling that her chicken was store-bought and shrink-wrapped.
• Use fresh pearl onions, the kind you have to peel yourself, rather than chopped whole onions. Or does it matter? I used chopped red onion, but next time, I'll parboil and peel the pearls. If nothing else, they’re decorativ—quaint if not piquant.
• Most recipes, but not Julia’s, call for carrots, and I agree: Carrots are a boon to this dish. And most call for mushrooms, which Martha eliminates. (Note: I did use mushrooms for my coq au vin, but I think I could’ve used more.)
• During her lifetime, Julia consistently advocated using only imported bay leaves regardless of what savory comestible you’re concocting. Though California born, she emphatically rejects leaves from Umbellularia californica, our native and lavishly abundant bay laurel (called Oregon myrtle one state north). I always have a sprig of dried local bay leaves handy, collected on one of my hikes, and have resisted her “prejudice,” as I’ve thought of it. But maybe it’s my prejudice that’s the problem. All the recipes call for thyme, though they diverge regarding fresh vs. dried or avoid taking a stand altogether.
• My edition of The Joy of Cooking (1975) informs me that “Abroad, in country places where chickens are locally butchered, the blood is often kept and added to the gravy at the last minute as thickener. After this addition, the sauce is not allowed to boil. Here in America, this effect is imitated by adding caramel coloring.” I’m dubious. I’ll bet the newest edition of Joy doesn’t include this augmentation. But sauce thickness is important and I suspect that part of the dreamy richness I recall from Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s coq au vin is related to a sauce thicker than I achieved. My recipe and others rely on flour. But Julia calls for beurre manié, "1 1/2 Tbs each flour and softened butter blended to a paste."
• All coq au vin recipes call for bacon or a similar ingredient. I use smoked slab bacon, though a version that claims minimum chemical adulteration. Julia warns that whether you use slab bacon or salt pork, you must blanch it to “remove its salt as well as its smoky flavor, which would permeate the rest of the food,” something I assumed was an enhancement. Joy cites only salt pork, not bacon, and makes no mention of blanching. I’ve never blanched bacon in my life and have little experience with salt pork. Nigel Slater, an advocate for staying true to traditional versions of the classics, is the most extreme, noting that “it just isn't coq au vin without some fat, juicy strips of green bacon. The rashers with which the British are obsessed are too thin—if they don't burn, they'll disintegrate. What you need is a solid lump that you can cut into thick strips. Pancetta will do nicely.”
~ ~ ~
Obviously, since the experts diverge in key respects, further experimentation is called for. Unless, that is, I get the call from an older, mellower Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. In my delicious fantasy, she not only invites me to dinner, but allows me to hang out in the kitchen. I take notes, a digital picture or two, and promise not to get in the way.
~ ~ ~
Chicken Braised in Wine
from Everyday Food, January 2007
Listed as Coq au Vin in cookbooks and on restaurant menus, the name of this hearty French dish may sound fancy, but it’s simply chicken cooked in red wine.
- 3 fresh thyme springs
- 5 flat-leaf parsley sprigs
- 1 bay leaf
- 3 slices bacon, cut into pieces
- 12 bone-in, skinless chicken thighs, about 4 pounds total (att’n: SKINLESS!)
- coarse salt and ground pepper
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 6 medium carrots, sliced crosswise
- 2 garlic cloves, minced
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 1/2 cups dry red wine, such as a Pinot Noir or French Burgundy
- 1 can (14.5 ounces) reduced-sodium chicken broth
1. Using cotton kitchen twine, tie thyme, parsley, and bay leaf into a bundle; set aside.
2. Heat a Dutch oven or 50quart heavy pot with a lid over medium-low. Add bacon; cook until browned, about 10 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain (leave bacon fat in pot).
3. Raise heat to medium-high. Season chicken generously with salt and pepper. Working in three batches to avoid crowding, brown chicken about 4 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate; set aside.
4. Add onion, carrots, and garlic to pot. Cook until onion softens, about 4 minutes. Stir in tomato paste and flour; cook 1 minute.
5. Add wine, broth, chicken, and herb bundle. Bring to a boil; cover, and reduce to a simmer. Cook 10 minutes; uncover, and simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 10 minutes. Remove and discard herb bundle; stir in bacon. Serve with steamed new potatoes tossed with parsley.
6/4/07
Review: Gialina Pizzeria
We continue the pizza theme. In the gray summer fog we seek the comfort of the pie.
Da Fanch read in Sunset Mag about a new place in Glen Park, Gialina. From the menu to the no-reservation policy, it seemed at first blush a Pizzetta 211 copycat. We arrived at 6:30 on Saturday eve and had to wait 45 minutes for a table, but they do take cell numbers and will call you when your table is ready.
We soon discovered other differences:
1) Many more tables. Unfortunately, they're squeezed into a narrow room, and squeezed uncomfortably together. Mr. Loud Cackling Laugh at the party-of-eight table across from us made people turn and stare several times.
