Haven't found the time to squeeze in reports from my recent trip yet, but I had to chime in with a Bruni Alert: sidewalk dining, which of course we understand as disgusting and do it anyway. Kind of like that show with Pat O'Brien as well as the Drudge Report.
FB liked his own piece so much that he followed up on his blog with something from the mailbag:
> “I am reminded,” the reader wrote, “of one of my favorite vintage New Yorker cartoons, where a mother is sitting with her young son at a Manhattan outdoor cafe and urging him to ‘hurry up and eat before your food gets dirty, dear.’”
10/2/07
Review: The Brickhouse
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.
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.
10/1/07
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?
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