2) The pizza's not as good. It's pretty good, but not Pizzetta good. Slightly thicker crust, first of all. We split two: Italian sausage/dandelion greens, and a puttanesca. The sausage/greens came with fontina cheese, a bad arrangement, as its strength overwhelmed the delicately bitter greens and the sweet, mild sausage. The puttanesca was better, but I wasn't thrilled with the tomato sauce. It also lacked cheese, which wasn't clear from the description on the menu. We were able to sample a third pie when the couple at the next table left without their left-over box. I ran out to find them, to no avail. The waitress said, "We'll just throw it away. Why don't you take it?" Quick thinking. The leftover slices were a simple marinara and a salami. Again, tasty but nothing to justify the haut-pizza prices.
3) More menu and pizza choices. I loved our two appetizers: caramelized cauliflower on polenta that was charred on the outside, with a nice crunch, and a salad with sour cherries and almonds and fantastic goat cheese. There was also a non-pizza entree, a roast chicken that one reviewer raved about.
Prices were not different than Pizzetta. Dinner for two (including two glasses of wine) plus tip: $70.
One nugget to keep in mind: The place gets crazy busy from 5:30 to 8 when the young family crowd packs it and take-out orders keep the kitchen buzzing. But by 8 p.m., half the tables were empty and the waitress said there's usually a lull around that time. Better yet: go to Pizzetta.
Da Fanch read in Sunset Mag about a new place in Glen Park, Gialina. From the menu to the no-reservation policy, it seemed at first blush a Pizzetta 211 copycat. We arrived at 6:30 on Saturday eve and had to wait 45 minutes for a table, but they do take cell numbers and will call you when your table is ready.
We soon discovered other differences:
1) Many more tables. Unfortunately, they're squeezed into a narrow room, and squeezed uncomfortably together. Mr. Loud Cackling Laugh at the party-of-eight table across from us made people turn and stare several times.
2) The pizza's not as good. It's pretty good, but not Pizzetta good. Slightly thicker crust, first of all. We split two: Italian sausage/dandelion greens, and a puttanesca. The sausage/greens came with fontina cheese, a bad arrangement, as its strength overwhelmed the delicately bitter greens and the sweet, mild sausage. The puttanesca was better, but I wasn't thrilled with the tomato sauce. It also lacked cheese, which wasn't clear from the description on the menu. We were able to sample a third pie when the couple at the next table left without their left-over box. I ran out to find them, to no avail. The waitress said, "We'll just throw it away. Why don't you take it?" Quick thinking. The leftover slices were a simple marinara and a salami. Again, tasty but nothing to justify the haut-pizza prices.
3) More menu and pizza choices. I loved our two appetizers: caramelized cauliflower on polenta that was charred on the outside, with a nice crunch, and a salad with sour cherries and almonds and fantastic goat cheese. There was also a non-pizza entree, a roast chicken that one reviewer raved about.
Prices were not different than Pizzetta. Dinner for two (including two glasses of wine) plus tip: $70.
One nugget to keep in mind: The place gets crazy busy from 5:30 to 8 when the young family crowd packs it and take-out orders keep the kitchen buzzing. But by 8 p.m., half the tables were empty and the waitress said there's usually a lull around that time. Better yet: go to Pizzetta.
Wine: Robert Hall Recall
As they say in the NFL, upon further review...I'm going to retract my support for Robert Hall's Rhone De Robles. Another bottle of the '04, when compared to other bottles at our dinner last night Chez BrO, was weak. Its main feature was a steady sweetness that quickly grew boring. I'm not sure how I found the original bottle so worthy. I need help.
A much better buy was the Laurier 2004 Cab that Paul n James discovered at the Tower Mollystone's. Five bucks and drinkable, though no world-beater.
We also learned our lesson about decanting. The wine Tony brought -- Cimicky? Anthony, can you refresh our memories? -- started out twangy and grassy but soon mellowed into a wonderful bottle. When it doubt, air it out.
A much better buy was the Laurier 2004 Cab that Paul n James discovered at the Tower Mollystone's. Five bucks and drinkable, though no world-beater.
We also learned our lesson about decanting. The wine Tony brought -- Cimicky? Anthony, can you refresh our memories? -- started out twangy and grassy but soon mellowed into a wonderful bottle. When it doubt, air it out.
5/31/07
Review: A Place Where We Can Be Free
It's cause for celebration, or at least moderate excitement, when another decent place to eat opens in the far western precincts. I don't expect fine dining out here; as you know, I'm way more into quality cheap eats anyway. That's why I was happy to discover The Pizza Place On Noriega, an as-yet-signless outpost on the corner of 46th Avenue, just down the block from La Playa Taqueria. It's only two weeks old.
I was greeted by a sturdy blonde wooden bar near the front door, and was handed a paper menu from a cylinder sitting on it by one of the Place's two employees. One other person was waiting for pizza; the rest of the place was empty, save for someone painting one of the bathrooms. The menu didn't say there were slices available, but there were: $2.50 for cheese, plus 50¢ for the first topping and a quarter apiece for the rest. Combo deals as usual; whole pies start around $15.
I ordered a Greek slice (homeboy!), and five minutes later I received what amounted to a thin-crust slice of pizza with a small Greek side salad piled on top (olives, red onions, whole basil leaves, feta). The crust had an audible crunch to it, and the tomato sauce mingled tart and sweet elements. Best of all, they didn't overdo the queso.
I liked it so much that I stayed for another slice with pepperoni. This one was a little greasier, but still satisfying. I chose the knife-and-fork strategy for both, and if I could recommend one thing to the Place, I'd ask them to get sharper knives.
The Place is big enough to seat about 30 patrons at once. They've got about four or five microbrew beers on tap, plus a couple more in bottles and cans; there's also a very short list of red and white wines, and salads and buffalo wings are on the menu as well. It took awhile to get two slices of carry-out pizza (for my roommate), but he was pleased with the results.
I'd compare the pie with that of Pizzetta 211, but the Place is going for something a little more populist. It's still a weird enough joint that it fits right into the Outer Sunset, but I'm definitely looking forward to future meals there.
I was greeted by a sturdy blonde wooden bar near the front door, and was handed a paper menu from a cylinder sitting on it by one of the Place's two employees. One other person was waiting for pizza; the rest of the place was empty, save for someone painting one of the bathrooms. The menu didn't say there were slices available, but there were: $2.50 for cheese, plus 50¢ for the first topping and a quarter apiece for the rest. Combo deals as usual; whole pies start around $15.
I ordered a Greek slice (homeboy!), and five minutes later I received what amounted to a thin-crust slice of pizza with a small Greek side salad piled on top (olives, red onions, whole basil leaves, feta). The crust had an audible crunch to it, and the tomato sauce mingled tart and sweet elements. Best of all, they didn't overdo the queso.
I liked it so much that I stayed for another slice with pepperoni. This one was a little greasier, but still satisfying. I chose the knife-and-fork strategy for both, and if I could recommend one thing to the Place, I'd ask them to get sharper knives.
The Place is big enough to seat about 30 patrons at once. They've got about four or five microbrew beers on tap, plus a couple more in bottles and cans; there's also a very short list of red and white wines, and salads and buffalo wings are on the menu as well. It took awhile to get two slices of carry-out pizza (for my roommate), but he was pleased with the results.
I'd compare the pie with that of Pizzetta 211, but the Place is going for something a little more populist. It's still a weird enough joint that it fits right into the Outer Sunset, but I'm definitely looking forward to future meals there.
5/29/07
You Want Wine? Have I Got Wine
> Last year, Two Buck Chuck — available only in the Trader Joe's grocery chain and priced at $1.99 in California, hence its nickname — accounted for at least 8 percent of California wine sold in-state ...
http://tinyurl.com/2mnera
http://tinyurl.com/2mnera
5/28/07
Dry Creek Redux
A little birdie told me this weekend that the Dry Creek Kitchen is in trouble. Not so surprising with the constant disappointment we keep hearing, not just from this bloggership but several others we know and love. Since they won their Michelin star, a new chef has taken over, and the locals are abuzz how long the star shall remain affixed.
Wine: Robert Hall Rhone de Robles
Before going further, please note: I'd love to see more wine reviews, even if just a few lines long. If you open a bottle and have anything to say, let everyone know. A few quick notes, the price, thumbs-up or thumbs-down. Onward...
So I'm meandering my way through TJ's last week, digging "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on the satellite radio and circling back and again past the quesadilla samples, when I realize we're out of rosso back at the Bistro. I'm skeptical of Joe's wine selection, and I've gotten bad advice from wearers of Hawaiian shirts often enough to forego all confidence in their wine expertise, but I ask anyway. It helps that the guy in the wine aisle is just about the oldest TJ's employee I've ever seen: thinning hair, gray beard and moustache, wiry build. I give him my criteria: no fruit bombs, please; good with BBQ meats of all types; and up to $10, maybe a bit more if it's justified. He leads me straight to the Robert Hall 2004 Rhone de Robles.
Robles, as in Paso, as in Central Coast. $10.99, and well worth it. I went back tonight and only found the 2005. We'll see how it compares.
So I'm meandering my way through TJ's last week, digging "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on the satellite radio and circling back and again past the quesadilla samples, when I realize we're out of rosso back at the Bistro. I'm skeptical of Joe's wine selection, and I've gotten bad advice from wearers of Hawaiian shirts often enough to forego all confidence in their wine expertise, but I ask anyway. It helps that the guy in the wine aisle is just about the oldest TJ's employee I've ever seen: thinning hair, gray beard and moustache, wiry build. I give him my criteria: no fruit bombs, please; good with BBQ meats of all types; and up to $10, maybe a bit more if it's justified. He leads me straight to the Robert Hall 2004 Rhone de Robles.
Robles, as in Paso, as in Central Coast. $10.99, and well worth it. I went back tonight and only found the 2005. We'll see how it compares.
Sazeracelicious
Somehow, every few months, I find myself having drinks at the Redwood Room in the Clift Hotel. I never set out with it as my destination; I just end up there. It seems to have become the default après-ski establishment for a certain circle of my friends when we're in the neighborhood. I simultaneously like the Starckian décor and find it tries a bit too hard, and the crowd can tend toward the B&T — a couple of friends and I were once asked by an apparent bridesmaid whether we were wearing boxers and if so could she have them (I leave you to speculate on our response) — but whatever. It's comfortable and convenient and the cocktails are decent.
Last night was one of those nights, and I thereby discovered a reason why you might, with intent, want to pay the place a visit: They make an echt Sazerac, using Old Overholt, Herbsaint and Peychaud's. For some peculiar reason, they want to serve it on the rocks, but you will, of course, order it up.
Warning: You may find it difficult to stop at one.
Last night was one of those nights, and I thereby discovered a reason why you might, with intent, want to pay the place a visit: They make an echt Sazerac, using Old Overholt, Herbsaint and Peychaud's. For some peculiar reason, they want to serve it on the rocks, but you will, of course, order it up.
Warning: You may find it difficult to stop at one.
5/25/07
Review: South Park Cafe
A recipe for a perfect night on the town: a bar seat at the South Park Cafe, a martini as the evening light fades through the leaves of the trees outside, doors and transoms open to the breeze, a selection of appetizers, perhaps an entree or two split between me and my dining partners, all followed with a warm night game at Mays Field which the Giants win, led by one of their young aces on the mound.That's what happened Tuesday. The menu at the South Park doesn't change much, and why should it? I've never had a disappointing item there. In ten-plus years, I've never had a disappointing bite. Exaggeration? Absolutely not. The portions are not large, the prices are not cheap. But every flavor is well-considered, every dish its own world to explore, and the $50 one easily drops there -- an $8-10 app, a $20 entree, and two $8 drinks (OK, three) -- feels a bargain compared to so many of this city's self-important eateries.
The South Park has had the same red wines on offer by the glass for as long as I can remember. For lighter fare, the Mark West pinot noir is unbeatable: silky, warm and slightly tart. I had two glasses with the beef daube; one of the best stews I've ever tasted.
5/23/07
Dry Creek Kitchen, Confidential
My dear friends, San Francisco family and real-estate aficionados Ron and Roz were going to have us over for a seder, but schedules and responsibilities thwarted the party plan. In a burst of menschness, I let them know I could treat them, in the City or in Sonoma, wherever they wished.
A couple of gentle reminders later, Ron starts to work the phone Friday and finds a table for Saturday evening at a place that's peripherally been on my list: the Dry Creek Kitchen in the Hotel Healdsburg. I call ahead myself and ask about the dress code and corkage. I'm definitely looking forward to it.
The stakes in Sonoma are a bit high, not just because of nearby Napa but also because of places like the Harmony restaurant in the Ledson Hotel on Sonoma's town square. Dry Creek Kitchen has a reputation because it's from a name in the business, Charlie Palmer. That's him at left.
I'm told over the phone that the scene is "business casual" and that as long as the wine you bring is from the county, there's no corkage. That's an awesome touch, I think. What a note of confidence, a great way to get people to think about local wine.
So what to make of dinner? The main courses and a couple of other things miss. Dry Creek comes up short, CP.
The room, where the big money went, is beautiful. Columns sweep into the ceiling, and at one point I thought of the TWA terminal at JFK. The windows draw in evening light that fades into candlelight from the tables. There's also this cute vase for breadsticks, and a small potted plant of thyme. We shed our four bottles of wine from the Trader Joe's bag -- one sparkling (Korbel Blanc de Noirs), a chardonnay (Belvedere) and two reds (a Peterson zin and a Hop Kiln blend of syrah and grenache) -- and have the first two opened right away.
The Korbel, which K and I picked up after a quick tasting on the way back from a hike in Guerneville, has a touch of sweetness and a nice gold hue that goes great with the starters: two ahi tuna tartares for R&R, a cannelini bean and smoked tomato soup for Kristen and a special one for myself. I'm having the housemade tagliatelle with winecaps, morels, ramps (Jomo, remember these from Perbacco?) and asparagus entree as an appetizer, an off-menu improvisation I learned from my dad.
Everything is going well. I do have to ask for a flute refill, and also for cracked pepper to finish my pasta primi. The tuna tartare is creamy and the avocado relish doesn't bowl everything over, even though it's rich. It's good. The broth for the soup, poured separately on the beans at table, is full of flavor, although K isn't into the caramelized bay scallops. I try them and not sure they're warranted. Maybe an Anaheim pepper in a very thin dice would have worked? Charlie?
My pasta is fine; not sure if I can tell this tagliatelle from spaghettini. I love looking at the shapes and colors, and there are mouthfuls of mushrooms and seasonal asparagus. My favorite thing is the plate: Think of a smooth, white LP with a bowl popped out of the center label. The transition to the red bottles also happens seamlessly. They're opened early on, and the Peterson zin gets decanted. (Hop Kiln did advise having its blend otherwise sit for 20-30 minutes.)
The comments on the entrees (check 'em out) are average, except for Ron's Wagyu steak, called excellent. Roz has the duck, K has the salmon and I got trout. The presentation is knockout, especially the skin of the trout fried into a thin cracker on half a filet, then a layer of green chard, then the other half of the filet on white watercress. Ron's russet-potato fries are stacked like Lincoln logs, at right angles. But again, three out of four reviews come in as just adequate.
Roz, who's been spoiled by Aaron and Del Monte Meats, doesn't think her duck breast is that special. I try it and agree. She also reports her "cassoulet" was overly salty. (Knowing her palate, that means too salty.) Kristen isn't doing cartwheels, although her salmon pieces in miso look beautiful.
I'm not overwhelmed, either. The cracker novelty wears off quick, the so-called bacon roasted beets are a bit bland, and how come I can't cut this chard that well with this knife I have for the fish? The fish: It's fine, rendering itself as trout. The best part, though, is the watercress and "pesto."
Our wines, all acquired at reasonable prices, pair well. I do have to reach over to the nearby counter and refill my glass a couple of times. The waiter did notice eventually.
Desserts, which included cappuccino crème brulee and a chocolate peanut-butter bar, become popular. I barely get a forkful once they go around Kristen. It's an up-note ending to a $300 evening, with $40 tacked on for corkage on two bottles.
Weren't Sonoma wines supposed to be comped corkage? Only two per table, our waiter says. Why weren't we told that over the phone? Two bottles are standard, he replies. (Hey, the charge is reasonable, given that we had chilled bottles, employed a decanter and used different glassware. Just let us know, mkay?)
Next time I'm around the square and feeling saucy, I may visit again and enjoy drinks and starters. There's even something of a scene with live jazz and couches in the lounge across the courtyard. Yet I want to ask, Charlie Palmer, even for seasoned food nuts like ourselves, shouldn't there have been more standouts? The setting and presentation are in place, but doesn't that raise the bar for what you actually taste, and for what you think you're getting?
It's your name out there.
A couple of gentle reminders later, Ron starts to work the phone Friday and finds a table for Saturday evening at a place that's peripherally been on my list: the Dry Creek Kitchen in the Hotel Healdsburg. I call ahead myself and ask about the dress code and corkage. I'm definitely looking forward to it.
The stakes in Sonoma are a bit high, not just because of nearby Napa but also because of places like the Harmony restaurant in the Ledson Hotel on Sonoma's town square. Dry Creek Kitchen has a reputation because it's from a name in the business, Charlie Palmer. That's him at left.
I'm told over the phone that the scene is "business casual" and that as long as the wine you bring is from the county, there's no corkage. That's an awesome touch, I think. What a note of confidence, a great way to get people to think about local wine.
So what to make of dinner? The main courses and a couple of other things miss. Dry Creek comes up short, CP.
The room, where the big money went, is beautiful. Columns sweep into the ceiling, and at one point I thought of the TWA terminal at JFK. The windows draw in evening light that fades into candlelight from the tables. There's also this cute vase for breadsticks, and a small potted plant of thyme. We shed our four bottles of wine from the Trader Joe's bag -- one sparkling (Korbel Blanc de Noirs), a chardonnay (Belvedere) and two reds (a Peterson zin and a Hop Kiln blend of syrah and grenache) -- and have the first two opened right away.
The Korbel, which K and I picked up after a quick tasting on the way back from a hike in Guerneville, has a touch of sweetness and a nice gold hue that goes great with the starters: two ahi tuna tartares for R&R, a cannelini bean and smoked tomato soup for Kristen and a special one for myself. I'm having the housemade tagliatelle with winecaps, morels, ramps (Jomo, remember these from Perbacco?) and asparagus entree as an appetizer, an off-menu improvisation I learned from my dad.
Everything is going well. I do have to ask for a flute refill, and also for cracked pepper to finish my pasta primi. The tuna tartare is creamy and the avocado relish doesn't bowl everything over, even though it's rich. It's good. The broth for the soup, poured separately on the beans at table, is full of flavor, although K isn't into the caramelized bay scallops. I try them and not sure they're warranted. Maybe an Anaheim pepper in a very thin dice would have worked? Charlie?
My pasta is fine; not sure if I can tell this tagliatelle from spaghettini. I love looking at the shapes and colors, and there are mouthfuls of mushrooms and seasonal asparagus. My favorite thing is the plate: Think of a smooth, white LP with a bowl popped out of the center label. The transition to the red bottles also happens seamlessly. They're opened early on, and the Peterson zin gets decanted. (Hop Kiln did advise having its blend otherwise sit for 20-30 minutes.)
The comments on the entrees (check 'em out) are average, except for Ron's Wagyu steak, called excellent. Roz has the duck, K has the salmon and I got trout. The presentation is knockout, especially the skin of the trout fried into a thin cracker on half a filet, then a layer of green chard, then the other half of the filet on white watercress. Ron's russet-potato fries are stacked like Lincoln logs, at right angles. But again, three out of four reviews come in as just adequate.
Roz, who's been spoiled by Aaron and Del Monte Meats, doesn't think her duck breast is that special. I try it and agree. She also reports her "cassoulet" was overly salty. (Knowing her palate, that means too salty.) Kristen isn't doing cartwheels, although her salmon pieces in miso look beautiful.
I'm not overwhelmed, either. The cracker novelty wears off quick, the so-called bacon roasted beets are a bit bland, and how come I can't cut this chard that well with this knife I have for the fish? The fish: It's fine, rendering itself as trout. The best part, though, is the watercress and "pesto."
Our wines, all acquired at reasonable prices, pair well. I do have to reach over to the nearby counter and refill my glass a couple of times. The waiter did notice eventually.
Desserts, which included cappuccino crème brulee and a chocolate peanut-butter bar, become popular. I barely get a forkful once they go around Kristen. It's an up-note ending to a $300 evening, with $40 tacked on for corkage on two bottles.
Weren't Sonoma wines supposed to be comped corkage? Only two per table, our waiter says. Why weren't we told that over the phone? Two bottles are standard, he replies. (Hey, the charge is reasonable, given that we had chilled bottles, employed a decanter and used different glassware. Just let us know, mkay?)
Next time I'm around the square and feeling saucy, I may visit again and enjoy drinks and starters. There's even something of a scene with live jazz and couches in the lounge across the courtyard. Yet I want to ask, Charlie Palmer, even for seasoned food nuts like ourselves, shouldn't there have been more standouts? The setting and presentation are in place, but doesn't that raise the bar for what you actually taste, and for what you think you're getting?
It's your name out there.
5/21/07
Review: Blue Water Grill
I'm a few days late with this one, but for the record, the Blue Water Grill on Union Square in NYC is definitely a place to go with an editor who's paying your way. My share of the damage: two martinis, a wild mushroom maki (six pieces), two single pieces of unremarkable nigiri, and a small asparagus-leek soup. My patron of the arts had a grilled tuna steak, very rare, a few oysters, and two martinis as well. Would anyone like to venture a guess as to the price, not including tip?
A new new thing: twice in New York I was asked if I wanted my martini up or on the rocks. On the rocks? Doesn't that disqualify the beverage from being a martini?
A new new thing: twice in New York I was asked if I wanted my martini up or on the rocks. On the rocks? Doesn't that disqualify the beverage from being a martini?
5/16/07
Review(s): Gotham Falafel
Dateline NYC, baby. The world tour continues. Two lunches of note so far, both with colleagues from The Daily Capitalist:
1) Sahara's, a charming Turkish place on 2nd Ave. between 28/29. We each chose from the prix fixe menu: a choice of one app, one salad, and one entree, $13. All the veggies were fresh, down to the chopped parsley in the tabouleh, and the fried bits, such as my zucchini fritters and falafel, were light and crispy. I was impressed, and you all know I don't say that lightly. I also appreciated the menu that went a bit beyond the typical Mid-East fare: calf's liver, okra, etc. to complement the traditional dishes. Lots of veg options, too, which my colleague appreciated.
2) Kalustyan's, a revered specialty food shop on Lexington. They have a Middle Eastern deli on the second floor with a few barebones tables. I could eat the fava beans in tomato sauce all day. I had a veggie combo: beans, spinach sauteed with pine nuts, and Israeli (aka pearl) couscous with chick peas. My colleague had the cured beef sandwich on pita. The goods on sale in the shop were vast and varied. Check the inventory on the Web site. If I lived here I'd shop at Kalustyan's every day.
Next episode: Seeing and being seen with A Tall Handsome Man at the Blue Water Grill.
1) Sahara's, a charming Turkish place on 2nd Ave. between 28/29. We each chose from the prix fixe menu: a choice of one app, one salad, and one entree, $13. All the veggies were fresh, down to the chopped parsley in the tabouleh, and the fried bits, such as my zucchini fritters and falafel, were light and crispy. I was impressed, and you all know I don't say that lightly. I also appreciated the menu that went a bit beyond the typical Mid-East fare: calf's liver, okra, etc. to complement the traditional dishes. Lots of veg options, too, which my colleague appreciated.
2) Kalustyan's, a revered specialty food shop on Lexington. They have a Middle Eastern deli on the second floor with a few barebones tables. I could eat the fava beans in tomato sauce all day. I had a veggie combo: beans, spinach sauteed with pine nuts, and Israeli (aka pearl) couscous with chick peas. My colleague had the cured beef sandwich on pita. The goods on sale in the shop were vast and varied. Check the inventory on the Web site. If I lived here I'd shop at Kalustyan's every day.
Next episode: Seeing and being seen with A Tall Handsome Man at the Blue Water Grill.
5/13/07
Bloomingfood
Dateline: Bloomington, Ind., home of my sister the folklore grad student and her engineer fiance. A few things to report on the culinary front:
* Befitting a liberal college town smack in the middle of one of the reddest states in the union, the Saturday farmer's market had plenty of fresh greens (mustard greens, arugula, beautiful heads of lettuce, herbs), two grumpy alte kackers making kettle corn, a dairy-and-egg stand with Biblical passages on the product labels, a sign-up booth for Obama '08, and a guy selling beer bratwurst at 9 am. I went for the bratwurst (kraut, sweet peppers, French's mustard). Then I went for the BBQ chicken tamal two booths down (topped with a homemade tomatillo sauce). Then I couldn't resist a bag of cracked black walnuts ($3).
The Biblical dairy stand had a sign that read "Cow shares available." I asked the blond fresh-faced man what that meant. Selling raw milk is illegal, but if you own the cow -- or a share of the cow -- you can do whatever you want with the milk, even drink it unpasteurized, the way God intended. Clever, eh?
* The best restaurant in town, Tallent, was the site of our dinner Thursday night. Just my sister and I, we decided to share everything and, befitting our foodieness and over-education, got down to giving it all a full-court critique. The waiter realized what he was in for early on when, asking if our salt cod cakes were good, we said "Yes, but could you tell us what the herb is that gives the accompanying garnish a slight taste of anise?" (Can you guess? A hint: it wasn't fennel.) He stuttered a bit, backed up a few steps, and said he'd ask the kitchen.
When ordering main courses, I couldn't decide between the halibut with local morels and fiddleheads and the lamb platter. My sister said, well, if you've never had morels, you really should, and so I did. The waiter heard all this, but when my halibut arrived, there were no morels to be found. So....where are the morels? I asked the waiter. He mumbled something about the kitchen running out, but only having enough to use for garnish on the other dishes, and I said, geez, that was sort of the reason I ordered the dish. Which, being privy to the earlier conversation, he knew full well. He wandered away without any resolution.
A couple bites into my halibut, a waitress who seemed to have more authority came over and apologized. The kitchen had apparently forgotten to tell the wait staff about the lack of morels, perhaps true, perhaps covering our waiter's ass. She comped the halibut dish and let me order something else gratis.
I went for the steak frites (appetizer portion).
I appreciated Tallent's efforts: local and sustainable ingredients whenever possible, creative yet unpretentious twists to nearly every dish, friendly service and a wonderful warm room. But $25-to-35 entrees demand scrutiny, and if things don't add up, you've done your diners a disservice.
* If you're ever in Bloomington, eat breakfast at the Runcible Spoon.
* Today my sister is grilling in the backyard, but afterwards we'll wander a few blocks to the local winery and sample the fruit wines.
* Best meal of the weekend: tie goes to two dishes, both by my sister. 1) Shrimp and hearts-of-palm salad. 2) Baked phyllo triangles stuffed with zucchini, goat cheese and roasted pine nuts. With luck, she'll join us Bistrovians soon and grace us with her recipes.
* Answer to the fennel question: it was French tarragon.
* Befitting a liberal college town smack in the middle of one of the reddest states in the union, the Saturday farmer's market had plenty of fresh greens (mustard greens, arugula, beautiful heads of lettuce, herbs), two grumpy alte kackers making kettle corn, a dairy-and-egg stand with Biblical passages on the product labels, a sign-up booth for Obama '08, and a guy selling beer bratwurst at 9 am. I went for the bratwurst (kraut, sweet peppers, French's mustard). Then I went for the BBQ chicken tamal two booths down (topped with a homemade tomatillo sauce). Then I couldn't resist a bag of cracked black walnuts ($3).
The Biblical dairy stand had a sign that read "Cow shares available." I asked the blond fresh-faced man what that meant. Selling raw milk is illegal, but if you own the cow -- or a share of the cow -- you can do whatever you want with the milk, even drink it unpasteurized, the way God intended. Clever, eh?
* The best restaurant in town, Tallent, was the site of our dinner Thursday night. Just my sister and I, we decided to share everything and, befitting our foodieness and over-education, got down to giving it all a full-court critique. The waiter realized what he was in for early on when, asking if our salt cod cakes were good, we said "Yes, but could you tell us what the herb is that gives the accompanying garnish a slight taste of anise?" (Can you guess? A hint: it wasn't fennel.) He stuttered a bit, backed up a few steps, and said he'd ask the kitchen.
When ordering main courses, I couldn't decide between the halibut with local morels and fiddleheads and the lamb platter. My sister said, well, if you've never had morels, you really should, and so I did. The waiter heard all this, but when my halibut arrived, there were no morels to be found. So....where are the morels? I asked the waiter. He mumbled something about the kitchen running out, but only having enough to use for garnish on the other dishes, and I said, geez, that was sort of the reason I ordered the dish. Which, being privy to the earlier conversation, he knew full well. He wandered away without any resolution.
A couple bites into my halibut, a waitress who seemed to have more authority came over and apologized. The kitchen had apparently forgotten to tell the wait staff about the lack of morels, perhaps true, perhaps covering our waiter's ass. She comped the halibut dish and let me order something else gratis.
I went for the steak frites (appetizer portion).
I appreciated Tallent's efforts: local and sustainable ingredients whenever possible, creative yet unpretentious twists to nearly every dish, friendly service and a wonderful warm room. But $25-to-35 entrees demand scrutiny, and if things don't add up, you've done your diners a disservice.
* If you're ever in Bloomington, eat breakfast at the Runcible Spoon.
* Today my sister is grilling in the backyard, but afterwards we'll wander a few blocks to the local winery and sample the fruit wines.
* Best meal of the weekend: tie goes to two dishes, both by my sister. 1) Shrimp and hearts-of-palm salad. 2) Baked phyllo triangles stuffed with zucchini, goat cheese and roasted pine nuts. With luck, she'll join us Bistrovians soon and grace us with her recipes.
* Answer to the fennel question: it was French tarragon.
5/12/07
Adesso, Perbacco
As readers of this space know, I've had a thing for the spendy place downtown. As Jomo knows all too well, I finally was able to sit at table and partake. I report, you decide if it's a mash note.
During a hectic work week, I had planned on just after-work drinks with the lovely Kristen, before she headed off to the dining room beyond the bar with her fellow personal-finance staffers. (We bumped into da Fanch on the way in, and I'm proud to say that she has now seen the mysterious Jomo in person. Not to be confused with Mysterious Jomo.) But the pretty ornery personal-finance editor wouldn't have any of it: No way I was leaving.
At least three times I excused myself. He insisted he was buying me dinner. Actually, the company was buying, and interestingly, there was an extra spot. I'm still writing him a thank-you note.
There were nine of us in total, and we were at the far end upstairs, but we were not alone the whole night. The waiter pointed our evening's host to the super Tuscans on the wine list, and suggested several appetizers. I counted two waiters in shirts and ties, a woman who walks the floor and helps with wine and assorted runners pouring, clearing, checking.
We began with hamachi crudo, large serving plates of house salumi with pork paté (SFGate photo here), fritto misto, salt cod in a brandade style with crostini and the absolutely dynamite burata, which is folded soft cheeses that make a sort of pillow. I must be missing something, but I did note how divine the homemade rolls were -- warm, toothsome, a little sour and dusted with a touch of flour. I can't remember the last time I ate a dinner roll.
Then for our second courses, I had the salad of so-called little gems, which are like baby Romaine leaves. Burton, sitting across from me, insisted I have some of his octopus, which was bore a slight char from the grill. I'm having that when I go back.
My main dish was the Berkshire pork chop with borlotti beans, braised red chard and roasted tomatoes. It was a plump piece of pig patterned with a crosshatch from the grill, and it was perhaps the best-prepared chop I've ever had. The color within was similar to that of a flatiron steak ordered medium, and other than a little fat trimming, all of it was delectable.
For dessert, I paired homemade hazelnut cookies with a Vino Santo, and the cookies blew everyone away. Their looks were deceiving, because they seemed so rich but were so light to the touch.
On the way out later, I ask Umberto, the omniscient force on the floor at Perbacco, about the dish. "We start with a superior product," he said, and then comes the brining. As I said, Umberto knows.
We also had a little chat about the china cups for the servings of gelato, molded to have a slight dent to look and feel like Dixie cups. Umberto said that when they saw them, they thought they were the coolest.
Perbacco has staked out something people like -- upscale Italian -- and brings it with both barrels but none of the haute attitude. Burton did mention that the reservation was quite difficult to negotiate. Note for next time: Sample the five-hour pork sugo and/or roasted veal ragout. Maybe I can talk the parents into it, now that summer's coming. Also, study the wine list, since it's likely I'll be buying, as soon as the raise or Uncle Rupert comes through. I promise, Umberto.
During a hectic work week, I had planned on just after-work drinks with the lovely Kristen, before she headed off to the dining room beyond the bar with her fellow personal-finance staffers. (We bumped into da Fanch on the way in, and I'm proud to say that she has now seen the mysterious Jomo in person. Not to be confused with Mysterious Jomo.) But the pretty ornery personal-finance editor wouldn't have any of it: No way I was leaving.
At least three times I excused myself. He insisted he was buying me dinner. Actually, the company was buying, and interestingly, there was an extra spot. I'm still writing him a thank-you note.
There were nine of us in total, and we were at the far end upstairs, but we were not alone the whole night. The waiter pointed our evening's host to the super Tuscans on the wine list, and suggested several appetizers. I counted two waiters in shirts and ties, a woman who walks the floor and helps with wine and assorted runners pouring, clearing, checking.
We began with hamachi crudo, large serving plates of house salumi with pork paté (SFGate photo here), fritto misto, salt cod in a brandade style with crostini and the absolutely dynamite burata, which is folded soft cheeses that make a sort of pillow. I must be missing something, but I did note how divine the homemade rolls were -- warm, toothsome, a little sour and dusted with a touch of flour. I can't remember the last time I ate a dinner roll.
Then for our second courses, I had the salad of so-called little gems, which are like baby Romaine leaves. Burton, sitting across from me, insisted I have some of his octopus, which was bore a slight char from the grill. I'm having that when I go back.
My main dish was the Berkshire pork chop with borlotti beans, braised red chard and roasted tomatoes. It was a plump piece of pig patterned with a crosshatch from the grill, and it was perhaps the best-prepared chop I've ever had. The color within was similar to that of a flatiron steak ordered medium, and other than a little fat trimming, all of it was delectable.
For dessert, I paired homemade hazelnut cookies with a Vino Santo, and the cookies blew everyone away. Their looks were deceiving, because they seemed so rich but were so light to the touch.
On the way out later, I ask Umberto, the omniscient force on the floor at Perbacco, about the dish. "We start with a superior product," he said, and then comes the brining. As I said, Umberto knows.
We also had a little chat about the china cups for the servings of gelato, molded to have a slight dent to look and feel like Dixie cups. Umberto said that when they saw them, they thought they were the coolest.
Perbacco has staked out something people like -- upscale Italian -- and brings it with both barrels but none of the haute attitude. Burton did mention that the reservation was quite difficult to negotiate. Note for next time: Sample the five-hour pork sugo and/or roasted veal ragout. Maybe I can talk the parents into it, now that summer's coming. Also, study the wine list, since it's likely I'll be buying, as soon as the raise or Uncle Rupert comes through. I promise, Umberto.
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